She murmured something when he unsnapped her bra. He kissed her again, lingering over her lips as his hands lingered at her back. Then gently, more gently than he knew he could, he stroked the sides of her breasts with his thumbs.
“You feel like velvet,” he whispered against her cheek. “Like everything that’s soft and new. And you’re so very warm.”
“Do I really please you?”
He took the time to prove it to her, although he was reluctant to abandon the provocative pleasure of her breasts. He found her hand and guided it to his lap, to the place where pretense could never flourish. He groaned as her fingers curled around him. “There’s no finer barometer of my pleasure or lack of it.”
“Andrew…” She stroked him, inexpertly, innocently, and with such success that he had to cover her hand and lock his fingers tightly with hers.
“Do more of that, and the night will end before it’s begun.”
“It’s begun,” she whispered. “It’s more than begun, Andrew.”
She was right, and they were still before the fire. The evening had begun here, but clearly it needed to end elsewhere. He grasped her hips and moved her away; then, before she could ask why, he stood and pulled her to her feet.
He swung her up into his arms, laughing roughly as she gasped. “You’re a wee bitty thing, Fiona. An armful and no more.”
Her face was just inches from his. Her eyes gleamed in the firelight. “I intend to be more than an armful.”
The cottage was small, his room only a few strides away. His bed loomed in the corner, lit only by the dubious cloud-covered moon and the lamp glowing faintly in the sitting room. He lowered her to the floor. There was no laughter now. He was suddenly aware of the commitment they both had made. “I could no’ live with myself if I hurt you.” He cupped her chin and tilted her head so that she was gazing at him, although it was too dark to read what was in her eyes. “It’s no’ too late to say no.”
“And still early enough to say yes.”
He wanted to tell her all that he was feeling, who he was and who he intended to be for the remainder of his life. He wanted to offer her everything inside him, his past and his future, the memories of the man he had been and the hopes of the man he had become.
But despite her brave words, he knew she was frightened. She wanted him, but she was still so afraid to reveal all that she was. He could not overwhelm her. She had come to him tonight.
And that had to be enough.
He touched the top button of her blouse. “I’ve dreamed of this.”
She stood very still. “Have you?”
He pulled the button through its hole. He traced the deeper opening with one finger. “Aye. Shall I tell you what I dreamed?”
“I think so. Yes.”
“I dreamed that we were together, just this way. And that when I undressed you, you became a swallow and soared high in the sky above me.”
“That’s a sad dream, Andrew.”
He unbuttoned the second button, and the third. His thumb dipped deeper, lightly brushing her flesh. Back and forth, as gently as a whisper. “Then, just as I had given you up and bowed my head to mourn, you came back to earth and lighted on my shoulder. And when I looked down at you, you were a woman again. My woman.”
“Ah…”
He spread open her blouse. Her bra was a strip of gleaming white, but the darkness hid her well. He pushed the blouse from her shoulders, and it floated to the floor behind her. “Dinna fly away from me, Fiona.”
“And if I do, will you wait for me?”
He felt the question deep inside him, and he feared that she wasn’t ready for this. But he couldn’t make himself stop. He didn’t know how. “I’ll wait always.” He forced his hands to his sides, but he couldn’t force himself to move away.
She nodded. He could see the outline of her head against his window. Then she reached up and touched her bra, and when she lowered her hand, the bra came with it.
He could just see a beautifully feminine outline, the ripe curves of her breasts, the narrow nip of her waist. He moved forward, and she stood her ground. He touched her breast, and he was lost. She was as soft as he had imagined. What scars his fingers could discover had stretched and thinned as she’d grown until they were only spiderwebs crisscrossing the sweetly rounded flesh. “You’re all I dreamed.”
“I’m no one’s dream, Andrew.” Her voice trembled. “But tonight I’m your reality, if you’ll have me.”
He showed her that he would. He scooped her closer and discovered the reality of a back that was textured with both smooth and coarse skin. He felt her hold her breath as he explored her, as if she were waiting for him to push her away. He murmured reassurances and kissed her chin, her cheeks and finally her lips. She melted against him, and he felt the age-old thrill of conquest. Nothing he had discovered had lessened his desire. She was Fiona, and the rest was immaterial.
He found the strength and self-control to undress her slowly and then to let her undress him. They had the night, and he found the patience. Her skirt pooled at her feet, then her slip. For a woman so convinced she could never seduce a man, her underthings were a revelation. He felt silk so fine that it must have been transparent, and the tantalizingly delicate froth of lace. She wore a satin garter belt to hold up her stockings, a sensuous and welcome surprise that was easily smoothed over her hips. He silently vowed to undress her again someday in brightest sunlight, and the thought made it harder, and yet more rewarding, to be patient.
When it was his turn to submit, her hands, sometimes tentative but more often eager, were almost his undoing, but he didn’t rush her. When she faltered, he helped. When she didn’t falter, he stood in quiet, blissful agony.
The room was cold, and he felt her shiver as she leaned against him to slide down his trousers. Only then did he take matters into his own hands, kicking off his shoes and making quick work of the remainder of his clothes. He drew back the covers, but she stood beside the bed. He couldn’t read her expression, but he could read her thoughts.
