by Kimberly Nee
Maybe it was time that changed.
Leaning against the wall beside the window, hands on his hips, he studied her. She sat up, folding her legs beneath her skirts, the points of her knees defined beneath the fabric. Her gaze remained steady, on him, and she didn’t fidget at all. Maybe he’d been selling her short all this time. No. There was no maybe about it. He did. Pure and simple.
Did he trust her?
She blinked, her sooty lashes sweeping against her lightly sun-kissed cheeks. God, she was beautiful. Inside and out. He knew it when he was eighteen, and she brought him out a plate of food and sat there with him at the wishing well.
A dark curl lay over her shoulder in a perfect spiral. He couldn’t resist, but joined her on the bed again and reached for that curl, letting it slip like raven silk through his fingers. The light played along the dark strands, streaking them with red and gold, making them seems as if they glowed with an inner fire. “Em…”
Her hand came up, her fingers weaving into his. “What happened that night, Julian?” she murmured, squeezing his hand gently.
How did he tell her? He turned away from her and brought both hands up to rub his face. It felt like the weight of his entire life rested squarely upon his shoulders, and when he confessed, it would forever change the way she looked at him.
She touched his shoulder, her fingers curving over in a gentle squeeze. “Julian?”
The air felt thick with tension; there was only way to slice it, and that knife lay in his hand. She kneaded his shoulder and it felt so wonderful, sank into him like a salve. He drew in a deep breath, bracing himself for whatever would come next as he finally spilled the secret he’d carried half of his life.
“I’m the one who killed my father that night.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
EMMA STARED AT HIS BACK, suddenly cold, as if every drop of blood, as if the warm air, simply ceased to exist. Even Julian’s shoulder felt cold to the touch. She swallowed hard, her throat tight as she asked, “What do you mean?”
“I mean I’m the one who shot him that night. Not my mother.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, her thoughts streaking back to that awful night which still remained so firmly etched in her memory, even after all this time. It had been hot and sticky, and sleeping was almost impossible. She’d gone to the kitchen in search of something cool to drink and was on her way back to her chambers when she heard the commotion in Garrett’s chambers.
The door was ajar and she, ever curious, made herself comfortable in the shadows just outside the room. From her vantage, she could see half of Garrett’s room, and what she saw, she knew she’d never forget.
Julian stood there, more disheveled than she’d ever seen him. His white shirt was wrinkled and spattered with dark, shiny stains. His breeches were equally dirty and wrinkled, wet in patches as well. His face was ghostly white, his eyes wild and his words tumbling over each other as he said, “Garrett…there’s been an accident…God in heaven…”
“Easy,” came Garrett’s soft reply, and with a hand on Julian’s arm, he guided Julian away from the window and out of sight. “Let me wake my father.”
She turned and hurried back to her chambers, all the while wondering what had happened. It wasn’t until the next morning, when one of Cheltenham’s maids made the grisly discovery, that Emma realized the blood she’d seen smeared on Julian’s shirt was that of his parents.
Now he stared at her, and she realized he was waiting for her to say something. The best she could manage was, “Why?”
“Why, indeed,” he replied bitterly. “Because he’d killed her. And I’d be damned if I’d give him the opportunity to do the same to me.”
Emma bit her bottom lip. For so many years, her family accepted him as one of their own, and he had spent more time with the McKenzie clan than he his own family. She never thought much about it, aside from the tight bond of friendship between him and her brothers. But now, it occurred to her that the reason he haunted their house was far darker. It was safer than his own home. And even now, that sent an ache crimping the edges of her heart.
“Was he going to?”
Now Julian turned back to her and sank against the headboard. He rubbed his face with both hands and then lowered them as he nodded. “I believe so, yes.”
“Then you had no choice.” She winced as her words were so faint, as if her voice was failing her. She didn’t know what to say. How was she supposed to react to him admitting he’d killed his own father. She didn’t want to believe it, but how could she not after his confession?
“That’s what I tell myself, but I’m not so certain I believe it.” As he spoke, he lifted his head and met her gaze with steely eyes. “And either way, I’ve no regret about doing it.”
A dull ache started at the base of her skull and slowly crept through her entire head. No. This couldn’t be possible. Her mouth went dry; her heart thudded dully against her ribs. Did others know this? Did they suspect? When they whispered, was it about more than just the theory of bad blood?
And for the first time in a long time, she was at a complete loss for words.
That loss only lasted a few minutes, and then she pushed up onto her knees, slid her arms about his shoulders, and pressed her cheek against his. “It’s all right, Julian. You did what you had to do.”
He shook his head, rubbing his palms together, lacing and unlacing his fingers as if he couldn’t keep them still.
Finally, she couldn’t stand his fidgeting any longer and caught him by both wrists to hold them still. His fingers tensed, then eased, and finally went still. “They say I’m crazy because of that night. And your mother just knows I’m going to go mad and kill you one night. And now that you’re going to have a baby will only make it worse.”
“No, she doesn’t. She believes the gossip because it’s safer.” She rubbed his wrists with tender fingers. “But I don’t believe it.” Still even as she tried to assure him, there was the tiniest shadow, an almost invisible hint of doubt. That doesn’t mean I can’t become violent.
