A Scot to Remember (Something About a Highlander Book 1)

Home > Romance > A Scot to Remember (Something About a Highlander Book 1) > Page 31
A Scot to Remember (Something About a Highlander Book 1) Page 31

by Angeline Fortin


  It depended on whether he wanted to stay for a pillow beneath his head or her beneath his hard, breath-taking body.

  As full as the day had been — bounding with lively conversation, even laughter. The joy of watching him eat his first pizza — she hadn’t a clue where they stood otherwise. She’d thought all this would scare him off, make him run from her. He hadn’t. He’d given no indication of his mood or feelings on the matter at all. His habit of lending her his arm carried no weight in this instance.

  “It depends if you want to stay here or…” She bit her lip.

  “Or?”

  “Or stay with me.”

  Being put under a microscope couldn’t have managed such a thorough study as the long look he gave her. “Does it matter?”

  “It does to me.”

  “I thought ye said ‘twas nothing but lust between us?” His voice dropped to a silky brogue that set goosebumps rippling down her arms. Setting his glass aside, he walked toward her…no, prowled. A panther stalking its prey. “Animalistic, I believe ye said. Something to be purged, burned away.”

  He traced a fingertip along the edge of her jaw, and the goosebumps worked their way into a shiver. Of desire. Of need. He clasped her chin between his fingers and prompted her to look up at him. His eyes were ablaze with something more than lust. Knowing that brought a wobble to her knees.

  “If it’s mere lust between us, lass,” his whisper was deep, husky. “Does it matter why I stay?”

  She should let him think that’s all it was. To love him openly knowing the end for them was near would be more cruel than to let him think otherwise, wouldn’t it? Or was it better for him to know the truth of her feelings? She wanted to go with whatever was easier for him.

  His lips brushed along the same path his light touch had. The faint contact rocked her body, and set her limbs quaking. Her head fell, her loose hair trailing down her back. He gathered it in his other hand, wrapped it around his hand and tugged gently, forcing her back farther.

  “Open yer eyes, my love.”

  Were they closed?

  Opening them, she looked into his fiery eyes. “I’ve kent lust. This isnae it, is it?”

  She shook her head and swallowed hard. When had she wrapped her arms around his shoulders? And pressed her body against his?

  Tris lifted her against him and kissed her then. Lightly, sweetly. “Where do I go?”

  What? Go? She blinked and glanced around. The couch was looking pretty good. The floor was fine, too.

  “Yer chamber, lass,” he growled, though there was a hint of humor to it. “Where is it?”

  “Oh.” The reality of what she was doing hit her as did the reminder of the one thing she’d been avoiding all day. After all the surprises, he didn’t deserve another. Nevertheless, she couldn’t carry on without him knowing the truth. All of it.

  “Ye look suddenly serious.”

  “I need to tell you something you may not want to hear,” she said quietly, easing away from him. “I don’t want you to be angry.”

  His delicious lips lifted in a mocking smile. “I’d say that guarantees an opposite effect.”

  Wishing she had her glass in hand for a shot of liquid courage, she settled for a bracing breath. “When I take you back, whenever that may be, I won’t be able to stay there for long.”

  Twin lines furrowed between his brows. “Why no’? Will the device no’ allow ye?”

  “No. Nothing like that.” A shrug lifted her shoulder. “It would be more accurate to say that I won’t allow myself to stay there.”

  His expression shuttered and he turned his back on her obsequiously to retrieve his glass. “Why no’?”

  When he turned around again, Brontë found she couldn’t meet his eye. “I could give you a dozen reasons.”

  He took a sip of his whisky, savoring it as he studied her face. “I doubt I’ll like any of them. But try me.”

  She cast around for an easy answer. “I can’t change my clothes every two hours just for the sake of it.”

  “That’s nae a good one to start wi’.” Tris’s knuckles were white as he clutched his glass. “’Ere ye go on, do any of these reasons of yers hae to do wi’ yer feelings for me?”

  God, they had everything to do with them. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  A ghost of a smile hovered on his lips. “Of course not. I frightened ye wi’ my hasty declaration last night, aye? I sensed as much this morning.”