“It’s no’ too late,” he said. His voice protested, cracking strangely on the last word.
She sat on the bed and extended her hand, and he was lost again.
Beside her and under the covers, stretched leg to leg, hip to hip, he thought he would go mad. Her scent was everywhere. Her hair brushed his cheeks; her breasts brushed his chest. He could feel her moist heat drawing him closer. He knew how slow he must go, how careful he must be. He forced his hands to linger, his lips to seduce, not plunder. He had never lost himself so quickly, had never been forced to fight for even a semblance of control.
Her flesh seemed to soften against his, and she sighed her pleasure as he kissed the crook of her shoulder, the nape of her neck. She moaned as he sucked at her earlobe, and when his thumb stroked her nipple, she shuddered against him.
He knew what it was to give a woman pleasure. Now he discovered what it was to give his woman, the one woman in the universe who had been created for him, pleasure and more. Because Andrew knew as he touched her skin, the precious, scarred skin that had defeated the hungers of a raging fire, that he was helping her defeat the doubts that had been with her for so many years.
And how could she doubt herself now? How could she have any doubts when his body was taut with desire and her hands were caressing the evidence?
At last he shifted her beneath him, slowly, carefully. He already knew she was ready for him. His own caresses had grown intimate, and he knew she was moist, that he wouldn’t hurt her any more than necessary if he made love to her now. He had taken a moment to prepare himself, because pregnancy was unthinkable when so much was unsettled between them. But now the thought of hurting her deterred him again. He hesitated.
In that moment, she was more courageous than he. She drew him closer and instinctively lifted herself to him. He felt her stretch slowly to accommodate him. He was a large man, and she was a small woman, but that barrier could not defeat them.
Time moved as slowly as he did. It seemed a new day when he lifted her in his arms and rested against her. “Fiona?”
“I love you, Andrew.”
His throat tightened, and blood roared in his ears. “Fiona. Darling.” He began to move again, carefully as before, but never so slowly again. She gasped and began to move with him. All thoughts of patience, of teaching her about love, vanished.
She was teaching him.
The sounds she made deep in her throat were the sweetest he had ever heard. She arched against him, and any semblance of sanity fled. He held her tighter and thrust harder. She moved with him, warm as sunshine and velvet soft. He could only see the outline of her head on the pillowcase, but he thought he saw the gleam of tears in her eyes.
He called her name as she gasped his.
And in that moment, time stood still.
* * *
The first thing Fiona felt as she awoke was wonder. Wonder that her body could feel so replete, wonder that she had slept so soundly, wonder that a bed could feel so warm and comfortable.
And then she remembered.
Andrew.
In a flood of sensation she recalled what had happened last night. She had come to Andrew’s home, and he had patiently and expertly taken her virginity. He had wanted her.
Andrew had wanted her.
She could feel a smile on her lips as she relived what she could of those moments. He had been tender and passionate, an unlikely, stunning combination that had carried her to some place well outside herself. And Andrew had been there to guide her back.
She opened her eyes and saw her arm, then her hand, with long, relaxed fingers curled around the edge of a cream-colored duvet. Light filtered in from a window not far away, highlighting the contrast between the pale purity of the fabric and the patchwork quilt of skin once touched by fire. She always slept in shirts that covered her to her wrists. For a moment the sight of her own arm was as shocking as a woman’s first glimpse of a naked man.
And then her smile died.
It was morning, and the sky was growing lighter. Andrew was sleeping soundly beside her, the warmth of his breath gently tickling the nape of her neck. His arm lay across her waist, and his hand rested possessively against her abdomen.
And soon he would awaken, too.
She did her best to stem the tide, but panic flooded her. Her gaze was fixed on her arm, on the only part of her body that she could see. Andrew would see it, too, see what he had touched in darkness, see what he had so gently, thoroughly loved.
She told herself to be calm. She told herself that love was not about perfection in form or spirit. She had never, never in her wildest imagination, believed that lovemaking could be as powerful, as exquisite, as what had passed between them last night. She had prepared herself for pain, for shyness and whatever residue of pleasure could seep through those formidable barriers. She had expected that residue to be enough.
She had expected so little and gotten so much.
Andrew shifted slightly, and she went stiff with apprehension. She imagined the pity in his eyes when he saw her body for the first time. He could not have discovered by touch alone just how damaged she was. Last night had been heaven, but this morning would be hell.
And suddenly, she knew she couldn’t submit to it.
The sky was growing lighter, although it appeared to be another gloomy day. Had the sun been shining, the room would be flooded with light, and she would be completely visible when she stood. As it was, if she moved now, she could dress quickly. Even if Andrew woke up as she did, the light was dim enough to provide protection.
She didn’t have time to question her decision. She moved on impulse, on information learned as a child and later as an adolescent. Every taunt, every whispered word of pity, was loud in her ears. She couldn’t bear to taint the memory of last night with that.
She couldn’t bear for Andrew to know how scarred she was still. Both outside and in.
