“Dylan, what are you doing?”
“Fulfilling a particular fantasy of mine. One in which you have a recurring starring role. Nightly, in fact.”
“What?” She didn’t struggle, but she did squirm. “Wait!”
“Keep wriggling like that and our trip might be further delayed,” he warned. Any response she might have made went out on a gasp when he landed them both across his massive, centuries old four-poster bed.
He rolled so she was pinned, breathless, half beneath him.
“You know, we can’t keep jumping into bed every time we spend five seconds together,” she told him, looking more disconcerted than he’d like. Actually, she looked almost…scared.
His heart started to pound then, but he shoved away the insecurities rearing their ugly heads. “Ah, but we haven’t,” he said, fighting to keep the teasing tone to his voice. “In fact, a bed has rarely been involved. I thought to remedy that. I’ve been sitting there, laboring at my desk, sorely preoccupied by this image I have of you, sprawled here, amongst my linens, in my bed. Lord only knows what I may have traded or bought today. You really are quite a distraction.” He brushed at the wispy hair on her forehead. “I must say, however, reality eclipses my imagination. Although I’ll admit you were wearing far less the way I pictured it.” He plucked at the buttons on her blouse.
She pushed at his hands. “Wait a minute. Dylan. Stop.”
He stopped, but left his hand where it rested. He could see she was struggling, and though his instincts told him to keep pushing, not to allow her to hide behind her well structured defenses, he found he couldn’t force his attentions on her. Though he wanted to. Badly. It was the only time she seemed to go with her heart and not with her head.
He wanted to do whatever it took to batter down those walls once and for all. But he couldn’t if she didn’t give him a fighting chance. “Erin, I know this is a lot. And I know it’s fast. But I dinna have the luxury of time. I want to make every second count.”
Her lips quirked, despite the fact that he saw how hard she was struggling to regain control of the situation. “And that means getting me naked for most of them?”
His own lips curved even as his heart continued to race. “Aye, it did seem a point in both our favors.”
She held his gaze, and what he saw there both heartened and scared him. Desire, yes. But also pain. And confusion.
“I need to talk to you,” she said quietly. “Only, not like this.”
So perhaps he wasn’t entirely willing not to use every advantage. He was fighting for his life here. Their potential life. He lowered his mouth to hers. “We’ll have hours on the road to Inverness to do nothing but talk, and I promise to be all ears,” he murmured. “But perhaps we shouldn’t waste such a promising opportunity. We’ve a little time, surely.” He kissed her, half afraid she’d turn her head away. She didn’t.
She held still for all of a second, then she sighed, heavily, as if defeated, and all the stiffness went out of her. He pressed the advantage, even though all the warning bells were ringing. She went pliant beneath him, her mouth softening, opening to him, her body accepting the weight of his as he pulled her more fully beneath him.
And damn him for using her helpless attraction to him to his advantage, but if that was his only way to get past her defenses, than it was an advantage he’d press without apology.
“I have pictured you here,” he whispered against her lips. “Wanted the scent of you on my pillow, the weight of you on my sheets, pressing against me.” He pushed between her legs and she instinctively arched up to meet him. He cursed the barrier of their clothing, but didn’t try to undress her again. It was enough, at the moment, that she was willing to admit to herself and him that she wanted him, at least in this way, as desperately as he wanted her.
Her nails dug into his back as she slipped her ankles around his legs and pressed tightly up to meet his slow thrusts. They were both moaning, electrified by the renewed intimate contact, and frustrated at the lack of fulfillment. “I do want you, Erin.” He forced himself to lift his head, to meet her gaze, despite knowing it would give her a chance to rally her forces. “But no’ just like this. I want the chance to know all of you this intimately. To understand who you are, why you came to be the woman you are, what drives you, what motivates you.”
She gazed back into his eyes, taking in his words, offering nothing of her own. For once silent, when he least wanted her to be.
