Everlastin' Book 1

by Mickee Madden

  She freed her right arm. Planting the palm to his chest, she gave a forceful shove, which didn't move him at all. One of his hands went to the back of her head, drawing her closer.

  “No, dammit!”

  But Lachlan wasn't listening. His heated gaze was riveted on her shapely mouth. The more she struggled, the tighter he drew her against him until he was vitally aware of her breasts flattening against his chest. He brushed his lips across hers. Sensing a protest rising up in her, he captured her mouth in a masterful kiss.

  Warmth suffused Beth, casting out the anger’s strangulating hold on her. Experiencing a soaring headiness, she unwittingly clutched the sides of his shirt. The musky scent of him, the feel of his masculinity surrounding her, and the manner in which his mouth moved slowly over hers, promised to abolish the warring emotions she'd carried for so long.

  “You feel so good. So bloody good,” he whispered against her lips, one of his hands freeing the back of her blouse from the waistline of her skirt. His palm smoothed along the contours of her back, over heated, soft skin. It took him several seconds to comprehend and release the two hooks securing her bra. When he at last succeeded, he caressed the length of her spine then, slowly, seductively, inched the hand over one side of her small waist.

  Deepening the kiss, he moved his fingers upward to the underpart of her left breast. Her moan encouraged him to go on. The firm swell of the breast became lost within his large hand, the rigid nipple tautly pressed into his palm. His fingers kneaded, caressed, eliciting a deeper moan to rattle within her throat.

  Breathing in spurts, he trailed his lips across her cheek, to a gentle depression below her ear. Lost in the maddening sensations building rapidly within her, she tilted back her head and exposed the sensitive skin of her graceful neck. His teeth nipped, his lips probed. His hands gripped her hips and flattened her abdomen against the rigid implement of his manhood.

  Quivers of desire racked him. Fevered by a need to possess her, he kissed her passionately, one hand at the back of her head, the other at her buttocks, grinding her against him in a futile attempt to relieve the tormenting fires in his groin.

  On the verge of losing control, his hands began to lift her skirt. His palms pressed to the rounded contours of her hips. His thumbs hooked into the waistband of her panties, began to lower the intrusive barrier.

  Reality slammed home when Beth's fingers began to free the buttons of his shirt. Gripping her arms, he hastily jerked her back a step.

  Large blue eyes stared dazedly up at him through a flushed face. The lips he'd kissed only moments before were slightly swollen and more inviting than ever.

  “Fegs, lass,” he breathed unsteadily. “You damn near lost me ma purpose!”

  “What?”

  Running a hand down the front of his shirt, he took two steps back. “I’m a bloody stranger! How can you trust me to make love to you?”

  Confused, and fighting back a whirling sensation in her head, Beth made a feeble gesture with her hand. “I-I don't understand what's g-going on.”

  “We damn near made love!”

  “I was here, remember?” she snapped.

  “Tis burned in ma mind.”

  “Is this a question of morals?”

  A mirthless laugh burst from his throat. “Morals, ma eye!”

  “Then what the hell is wrong with you? What kind of game are you playing?”

  “Temper, lass,” he chided, his chest still rising and falling with desire. “Ma purpose was to persuade you to unburden yer woes, no' have ma way wi' you afore the proper time and place.”

  The cobwebs filling Beth's mind multiplied.

  “Proper time and place?”

  “I asked you a question afore we got lip-locked.”

  Beth tried to remember what it was. Frustrated, she reached up under the back of her blouse and secured the hooks of her bra then haphazardly tucked the blouse into the skirt's waistband. She'd known this man for less than twenty-four hours, and yet she'd nearly given in to an impulse to be taken by him, out in the relative open.

  “You're the most maddening....” She glared at him through a pained expression. “I'm going back to the house. I would appreciate it if you'd leave me alone until Carlene returns.”

  “No' so fast,” he said huskily, taking her arm as she tried to pass him to reach the steps of the gazebo. “We were talkin' abou' yer mither.”

  “That conversation is over.”

  Lachlan's expressive eyebrows drew down in a frown. “When you learn to trust me, we'll make love.”