  He’d freaked her out enough to send her bolting down the lane and to have her hiding her head in the sand for the past two weeks. Not the answer she wanted to give him, so she settled on the most basic truth. “I don’t want to hurt you, Tris. More than I already have, that is.”

  Once again, his expression hardened to granite. Turning away, he tossed back his freshly poured drink. “Ye dinnae return my affection then.”

  The question clawed at her again. Which was better? To let him think that or let him have a deeper look into her troubled psyche? The taut set of his shoulders, the stiffness of his back scored her heart. She couldn’t hurt him like this.

  “Tris, it’s not like that.” She slipped to his side and took the glass from him, setting it aside. Running her hand up his whiskered jaw, she urged him to turn. “Look at me. Please.”

  His eyes when he looked at her were dulled with anguish, his jaw set against another blow. Her resolve trickled away. “I love you, Tris. I love you more than I’d ever thought possible. I’ve never felt anything close to what you do to me in my entire life.”

  The moment the admission escaped her, a weight lifted off her heart. It was the truth. Try as she might to deny it or circumvent it, it was real. Cyrano had won Roxanne in the end by making her see what was below the surface. Tris had done the same with her. Looking beneath the superficial handsomeness, beyond the scorching passion to see the kind, caring man behind it all. The one who sought a better future for the world, who devoted himself to friendship. Who loved with his whole being and shown her what it was to be treasured instead of prized.

  Warmth burst and blossomed in her chest, stretching outward. Released by the admission. She loved him. Even as the poignancy of emotion cast its rays throughout her body, an icy ache curled in its place. A black hole drawing all sensation toward it and left her limbs weak. Cold. Barren in its wake.

  She was going to lose him anyway.

  The tension in his gaze eased and the path his knuckles blazed along her jaw left her tense and guarded. Better her than him. “My love…”

  “It will still have to end,” she told him. “Whatever else you or I might wish for, this thing between us was never meant to last.”

  A month ago, she would have said it had no hope of lasting. That, like all the others, this relationship would follow a familiar path and end in heartbreak. Time had changed her…Tris had changed her. He’d shown her that when absolute love settled in the heart, all the arguments and differences between them meant nothing. They could drive each other crazy and she’d never want to run from him. Time would never change where she wanted to be in the end.

  In his arms.

  In his heart.

  Yes, there would be heartbreak this time, but for an entirely different reason than the others. Tris was so much more than the men she’d dated in her own time. An old-fashioned solution to her problem, as Donell once said. He’d known, somehow, of this love he was setting her up for. Damn Donell for bombarding her with hope only to rip happiness away from her without mercy.

  She’d been ready to fight for Tris, fight for every moment she could have with him. In the end, all the time in the world wouldn’t be enough.

  “Why?” The question was raw, torn from his throat.

  “I can’t leave my granny here alone, Tris.” Tears burned at her eyes, blurring her vision. She blinked them away, unwilling to sacrifice a second of seeing him. “As much as I love you, I won’t abandon her any more than you’d leave your family behind.”

  He shook
his head, denying the notion. “Wi’ yer machine, ye can see her anytime.”

  “It’s not a matter of days, even years. It would be forever.” The finality of the word left her choked. Mission accomplished, Donell would want his device back. To move on to another of his projects. The power to make those years disappear wouldn’t be hers for long. “It’s not simply a matter of leaving her on her own. She can take care of herself. Don’t you see? I’d have to let her believe I’d died or disappeared off the face of the earth. I can’t do that. I can’t desert her like that. Not even for you.”

  “Brontë, lass…”

  “Would you do it?” A tear with desperation trailed down her cheek. He swept it away and she clasped his hands between hers. “I’ve seen you with your family, your friends. Would you give up the chance of ever seeing them again? For me?” God, was she really asking him to sacrifice everything for her? “No, don’t answer that. Even if you said yes, I wouldn’t let you do it.”

  “Yet ye expect me to sacrifice ye?” His brogue was low and thick.