“I know I’m in no position to offer much flexibility in return. But we’ll find someone in Inverness this weekend who’ll make Tommy happy, give us that extra time, at least, to explore this a bit more. All I’m asking is that you give us that much of a chance.”
And, like that, her gaze shuttered. She slipped her legs from his and pushed him, gently, but firmly off her, then quickly rolled to a sitting position, sliding her legs off the side of the bed, keeping her back to him.
He rolled to his side, propped his head on one hand, and waited for her to talk. He’d said enough. Possibly far too much. He wanted what he wanted. Perhaps he should have tempered his pursuit a wee bit, but he hadn’t known what else to do. Whatever the case, it was too late now.
“I…uh…” She paused, cleared her throat. But her voice was still a bit on the raspy side when she finally continued. “I didn’t mean to let things go in this direction. I have no defense for that and it was wrong of me. I’m sorry. I just…you…” She stopped, shook her head, and he thought he saw her shoulders tremble a bit when she took a deep breath. “It’s not easy with you, or maybe it’s that it’s too easy. I should have been stronger. But I’m not yet.”
Yet. Dylan’s heart squeezed, but he schooled himself to remain just where he was. To allow her to conduct herself without his interference this time. It was, perhaps, the hardest thing he’d ever done.
“I—you—” She broke off, shook her head, dipped her chin, but kept her back squarely to him. “I’ve never met anyone like you. I’m not exactly sure what to do in this kind of situation. I can’t seem to control things like I usually do. And I…” She shook her head again, her shoulders lifting and falling, as if she felt somewhat helpless to explain.
He curled his fingers inward against the need to reach for her, to touch her, hold her, support her while she found her words. But he suspected they weren’t words he was going to want to hear. And making her endure his touch wouldn’t perhaps bring her the solace he intended them to bring, but instead make the burden she seemed to be bearing that much harder to contend with.
In that moment, he came to realize that he truly was falling in love. Because, in the end, rather than press his own case, forge ahead with his own demands, so certain it was what was best for them both…he was willing to completely abdicate that position and allow her to have whatever it was that would make her feel settled, secure. Happy. Even if it came at the expense of losing his own happiness.
“I honestly don’t know what to do about it. I tried just ignoring my concerns, going with the flow, as it were. Have my little highland fling. You make that very easy. It’s easy when we’re all caught up in it to pretend there aren’t complicating factors, like that we’re people with real emotions, emotions that grow and get inevitably tangled and messy. To ignore the reality that the more time I let myself spend with you, the harder it’s going to be to go back to my world and let this one become a mere memory. A fond one, perhaps. But maybe a painful one, too.” She lifted a shoulder, let it drop. A soft sigh escaped her. “I asked myself if it was worth it, risking the pain or heartache, to have this…have you, for whatever time I’m allowed.” She finally glanced back at him over her shoulder. “And to be honest with you, I’m already feeling that pain, that heartache, just thinking about the end. And I don’t know how to handle that. It’s not a choice I’ve ever had to make.”
Dylan slowly sat up and shifted so his back rested amongst the pile of pillows stacked against the head board. He held her gaze, then simply held his han
d out to hers. “Come here. Just…for now. Please.”
Erin’s chin quivered, but she finally shifted her weight, reached her hand to his. It was all he could do not to yank her against him, to take her to places he knew only the two of them could reach. Instead, he corralled all of his strength, all of his control, and merely tugged her next to him, tucking her close, her cheek to his chest, and held her there, feeling her pressed against his heartbeat, and wondering just when his entire world had started to collapse.
He held her, stroked her hair, stroked her back, and forced the words he wanted to say to remain unspoken. He’d said too much already and placed an apparent burden on her she was unprepared to carry.
At length, she spoke again. “I came up here today, to tell you I was going to Inverness by myself. And…and to take you up on your offer.”
His hand stilled on her back. “Which offer was that?”
He felt her hold her breath, her body tensing beneath his touch. “The offer to be our next Prince Charming.”
He stilled completely, didn’t dare breathe, didn’t dare speak.
“I’ve done nothing but think about this…us. And I think it’s for the best.”