He mumbled something as she inched out from under his arm, but when she dared a glance at him, his eyes were still closed. She sat up carefully, praying he wouldn’t awaken. The room seemed to grow lighter by the moment. She eased herself off the bed and wished she could wrap herself in a sheet, but there was only the duvet, far too heavy, and covering him, as well. If she tried to remove that, he would know.
As she moved across the wood floor her bare feet sounded like gunshots, despite the care she took to step quietly. She couldn’t remember exactly where Andrew had undressed her. The memory of the way he had, with such tender care and something almost like awe, was crystal clear. For a moment she paused, filled with the achingly sweet memory. There had been nothing of pity in the way he had made love to her last night. He had wanted her; he had wanted to give her pleasure.
She wanted to crawl back into bed with him and forget her own superficial pride.
But she couldn’t.
She found her clothes on the floor at the foot of the bed. Her hands were trembling by then, and she fumbled with each piece, making long work of something that should have been easy. She didn’t dare glance at Andrew. Once begun, her mission was best accomplished in haste. And she didn’t want to stop dressing halfway through. She didn’t want him to see her like this. Not the naked body or the naked fears.
She finished at last, pulling her dark stockings high and snapping them into place. She wondered what Andrew had thought of the absurdly feminine underwear, if he had found it an odd choice for someone with so little feminine appeal. She turned, as if to find the answer on his slumbering face.
And she saw that he was watching her.
For a moment she stood completely still. She wondered how long he had been staring at her, and exactly what he had seen.
“Very little,” he said, as if he had read her mind. He didn’t smile. “You’ve hidden yourself well, Fiona.”
She considered lying. She could tell him that she had to get back to the hotel right away because she was afraid Duncan or Mara would look for her this morning and become concerned. She could say that she had wanted to make him breakfast, and the cottage was too cold for naked flesh.
But this was Andrew, and he deserved better. She said nothing.
“Did last night mean nowt?” He sat up. The duvet lay carelessly over his lap, but his chest was broader and more powerful than her hands had told her. He was magnificent.
“Last night meant everything,” she said.
“I think no’.” He shook his head, and his eyes were sad. “Who was it that I made love to last night? I remember the feel of her. She was soft and pliable, as womanly as a man’s fondest dream. But today she’s gone, as surely as if she were that dream, and a dream only.”
“Andrew…”
“Come back to bed. Take off your clothes and come back to bed.”
She yearned to do it. She yearned to believe that it would change nothing, that he would be as eager to love her once he’d seen her as he had been last night in the darkness. Her hand went to the top button of her blouse.
And froze.
He didn’t make it easier. His gaze was steady and unblinking. “Until you trust me,” he said, “until you trust me to know who it is you really are, then we’ve nowt to say to each other.”
For a moment she couldn’t believe she’d heard him right. He had always understood her fears. Andrew, more than anyone in the world, had understood.
“I understand, but I will no’ accept this from you,” he said, as if, once again, he had read her thoughts.
Anger erupted somewhere deep inside her, like lava spewing from a long-dormant volcano. “And who are you to decide what I will and will not do!”
He stared at her until the silence had a sound of its own. Then he spoke. “I’m the man who will love you, Fiona. The moment that you truly begin to love yourself.”
CHAPTER 16
On a warm summer morning Stardust began her journey to the other side of Serenity Lake. She said goodbye to Lockjaw, who wishe
d her a safe trip. The trout were too frightened to say farewell, but they flapped their fins from a safe distance. The eels spelled out Good Luck with their nimble bodies. Stardust quickly reached the drop off where the water grew deeper. She had never come this far before, and for a moment she almost turned back. Then she thought about how lonely she was. Even her imagination had failed her. Stardust knew that she had to cross the lake, even if Lockjaw was wrong and there were no other water dragons waiting for her. The water was deep and dark, but she had to try.
“It’s a nice little church, but I’m in danger of becoming a sun worshiper. If the sun ever shines again.” Duncan strolled down the center aisle of the village kirk with Iain at his side.
Andrew was already at the front, arranging the lectern that would be used for the meeting. He hadn’t felt comfortable using the pulpit, and the minister, a sympathetic man who was concerned about the fate of his parishioners, had brought in a simple wooden stand from his own study.
“No sermons, Andrew?” Iain nodded at the old walnut pulpit looming in the corner. “And I’d so looked forward to hearing you preach.”
“I suspect before the night is finished you’ll hear more preaching than you’d ever wished.” Andrew joined them just in front of the first pew.
“Do you think we’ll have a good turnout?” Iain asked.
“I think everyone who matters will come. Those who plan to sell and those who are on the fence. Those who have no stake in it will stay at home.”
“Then everyone should be here,” Duncan said. “Everyone has a stake.”
Iain set the papers he’d been carrying on the lectern. “Have you prepared a speech?” he asked Andrew.
“I think that would be unwise. If I’m too formal, they’ll feel I’m trying to manipulate them. I’m just going to state my concerns. They’ll have the papers you’ve prepared that show what Carlton-Jones and Surrey have done in other places and what’s happened as a result. But in the long run, it will no’ be what I say or what they read that matters. It will be how determined they are to help each other. If each thinks only of himself, we’ll be lost. But if they’re willing to act for the greater good…”
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