No. She didn’t know the entire story. There had to be more to it. Surely Julian didn’t just pick up a gun and shoot Sean McCallister. Julian said his father had already shot his mother and was about to turn the gun on him. Why? What happened behind Cheltenham’s wall?
She had to know.
“Julian?”
“Yes?”
She slid her hands free and then eased down from the bed to come around and face him. He hadn’t changed, not that she expected him to. He didn’t look like a crazed killer. No. He was the same Julian McCallister she’d known and loved for over half her life, with the same dark hair that fell over his forehead, the same eyes that hovered somewhere between blue and gray, the same crooked smile that made her melt from the inside out. Nothing had changed. Not one bit.
She caught him by the hands as she crouched before him. There was such pain in his eyes that she would have done anything, would have given up her own soul, to take it away and make him forget. But since that wasn’t possible, she did the only thing she could, which was share it with him. “What happened that night?”
“I just told you.”
“No, I mean what led up to…to that? What really happened?”
His fingers, rough and thick, twitched against hers, scraped roughly against her own, smoother skin. He said nothing, but stared down at her, his eyes pleading with her to understand. She would, no matter what he confessed to, because she knew, deep down, he wasn’t going to go mad. He never had and he never would.
“Julian?”
“You know what happened up there.” His voice was only barely audible. “I know you know, Em.”
She nodded. “You had a bruised eye, and I thought Garrett had given it to you. I went to his room to demand he apologize, and he told me to mind my own business.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No. I was seven and very pushy and I refused to budge.” She chuckled. “Finally, just to
get me out of his room, he told me what happened. Your father did it. And I didn’t believe it. Fathers don’t blacken their son’s eyes. Ever. But that’s what Garrett said, and since he was getting growly, as he does when his patience is about to shred completely, I thought it best to tell him what wanted to hear. I still didn’t believe it, but I told him I did.”
His fingers tightened on hers. “It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. And that night, I’d had enough. Unfortunately, I’d also had a bit too much to drink as well. When I returned home, he’d already started in on her about something. To this day, I haven’t a clue what it was, but he was infuriated over it. They were both screaming at one another. She slapped him; he hit her back. Next thing I knew, she was rising up from behind the sofa with one of his pistols in her hand. When I looked to see my father, I realized he held the other. That’s what he hit her with. The butt of his ivory handled pistol. He wanted to draw serious blood.”
She squeezed his hands, but he didn’t flinch as he continued, his voice now a little shaky, “The butt of it split open her cheek. Right over the bone. In the time it took for her to stand, he had already aimed. And then he fired.”
He cleared his throat to steady his voice. “I don’t know what happened after that. I was drunk, I saw her fall, and while I was at her side, he reloaded. I looked up, and that damn gun was pointed at me. That was it. The next thing I know, I was standing over him, the gun in my hand, and he was sprawled on the floor with a hole in his chest.” His eyes reddened and grew shiny, but no tears fell. His voice wobbled, but his time, it didn’t crack. “And I wasn’t sorry about it, Em. Not the least bit sorry. Do you know what I felt as the smoke cleared?”
Although she didn’t know if he expected her to answer, she shook her head.
He drew in a shaky breath, exhaled slowly, and said, “Relief. It was over.” He raised his hands above his head in a gesture of triumph. “It was all over.” His lips rose in a wry grin. “And I was every bit as mad as he was.”
“That is nonsense. He was going to shoot you, Julian. You did what you had to do. Not because you are mad, but because you had to. Don’t you get that? You had to do it, Julian. Had to.”
“Did I?”
“Yes.” She nodded. “You did. Did you honestly believe he was going to shoot you? Because if so, then you had no other choice.”
He slid his right hand from her grasp and pulled it through his hair. His shoulders sagged, but then he lifted his head. His eyes were dry now, and only a little red. “He was going to. I know it as sure as I know my name.”
“Julian…” She rose, wincing at the stiffness in her knees. It took several long moments to loosen the joint enough to disperse the pain. As it eased, she shifted to sit on his knee, “You’ve been keeping this secret all this time? How is it you didn’t go mad from that?”
She held her breath as he remained stiff against her. But then, his arms eased about her waist and a sad smile touched his eyes. “Well, we don’t know for certain that I’m not mad.”
Teeth pulling at her bottom lip, Emma shook her head. “I don’t believe that for a moment. Not one moment.”
He held her gaze, his eyes tender. “I love you.”
She’d imagined this moment for so long, what it would be like to hear those words, and to finally be able to say them without risk of being laughed at. And yet, in her mind, their impact was nothing compared to the actual impact. It was a good thing she sat, for her entire body went numb, and she was pretty sure her heart stopped beating.
She had to fight to keep the smile from creasing her face, even as her heart not only started beating, but raced as if she’d just sprinted from one side of the island to the other. “What?”
He curved one hand against her cheek, his touch gentle. “I said, I love you.”
“I know. I just wanted to hear you say it again,” she whispered. Then, her smile broke through, so wide it made her cheeks hurt. “You know, the first time I said it, you laughed at me.”