“For the best?” he ground out, suddenly ferociously angry, but somehow managing to keep that at bay.
“I don’t think I can do this, get any more involved with you. I wanted this weekend, that time, away. To think, to get my head back on straight. To refocus on my job, my future path. And…though I know you won’t want to see it that way—putting yourself out there could be the best thing that’s ever happened to you. Even if you don’t find the perfect person, at least you’ll be back in the mix and maybe realize what it is you truly do want.”
His control snapped. He tipped her chin up to his, knowing from the alarm that immediately crossed her face that his own expression was likely not a beautiful thing to behold at the moment. “Got it all neatly planned out, have you? You seem to have overlooked one very important, pertinent fact.” He lowered his face to hers. “I already know what I truly want.” And before he did something truly foolish, he stuck to his vow to give her whatever it was she wanted, released her, and got off the bed.
He stalked from the room, pacing the length of the living room, not daring to look back through the open doorway. He didn’t need that particular image burned forever in his brain. Erin sprawled in his bed, her expression one of pain and apology.
He grabbed the duffel he’d packed earlier from its place on the floor. “Have the papers sent over. I’ll sign whatever you want. I’ll be out at Tristan’s for the foreseeable future, so your filming can commence without me underfoot. Have a nice time in Inverness.” He did pause then, and he did look back. Erin was standing in the doorway to his bedroom. Perhaps not as painful an image as the one he’d been avoiding, but somehow it packed an equally powerful punch. Her face was pale, and all the life and effervescence he so naturally equated with her was nowhere to be seen. He refused to feel bad for being any part of that. They both had their own realities—and pain—to deal with.
Fantasy time was over.
“I’m sorry,” she managed.
“Aye, we’re both a sorry lot, aren’t we?” And with that he strode out.
“I really dinna want to talk of it, Tris,” Dylan informed his youngest brother, who, despite his ready hospitality, was already getting on his last nerve. Perhaps he should have thought twice before deciding to hide out in the midst of his brother’s besotted bliss with Bree Sullivan, the absolute love of his life. “I appreciate the use of the room. I think I’ll take Jinty here and head out for a walk. Any strays need rounding up?”
Tristan cocked his head. “You, go for a walk?”
Dylan gave the look right back to him. “I’ve been known to do that on occasion.” He shoved out of the kitchen chair and rinsed out the tankard of ale he’d been brooding over for the past half hour.
Tristan’s smile was as unabashed as any of his brothers’ would be. Clearly they weren’t nearly intimidated enough by the fact that he was the eldest and de facto clan chief. Privately, he realized he didn’t mind so much. It was far, far better than the eggshells everyone had been tiptoeing on when he’d first arrived back on clan soil.
“I believe ye were about sixteen the last time ye went herding,” Tristan recalled. “Annoyed as all hell when Grandpa Finny made ye take me along.”
“You always were one for the hillocks. You and your sketch pad and your dreamy vacancy. Couldn’t even muster up a decent conversation.”
“Well, in my defense, I was, what, eight? I don’t believe I got into deep philosophy until at least reaching my prime at ten or eleven.”
Dylan found himself fighting a smile. He shoved the chair back and slapped his thigh, calling Tristan’s sheepdog to his side. He didn’t want to smile, didn’t want to feel warmth. He needed the cold, sobering chill of silence right now. “Come on, Jint. Let’s get out of here for a bit.” He was at the door, looking forward to sorting through his thoughts with nothing but green hills and cloudy skies to contend with, but found himself turning back, and putting to voice the question that had been nagging at him since his arrival. “How did you know?” he asked.
“Know what?”
“About Bree. It was sudden for you.”
If Tristan was surprised by the question, he didn’t show it. Nor did he look smug at the apparent capitulation. “It was rather sudden for Reese, too, and Daisy—”
Dylan waved a hand. “Daisy might be a transplanted Yank, but she hadn’t been here six months before making a bigger mark on this village than her great-aunt did in six decades. Besides, she was here to stay when they met. And Brodie has known Kat his whole life. But you…Bree landed here by accident.”
