Mine comes right in behind hers. It’s going to be a big one since it’s been a while. I rise and grab her hips, bringing her down hard as I thrust deep. I hold her in place as I spasm, completely emptying myself.
When it’s over, I move my hands to her waist and press my head to her chest. “I missed you terribly, lass.”
“I missed you too. I’m very happy to have you back.” She places her hands on my face and forces me to look at her. “Never do that to me again. Ever.”
“I’ll do my best, Bonny.” But I’m Fellowship. She knows this. I can make no promises.
She’s still holding my face. “Say it with me.”
I know what she’s talking about. Together we say the words. “Into me … you see.”
She sighs and puts her arms around my shoulders. I wince when she forgets about my injury and squeezes too hard. “Oh, I’m sorry. You should lie back down.”
She’s avoiding my shoulder. “I will if you’ll swap sides with me. You’re distancing yourself because of my injury.” I crave her nearness. We’ve been too far apart this week.
She lies with her head on my uninjured shoulder while I rub her upper arm. We stay like that for a while, quiet, simply enjoying the gift of being together.
With silence comes thought, and my mind wanders back to the first night we were together. Bleu has never explained her infertility issues. She only said it was something I’d care nothing about. I didn’t at the time. I was too busy being happy about it to question her, but things are different now.
Anyone knows healthy young women aren’t routinely checked by their doctors for infertility unless they’ve tried to conceive and couldn’t. Bleu came to me a virgin, so that clearly isn’t the case. “How do you know you can’t get pregnant?”
She doesn’t answer right away. “I never said I couldn’t get pregnant.”
I sit up abruptly because I want her to look me in the face when she explains this one. “You told me you couldn’t get pregnant.”
“That may be what you heard, but that’s not what I said.”
“Then please, clarify.”
“I said you shouldn’t worry about getting me pregnant. There’s a difference.”
“We’ve been having unprotected sex because I believed you were infertile.”
“I’ve had severe polycystic ovarian syndrome since I was seventeen. I lost an ovary when I was twenty and the remaining one is nonfunctional. My doctors tell me I’ll likely lose it within the next couple of years, so in vitro is the only chance I have at becoming pregnant.”
I’m no reproductive specialist but I understand the basics. “If you don’t have ovaries, how can they do in vitro?”
“I did a retrieval procedure two years ago in case I ever wanted to have babies. My eggs are frozen until I choose to use them.”
She wouldn’t have done that if she didn’t want children. “You want babies.” I don’t know why I’m surprised by this revelation.
“I do, very much, but only if the circumstances are right. Don’t you?”
“I’ve never allowed myself to think of what I might want because I’ve always known what was expected—enter into a Fellowship-approved marriage and breed the next leader. That is what has been drilled into me for as long as I can remember.”
“That’s a bleak plight.” She couldn’t be more right.
“If my wife doesn’t hate me from the start, she’ll grow to once I take our son from her and rear him to lead The Fellowship.” That’s what happened between my mum and father.
“What would happen if you didn’t choose a wife from within your circle?” she asks.
“The Fellowship would never accept that.”
“Would they rally against you, their future leader?”
“They’d see my wife as a loose end. That’s something they wouldn’t tolerate.”
“Would they kill her? Or you for choosing to bring her in?”
“The Fellowship has a strict code for dealing with acts against the brotherhood. It’s called penance.”
“Which includes …?”
“Bleu. You’re highly accepting of this life, although you aren’t from this world. I love that about you, but I don’t really want to discuss penance. It isn’t a pleasant thing.”
“I want to know.”
She’s already up to her eyeballs in The Fellowship. “We have a secret location called a black site. Only a few brothers know its location. It’s where many things take place—penance, initiation, the occasional torture or … It’s not a place you want to be taken. If you find yourself there, you need to get out fast.”
“Is that where you took those men you killed the night I was attacked?”
“We aren’t going to talk about that.”
“You never told me what you did to them.” I’m not sure Bleu could ever look at me the same if she knew.
“And I won’t now, either.”
“Why not?”
“Once you learn certain things, there’s an invisible line you cross where there’s no return. There are dark things that will keep your heart from ever seeing the light again. I don’t want that for you.” And that’s why I’ll never allow her to be tainted by the ways of The Fellowship.