He drew her into his arms. “You were twelve. I was far too old for you then.” He tilted her face back, and the kiss he brushed her lips with was as light as a butterfly’s wings. “But I was still a fool for laughing.”
“You were. But I think you’ve made up for it since then.” She stretched her fingers up into the hair at the nape of his neck. It was so soft, silky against her skin, and she stroked it, smiling as he groaned softly and his eyes slid shut.
“I’d like to keep making it up to you.” He dipped in, his lips teasing as they moved against hers. A sigh rose in her throat as his tongue probed through her lips and slid along hers in a silken caress. Her belly quivered, her arms tightened about him, and she met his kiss teasing stroke for teasing stroke.
Julian pulled her closer, crushing her against him, and when he rose, the pit of her belly wooshed in a way that made her giggle.
He pressed her into the mattress, covering her body with his. When he broke away to trail fiery kisses along her throat, she didn’t even try to hold back her gasp of pleasure.
She shivered as the delicious sensations ran riot through her. He knew just how to kiss, how to nip at her skin and then soothe with a teasing flick of his tongue. Her skin hummed with desire as he brushed a kiss into the valley between her breasts.
His fingers skittered over her back, and she shivered again as her gown fell open. It was so wicked, so wanton, allowing him to tug her bodice down in full daylight, but she didn’t care. What was the worst that could happen?
Julian lifted his head, sliding one hand up along her ribs to curve against her breast. She bit down on her bottom lip as his thumb slid over her nipple, and the bead pressed up into the fabric of her bodice. That simple, teasing stroke lit a fire inside her, spreading smoke through her veins, sending her blood bubbling with desire.
He smiled and then rolled, taking her with him, to pull her atop him so he could free her from both gown and corset. He shifted to bring her above him, his mouth catching her puckered breast to suckle through the linen. Wet heat surged through her as his tongue swirled about her now-aching nipple. It filled her, twisted and tightened everything inside her until her head spun from the pleasure and her body ached to take him inside her.
His hands skimmed up her thighs, dragging her chemise with it. He broke away long enough to whisk it from her and let it fall into the shadows on the far side of the bed. But every time she reached for him, he teasingly swatted her hands until finally, he caught her by the hands, lacing his fingers through hers to pin them to the bed above her head.
“Enough, Emma.” His voice was ragged with desire, deep with need. “We have all the time in the world now, and I am not rushing this.”
She squeezed her eyes shut as his tongue, rough and teasing, flicked against one nipple, then the other.
He tortured her in the most sensuous way possible, leaving her gasping for breath and aching for him all over. He nipped. He licked. He kissed his way down over her belly, and fire filled her as he reached the mound of dark curls between her thighs.
“Julian…” Dear God, she sounded so breathless, and yet her voice wavered with need. How much more could she stand? And when the devil would he let her touch him the same way? She wanted to run her hands all over him, wanted to kiss and tease him the same way he did her.
He didn’t answer, but nuzzled those curls. Her eyes rolled back in her head as his tongue slid through them to spear her with a sizzling pleasure that tore through her, threatening to rip her apart at the seams.
Higher and higher, he took her, her blood almost singing with pleasure, her hands scrabbling through his hair, her fingers searching desperately for something to hold on to before ecstasy swept her away. She found it in his hair, twisting as she gripped it, her hips rising to meet each delicious caress.
Then it happened. Her entire body opened for him, the starbursts white with intensity as fierce, fiery pleasure exploded through her. “Julian!”
He urg
ed her on with those teasing flicks and swirls, shoved her over the edge as her back arched and her hips pulsed in time with each amazing burst. Her release consumed her with sharp teeth and sultry bliss until her throat went hoarse and no breath remained in her lungs.
Then, when it all became too much and she tried to shove him away, he brought her back to earth with the same gentleness, and she quivered beneath him, her heart hammering at her ribs, dots dancing before her eyes, and her head spinning with reaching the ultimate in bliss.
He came back up, long, teasing kisses soothing every aching bit of skin from her hip to her lips. She clung to him, wrapping her legs about his hips and savoring his groan as his thick erection ground up into her. Grabbing two fistfuls of his shirt, she yanked it from the waist of his breeches.
He shivered, a low moan teasing her ears as she playfully nipped at his nipple, and it rolled on when she tugged open his breeches and freed him without a hint of shyness.
“Let me,” he ground, rocking back on his knees to shed his breeches.
Then he was back, covering her, dipping to let his manhood tease her back to full arousal. And when he slid inside her, she welcomed him with a throaty moan.
His first thrust filled her, stretched her, and she savored every last sensation. It sparkled all through her in flashes of red and yellow and gold. Those beautiful flashes of light carried such pleasure.
He drew back, lifting up on his forearms to smile down at her. “Emma…”
She traced her fingernails up over his back, finding pleasure in how he shivered beneath her touch. “I love you,” she whispered, her eyes searching his.
He bent to kiss her then gave a swift thrust. “I love you, too.”
“Promise me” —her words grew breathy as he sent delight spiraling through her— “that it will always be like this.”
“Oh, I promise you,” he whispered, “It will.”
And with that, he arched deep to tear any remaining words from her throat.