  A mask of utter incredulity slid over Beth's features. “Is that a promise...or a threat?”

  Lachlan grimaced. “I'll no' let yer snide tone rattle me.”

  “I hope you and your ego have a nice day,” she clipped, wrenching her arm from his hold. Undaunted this time, she lit across the lawn in a half-run, leaving Lachlan to forlornly stare after her.

  “Beth, ye're no' an easy womon to know. If no' for ma gift, we'd be strangers always. Too much you hide in yer heart.”

  Folding his arms over his chest, he leaned against one of the decorative moldings of the archway. “Too independent, these modern women.” He clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Aye, me and ma ego. Weel, ego, come along, then. We've a wee visit to pay old Aggie.”

  * * *

  It was humid and hot within the cottage, but Agnes Ingliss paid it no mind. The repeated clacking of her knitting needles kept her mind preoccupied. Rocking back and forth in a rocker three generations old, her thin fingers deftly worked the red yarn. A length of scarf lay upon her lap. Come Christmas it would be a gift for her son, Borgie. There was a time when she could have whipped up a scarf in a matter of days, but the stiffness in her hands forced her to plan her projects months in advance now.

  A sense of intrusion lifted her head. Her pale blue eyes sharpened, her ears keened. The leathery, wrinkled skin on her arms seemed to twitch.

  Compressing her pale lips in a tight line, she cut her gaze to the left. The sight of Lachlan standing by the parlor door, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression guarded, caused a sharp tightening within her chest. Without taking her eyes off him, she dumped the yarn and needle to the floor beside the rocker.

  Resentment flared in her eyes as she cranked herself up onto her feet. Her chin lifted defiantly.

  “How dare you come to ma home!” she charged. “Get ou', you black-hearted beast!”

  After a moment of tense silence, Lachlan sauntered further into the room. He stopped within arm's reach of the old woman, his brooding gaze riveted on her face.

  “Spare me the endearments,” he drawled, lowering his arms to his sides. “I thought perhaps you'd be ill, old womon. Itherwise, why else would you fail to prepare breakfast for Miss Staples?”

  “She's yer guest. You serve her.”

  A slow, sardonic grin manifested on Lachlan's mouth. His eyebrow arched, signaling Agnes he was short on patience. “I mistakenly thought this business settled.”

  “I've changed ma mind.”

  Lachlan's expression made light of her defiance, but a storm brewed within his eyes. “Be at the house in the morn.”

  “Or wha'?” she sniffed with disdain. “I'm too old to give a damn, anymair, yer lordship. So stick yer paughty threats in yer—”

  The front door of the house slammed shut. A flicker of uncertainty moved across Agnes' face then she grew pale. Lifting a trembling hand to rest over her heart, her watery gaze observed the glint of malice in Lachlan's eyes.

  She looked beyond him to the living room. “Begone wi' you,” she whispered in a plea. “I'll be there to serve Miss Staples.”

  “Will you now?” Lachlan crooned.

  “Get ou'! I don’t want ma son layin' eyes on you!”

  “Mum, where's ma lunch?” boomed a voice. A tall man in his early thirties bounded into the room. “Kelly and the boys are goin' to meet me—”

  The sight of a stranger standing in the parlor gave the man pau
se and a cocky grin quirked on his mouth. “Sorry, Mum. Didn’t know we had company....”

  His voice trailed off as he became aware of the stranger's attire. He looked into the man's eyes. How he knew, he didn't understand, but the truth lanced him with unmerciful accuracy. His dark blue eyes appeared enormous in his ashen face as he fell back a step.

  “Borgie,” Lachlan said, giving the man a mocking nod of greeting. “We meet at last.”

  After several attempts to speak, Borgie managed, “Wha' do you want?”

  Lachlan searched Agnes' taut expression. “Checkin' in on yer mither.” Looking at Borgie, he asked, “Have you a job, mon, or are you still a worthless lump o’ flesh?”

  “Get ou'!” Agnes shrilled, blue veins mapping her brow and temples. “You can’t come into ma home and insult ma boy!”