Chapter Nineteen
Bleu MacAllister
The drapes are closed but sunlight peeks into the room through a tiny gap in the fabric. I’ve been in Scotland for months and I’m still not accustomed to the long daylight hours. My mind and body remain confused by the short nights.
I reach for Sin but he isn’t by my side. I’m sure he’s in his office working. That’s all he’s done the past two weeks since discharge from the hospital—playing catch-up.
Against doctor’s orders, Sin only took a few days off before returning to his duties at the firm. I’m not at all surprised. He has little to no concern for his health since he thinks he’s invincible. His worry always lies with the well-being of The Fellowship. And me.
I’m certain Sin has come to care for me very much. Our relationship won’t sit well with the brotherhood. It’s possible it won’t be tolerated. That could mean big trouble for me. The rational side of my brain tells me I’m being foolish by playing with a fire I can’t extinguish. If I were smart, I would end this, kill Thane, and get out before I’m discovered.
But I’m not smart. I’m in love.
I move to sit on the edge of the bed and stretch. I plant my feet on the floor and hear a sound I could never mistake—the music of a violin. I fetch my robe from the chair and slip it on as I go toward Sin’s office to discover who the musician is.
I stop in the doorway to admire Sin’s playing. It’s as though he’s making love to the instrument while playing Canon in D Major. I watch him drag the bow and I’m almost jealous of the loving manner in which he regards his instrument.
How could I not know he was a violinist? I love learning new things about him but this is another blunder on my part. I should have at least noticed calluses on his fingers.
His playing ceases when he catches sight of me and I’m left with wanting to hear more. “Please … don’t stop. You play beautifully.”
I move to sit on his desk and he grins before resuming the tune. I close my eyes, savoring every beautiful note until he reaches the end. When he finishes, he leans forward and places a soft kiss against my temple. “Did I wake you?”
“No. I was already awake when I heard you.”
“I haven’t played in a long time. I’m not really sure why I decided to just now.” Okay. Maybe that’s why it never popped up in my research. And he wouldn’t have calluses if he hasn’t played in a while.
I lift my brows and hold out my hands. “May I?”
He shrugs. “Sure.”
He comes to stand behind me and places the lower bout over my collarbone. “Put your jaw here, against the chin rest.” He takes my hand and wraps it around the neck. “Comfortable?”
I allow him to position the violin as though I’ve never hel
d one. “Yes.”
“Keep your wrist rounded. Don’t rest it on the neck,” he instructs.
“Okay.”
He places my fingers where he wants them and then holds the bow for me to take. “Want to try?”
“Sure.”
He steps away and I move my fingers to the place I prefer and stroke the bow across the strings. He leans against his desk and watches as I play the intro to my favorite song. “My choice in music is a little different from yours.”
“I see that.” He’s surprised I play—perhaps even a little impressed. “I don’t know the song but I can see you play quite well.”
“It’s called “Black Orchid” by Blue October.” This is a song I’ve played no less than a thousand times, mostly when I’ve been in a dark place I couldn’t escape. The lyrics are about deep depression but oddly, it brings me comfort.
I’ve allowed myself few things in life that had nothing to do with my plan to end Thane, but my love for catching still images through photography and the joy of playing my violin take the top two spots. Each has allowed me to decompress and express my feelings in ways no one could possibly understand.
I shrug when I finish and curtsy.
“You’re full of trickery, Bonny Bleu.”
“You should probably know it won’t be the last time.” Total truth.
Sin takes the violin and bow from me, placing both on his desk. He glides his hands down the satin gown over my hips and rests them at my lower back. “I’ve never had so much in common with a woman, or with anyone for that matter. Not even Leith or Jamie.” He’s holding me close and looks as though he wants to kiss me but doesn’t. Instead, he studies my face, beginning at my eyes. “I’m not sure what to make of it.” He strokes the back of his fingers down my cheek and rubs his thumb over my bottom lip. “You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever known. You don’t need me to protect you, and while I love that about you, I hate it as well. I sometimes find myself wishing you needed me, maybe just a little.”