  “If I’d realized what was going to happen earlier…This impossible situation I put us in, I would have done something different,” she told him. “I tried to go back and undo it, but I couldn’t make it work.”

  The sorrow manifesting in his eyes turned to confusion, then his brows furrowed. “Ye tried to take this away from me?”

  Brontë shook her head. “I wanted to spare you from any pain. I’d never wanted to hurt you, Tris.”

  “Ye dinnae think this love I hae in my heart is worth any amount of suffering?” He growled low in his throat. “I’d no’ gi’ up a minute of my time wi’ ye, lass. Bugger the consequences. Whether ye’re wi’ me for an eternity or but an hour more, I’d no’ forsake a moment of it.”

  Nor would she. The solitary reason she’d made the attempt had been for his sake alone. The memories would always be with her.

  “Ye’re the most foolish, impetuous lass I’ve ever known.” He took her by the shoulders with a little shake, then drew her into his arms. “’Tis glad I am ye failed.”

  “Me, too.”

  He leaned back and looked down at her. “For a day or a lifetime, ye’re mine, lass. My heart. My love.”

  The cold fist eased its crushing grip on her heart. “I love you.”

  “I love ye, too.”

  Tris hugged her hard as if the strength of his arms could relay the power of his emotions. Buried against him, she pressed her mouth to the smooth skin bared by the V of his open collar. It had been tempting her all afternoon.

  He bent his head and kissed her, infusing her with wonder at the power of love, and with the same potent, passionate urgency his every kissed relayed. She needed to touch him. Tugging his shirt loose, she slipped her hand beneath it and skimmed her hands over the rippled planes of his stomach. Around his back, his skin hot and smooth beneath her palms. A low groan from deep within rumbled against her hands.

  His mouth left hers to trail hot kisses down her neck. The roughened texture of his chin chafed lightly against her skin, sending a shiver of pleasure through her. Curling her fingers into his hair, she urged his mouth to hers once more. Parting her lips, she invited. With another groan, he capitulated, his mouth plundering hers until her head swam with desire. A low moan of longing and surrender came from deep within her.

  Tris must have recognized it for what it was. “Where is yer chamber, lass?”

  Brontë recovered her senses enough to ask, “Are you sure you want to do this, knowing…?”

  He caught her hand and pressed her palm against the hard bulge straining against his trousers.

  “Okay then. Upstairs.” She broke away and took his hand, her body bereft without his next to her. Backing away to the base of the stairs, she tilted her chin upward. “I wish you’d taken the hint that first night and gone upstairs with me.”

  His smile melted her knees. “I hoped but couldnae presume. I wish ye’d asked.”

  “I did.” She kissed him. “I am.”

  Chapter 35

  Brontë spared an absent thought to wish she’d made the bed before she left last time. Tris didn’t seem to notice. He lifted her in his arms and laid her on the bed, descending over her. Catching the hem of her sweater, he pulled it up and over her head. His hands cupped and kneaded her breasts through the lace of her bra before she could push her hair from her eyes.

  She wanted to see him, to watch him as he raked his teeth along her collarbone and the sweep of his thumb across the swell of her breasts. He was so handsome. Perfect. That is, perfect for her. He glanced up, letting her revel in the fire in his eyes.

  Letting her know without doubt that he loved her. That he burned for her and her alone.

  His fingers slid along the band of her bra then back again and a huff of laughter shook her. This was no time for a lesson in the quick removal of twenty-first century undergarments. She wished they’d have time for that.

  She pushed back the maudlin thought. If she wanted to see that big beautiful body of his against her bare flesh, he’d need an assist. Pushing him onto his back, she slipped off the bed.

  “Where are ye…?”

  “Shush,” she whispered, unclasping the back of her bra. She held it against her breasts for a breath of time and let it fall. Unbuttoning her jeans, she rocked her hips out of them. His hot gaze was a physical caress as she pushed them down and stepped out of them. With a teasing grin, she hooked a thumb into the band of her panties and crooked a finger at him. “Want to finish?”