  With a smug smile, Lachlan walked up to Borgie and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Yer bastard's a mon, no' a boy, Aggie.” Placing his face inches from the terrified man's nose, he grinned off to one side. “Ye're lookin' a wee pale, lad. A pint—” He clipped Borgie in the gut with the back of a hand. “—will stiffen yer spine, aye?”

  Befuddled, Borgie shook his head then nodded.

  Straightening, Lachlan cast Agnes a pitying look. “In the morn. It'll do you good to wait on someone worth their spit.”

  * * *

  The sudsy hot water served to ease the tension in Beth's aching body. Only the throbbing knot at the back of her head remained. Submerged to her chin, her knees poking above the iridescent bubbles, she closed her eyes and tried to ignore the thoughts that had been plaguing her since she'd left the gazebo two hours earlier.

  At any time, Carlene and David should return. Then she would have plenty to occupy her mind. She could shut out Lachlan and the pain his inquisition had prompted.

  “Please.”

  The softly spoken voice in her head caused her to squeeze her eyes shut.

  “Do it for me.”

  “Don't ask me, Ma,” she whispered.

  “The pain, Beth. It never stops.”

  Beth blinked hard, refusing to give in to a threat of tears.

  “How can you ignore my suffering. Damn you, Beth. Damn you!”

  A burning sensation lodged in Beth’s chest. “I c-can't. Don't ask me again.”

  “Ask wha', lass?”

  The deep voice crashed down on her. She nearly sprang up out of the bath, stopping herself when she spied Lachlan leaning against the doorjamb across from her. He held a plate laden with fruits and cheese. Ignoring the crimson in her face, he casually seated himself on the closed lid of the toilet next to her.

  “Have you eaten today?”

  She blinked at him as if disbelieving he was in the bathroom with her. He popped one of the purple grapes into his mouth and took his time chewing it, his gaze studying her. When he proffered the plate, she shrank back into the bubbles.

  “Get out!”

  In response to her shrill tone, he placed an isolated finger in his ear and jiggled it. “Ma day for bein' told where to go.”

  “You can't come in here!”

  He looked about him in mock bewilderment. “But I am in here. Have I embarrassed you?” He chuckled when she glared at him. “Guess I have.”

  “I asked you to stay away from me.”

  “I must have forgotten,” he grinned and proffered the plate once again. A smile of satisfaction played on his mouth when she churlishly plucked a wedge of sharp cheddar from the plate.

  She chewed and swallowed. “Now get out! I don’t think David and Carlene will appreciate you treating me like this!”

  “Wha' would you like for....” He frowned. “You Yanks call it supper, aye?”

  “If I'm hungry, I'll fix myself something. Get out!”

  “I thought perhaps we could picnic in one o’ the south gardens.”

  “No, thank you. Get out!”

  He released a dry chuckle and placed the plate behind him on the tank. “You plan to waste the day sulkin', do you?”

  “Leave me alone and get out!”

  “Ah.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I would have thought you'd had yer fill o’ bein' alone. Silly me.”

  Beth sliced a hand along the surface of the water. A wave jumped the edge of the tub and landed on Lachlan's lap.

  “Nice,” he said with a grimace.

  Anger simmered in her core. “I prefer to bathe in private, thank you!”

  “Tell me, Beth,” he began, resting his elbows just above his bent knees, “would you have gone all the way? In the gazebo, I mean.”

  Beth glared at him, her face dark purple.

  “You see, I’ve a wee problem understandin' women. Wha' they say and wha' they do is often contradictory.”

  “Really? And men are simply black and white?”

  “Aye.”

  “You'd better get a shovel.”

  Her words perplexed him. “Wha' for?”

  “To start unloading the shit piling up in here.”

  Lachlan's jaw dropped. “Tis no way for a lady—”

  “Which you obviously don't consider me or you wouldn't be sitting there gawking at me!”

  For the first time, she was awarded the pleasure of seeing Lachlan brought down a notch. Ruffled, he rose to his feet and exited the room. From beyond the door, he called, “I'll be in the kitchen when ye’re done. Kindly bring down the plate.”