Tristan grinned. “Literally, I know.” Then his grin tempered a bit, but he asked his question anyway. “How did you know with Maribel? It was a short engagement.”
For all he’d proclaimed to be thankful no one dredged up his past, he discovered he was relieved, to some degree, that Tristan felt they’d all come far enough so that he could talk about his past marriage without fear of treading on painful ground. “I was a lad, with foolish ideals, so certain what it was I wanted. I don’t think I’ll ever know if I fell in love with Maribel for Maribel herself, or for all she represented. So, I ask again, how did you know? She wasn’t from here, was likely not to stay here.”
Tristan propped his hip against the kitchen table and rolled his tankard of ale between his palms. “You just know. And it didn’t matter what her plans were, or mine. It wasn’t a planned reaction, neither of us were looking, or even thinking about such a thing. I guess what it came down to was knowing that, after having her here, under my roof for such a short time, I already couldn’t imagine the house without her in it.” He took a sip, considered for a moment, then caught Dylan’s gaze squarely. “Is that how it is with your Yank?”
Caught dead to rights, and considering his own probing, he couldn’t dodge the question this time. He let out a short sigh. “Aye. I believe so.”
Tristan’s grin was instant and quite exultant. “Well, what in the hell are ye doin’ out here, man? Go and get her!”
Dylan swore under his breath. “Dinna ye think I’d be doing just that if I thought she’d have me?”
“Turned ye down flat, did she? Perhaps I’ll have to find my way into the village after all. Meet this paragon of virtue who can resist the Great Scot.”
Dylan swore. “Stop that, will ye?”
“You undersell yourself.” Then Tristan turned serious. “So why is it, ye think, that she’s no’ interested? Is it the complication of having a job and a life an ocean away? Or is it your grumpy and dour demeanor?”
Dylan just shot him a look. “Glad you find this all so very amusing.” But his shoulders slumped as he sank against the door frame. Jinty, taking the cue, sighed and settled herself at Dylan’s feet. “I canno’ believe she doesnae feel what I do. It’s there in her eyes, Tris.
And she’s all but admitted her feelings run strong. But, aye, her life and her path take her elsewhere. And I’m committed here, with no plans to go running off again. Not even for this.”
Tristan’s eyes widened at that last part. “But you say if it weren’t for that, ye might?”
“Dinna ye worry, I’m done with my selfish pursuit of—”
He waved his hand. “No, no, I know that. I was gauging your feelings, is all. And given your dedication to Glenshire, to all the village, that’s saying something.” He put his ale down and stepped closer. “So what can we do to help?”
“We?”
Tristan nodded. “Me, Bree, all of us. We’re family, Dylan. We’ll do whatever—”
He shook his head. “I appreciate the offer. I do.” And he found he meant it. Instead of being alarmed or annoyed at the proposed interference, as he typically would have been, he was truly touched. Not that he’d ever doubted his family’s loyalty. They’d always been there for each other, but this was immediate and unquestioning, and that meant something to him. “It’s no’ something I can change, I’m afraid. I canno’ make her want me enough to take such a leap of faith.”
“Life offers no promises, but there is always the promise of hope.”
Dylan smiled faintly. “No one knows that better than she does. Life hasn’t handed her too many promises. She’s made her own way and she’s attached to the security of her independence. I can’t promise her anything better.”
“Aye, but you can. You’re a loyal man, dedicated. Surely she sees that. She’d be gaining so much and giving up so little, to my way of thinking.”
“I’m no’ so sure of that. If we were to pursue this and fail, for me, life would continue on much as before, albeit a great deal more dimly. For her, there would be no going back to what was, but having to forge something all new, all over again. I’d never forgive myself if she’d felt coerced into being with me in the first place. I canno’ fight against her unwillingness to take the risk, as I appreciate and understand it. Especially as I canno’ make the same sacrifice for her.”
The Great Scot Page 28