  She was bent over his arm before she could take a breath. His hot palm slid over her bottom and finished the job of seeing her naked. Brontë wasn’t willing to wait much longer to see him in the same state. She pushed his shirt up while he worked the buttons of his trousers. They made quick work of both.

  His mouth devoured hers once more as he carried her back to the bed, lowering them both slowly downward. There was an urgency in his touch as his hands roamed over her naked body, caressing, teasing. Enflaming. Through her lashes, she continued to watch him. His eyes were closed, his face taut. More devastating than ever. She stroked his smooth, broad shoulders, her hands pale against his dark skin. His hand covered her breast again to emphasize the difference. The feminine. The masculine. Then slipped down over her belly to disappear between her legs.

  Her eyes fluttered closed as his fingers found her wet core. Tris growled with animalistic pleasure as he plunged his finger into her body. His finger curled within her and she arched against his hand. Pleasure streaked through her until she was soaring. Seeking what only he could give her. The pressure escalated, building to a hedonistic pleasure/pain.

  She couldn’t take it. It was all so much. Too much. This wild emotion caged within her threatened to consume her. Love. Desire. Yearning.

  His lips closed over a nipple and sucked hard. Brontë fisted her fingers in his hair with a helpless whimper, urging him on with wordless encouragement.

  “By God, but I want ye, my love.”

  * * *

  Tris couldn’t deny his thickly worded confession any more than he could the love that bound them. She wrapped her legs around him and drew him snug against her lithe body. The response elated him. He longed to take her, lose himself in her. Wanted her breasts filling his palms for the rest of his life, wanted her body beneath his for eternity. He wanted to lose himself in her. Forget everything but her. And pray tomorrow never came.

  He lifted himself over her, their hearts pounding in sensual, urgent rhythm. A groan vibrated through his body as he came inside of her. One of her own expelled in tune with his, singing the same passionate tune. It shook him then, as it always did. He trembled with the force of it, his arms quivered under his weight.

  Beneath him, Brontë gasped and a tender smile lifted his lips and his heart. “Breathe, my love. We’re only getting started.”

  She cried out as he began to move within her. Her cries became moans until once again she was gasping for air. Pure, eleg
ant rapture held Tris in its grasp. He ran a rough hand over the silky flesh of her bottom and tilted her against him, lifting her leg higher as he plunged deeper and deeper. Each stroke wrenched more emotion from his heart, wringing him dry. Paradise beckoned but he’d be damned if he went there alone.

  He kissed her neck, licked and nipped at the tender skin there. He whispered words of worship and encouragement against her damp flesh, urging her to come with him.

  “Tris!”

  Her body pulsed around his member as he drove forcefully into her one last time. Time suspended as she hugged him desperately against her. She contracted around him, and his cry of release echoed hers. They soared together into the bliss of oblivion. Spent, he collapsed on top of her.

  “I love ye, lass.” To say it aloud was a pleasure almost as profound as the rapacious release that had just stripped him bare.

  How long he lay there, Tris wasn’t certain. Or how long he might have if Brontë’s quavering breath hadn’t drawn him back. Levering himself onto his elbows, he tried to look down at her. Her limbs remained tightly bound around him, her face buried against his neck. Smoothing her tangled hair back from her face, he urged her to look at him.

  “My love, are ye weeping?” He swept the pad of his thumb across her soft cheek catching the moisture, then followed the gesture with a brush of his lips. “What is it?”

  Her chest lifted against his as she drew in another shaky breath and released it with a shuddering sob that shook him. “I can’t bear to lose you. I just can’t.”

  “Och, my love.” Anguish pulled at his heart. He kissed her forehead, her brow; memorizing the silky, tingling feel of her against his lips. The taste of her. The smell. “I will spend each day longing for nothing more than to hold yer hand once more and for all the years of my life.”

  “Tris…” Her voice cracked as did his heart.

  “Ye will take my heart wi’ ye when ye go.” The truth merely served to swell the ache in his chest. “Ye will always be mine.”

  “And you are mine. Forever,” she whispered against his cheek. “I love you, Tris.”

 

‹ Prev