  Anger thumped behind her chest. Without thought, she sprang out of the tub. Grabbing the plate, she ran into the bedroom in time to see him approaching the door to the hall. Before he made it across the threshold, she flung the plate. Fruit and cheese scattered in all directions, but the plate itself caught him between the shoulder blades. With a grunt of surprise, he turned and glowered at her, but his expression morphed into one of amazement.

  Her anger plummeted to a feeling of utter vulnerability. Suddenly aware that she was naked and alone with a man she knew very little about, she took a hesitant step back.

  Lachlan crossed the room, his chest rising and falling with each breath. Never had Beth seen anyone's eyes betray such intensity they seemed to possess the ability to see into her soul.

  He dodged into the bathroom and returned with a towel. Standing in front of her, he wrapped it around her and positioned her hands to hold it in place. All the while, she could not move or look at him.

  “Feelin' better?” he asked huskily, taking a step back.

  “S-somewhat.”

  “Hmm. Afore you set foot in this house, I was o’ the impression you were o’ a gentle nature.”

  Beth lifted her chin in defiance. “I'm a little...out of sorts.”

  “Bitchy, you mean.”

  “Bitchy. Yes.”

  “Jet lag.”

  She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Possibly.”

  “Perhaps you should go by sea next time, lass.”

  “There will never be a next time.”

  A shadow fell across his face before he sharply turned away and began to gather up the fruit and cheese. Beth watched him warily, her arms tightly folded across the towel section covering her breasts. She remained silent as he returned everything to the plate. This time when he looked at her, there was a disquieting air about him that elicited a chill to move up her spine.

  “I regret ye’re so unhappy. I'll leave you be.”

  Beth stood very still for some time after the door had closed behind him. He'd been right about one thing. She'd never known she possessed a temper until she'd arrived in this house. Or was it temper? Anger would spear her from out of nowhere over the littlest thing, and she felt she had no control over her actions.

  By the time she dressed in a pair of jeans and a baggy cotton top, she felt drained. Incapable of self-examining her uncharacteristic behavior, she brushed her hair into a ponytail then stood at the window and peered out across the gardens. After a time, she spied movement down by the nearest trellis display of ivy.

  A breath
gushed from her nostrils.

  So her reunion with Carlene hadn't gone as she'd planned, but it was no excuse for taking out her disappointment on Lachlan. He'd tried his best to entertain her. Anyone else would have turned their back on her.

  She exited the front of the house and walked directly to where she'd seen him from the window. But to her dismay, he was nowhere in sight.

  Serves you right, you idiot. Dammit, Beth, what is going on with you?

  She seemed to have a tendency to fall into his arms at the first signal he was going to kiss her. And yet, whenever he reached out to offer her emotional comfort, she lashed out at him. She'd always considered herself a level-headed woman. Now she was beginning to wonder if she knew herself at all.

  She had never experienced such a powerful sexual attraction until she met Lachlan. It was as if they shared a bond that was certainly beyond her understanding.

  A cool breeze swept around her, and she crossed her arms and drew in her shoulders. After a moment of inspecting her surroundings for a sign of Lachlan, she sat on the ground and curled her legs close to her.

  The ache thrumming at the back of her head reminded her she'd forgotten to take some aspirin. She considered going back inside the house for them, but couldn't bring herself to move from this spot.

  Not a sound stirred. Above her, white, fluffy clouds were shredding across the azure sky.

  Bringing up a knee, she folded her arms atop it to pillow her head. Deep fortifying breaths moved in and out of her lungs. Although she could feel the sun on her back, her skin felt unnaturally cold, as were her insides.

  Carlene, please hurry back. I think I’m losing my mind, kiddo.

  Lulled by the serenity of the outdoors and the fragrances of flowers and evergreens, she closed her eyes. She was almost in sleep's embrace when something fell across her back. Lifting her head, a half-smile played along her lips. She drowsily watched Lachlan sit across from her, his legs bent to each side of her, his hands gripping the corners of the blanket he'd draped over her shoulders.

  “I was thinkin', lass,” he sighed. “I've been too impatient wi’ you.”

  “I shouldn't have thrown the dish at you.”

  His smile caused a pull within Beth's heart.