I emasculate Sin, just like every other man I encounter. It’s my curse. My durability is going to cause me to blow this if I’m not careful. “I can be your china doll.”
“That’s not what I’m asking for, Bleu. I don’t need to break you to feel like a man.”
Then what does he want from me? “I don’t understand.”
“I want to be your protector. I’m asking you to let me do that if the time comes.” I think there’s something he isn’t telling me.
I’ve never had a man, other than Harry, who wanted to protect me. The turmoil I’m experiencing is bewildering. He’s asking me to submit to him. While that’s everything I’ve never wanted, it’s all I yearn to do when I look into his eyes.
“I’m yours to keep safe.” My submission to Sin feels like a literal door swinging open to a world I’ve never known while the one behind me slams shut.
“It doesn’t escape me that your agreement to this is a concession.” He brushes his lips across mine. “This isn’t just about protection. I want to take care of you in every way possible.”
“You already do.”
He pulls me close and squeezes my bottom while tugging my lower lip with his teeth. “Go get yourself ready. I’m taking you out today.”
“Where are we going?”
“Breakfast first, and then I’m giving you a proper tour of the city. Wear comfortable shoes.”
“Good. I can put my camera to use. It’s been collecting too much dust.”
* * *
We’re sitting at a booth table at the Royal McGregor looking at the menu. “What will you be having?”
My options are limited, as always. I’m not a huge fan of Scottish cuisine. “I think I’ll go with the French toast.”
He peers over his menu at me. “I brought you out today to show you authentic Edinburgh and you’re going to start the day with French toast and Canadian maple syrup? I don’t think I have to tell you that’s not the least bit Scottish. You should be having the traditional breakfast.”
I look at what it includes. “Your sausage isn’t like what I eat at home. It’s … ugh. And your bacon isn’t bacon. It’s ham from a weird part of the pig. And you can forget me touching black pudding or haggis. I’m not eating anything that includes blood or intestines. I don’t do that at home and I’m not doing it here. French toast and coffee are safe, so that’s what I’m going with.”
He places his menu on the table. “You can try mine.”
He’s wrong if he thinks I’ll be budging an inch. “Oh … no, sir. That won’t be happening.”
He smirks, appearing confident he’ll have his way. “We’ll see.”
We’re halfway through our meal when he makes his first offer of haggis. I don’t as much as glance in his direction. “Try it. You’ll love it.”
“No, thank you.”
“Come on, Bonny.”
“I said no.” He places a small portion on my plate and my stomach immediately churns. “Get that off my plate. It’s going to make me sick.”
He smirks at me. “You’re being childish.”
The churning is worsening. “This isn’t taking care of me.” I bring my napkin to my mouth hoping the nausea will pass.
“What’s wrong with you?”
I point in the general direction of my plate. “That! It’s grossing me out.” I toss my napkin over my plate because now I have an aversion to everything on it. “Excuse me.”
I get up from the table and go to the restroom. I pat my face with a cool, wet paper towel and breathe in deeply and slowly.
I must’ve been in the restroom for a while when I hear a knock at the door. “Bonny? Are you all right ?”
“I’m fine. Give me another minute and I’ll be out.”
Of course, he hasn’t returned to his seat when I open the door. He’s standing there waiting for me.
I’m pissed off so I walk past him but he grabs my arm. I yank it from his grasp. “You’re a total ass for doing that. I told you that stuff made me sick.”
He cups his palm around my cheek. “Are you going to be okay?”
I’ve always had a strange aversion to some types of meats and the medication I take for my insulin resistance with the polycystic ovarian syndrome isn’t helping. “It’s debatable, thanks to you.”
“I’m sorry. I thought we were having fun. I had no idea it would make you feel ill.” He puts his curled finger under my chin and lifts, forcing me to look at him. “How can I make it better?”
“I’d like some water with more than five ice cubes.” No way I can look at that stuff again. “And have those plates taken away from the table.”
“They’re already gone.” He loops his arm through mine and leads me back to the table. “She needs water over a full glass of ice, please.”
I feel somewhat better after a few sips. “I think I’m okay now.”
He cups his hand over mine. “We can tour the city together another day if you don’t feel well.”
“I’m really fine. It’s passed.”
“I promised you not even two hours ago I was going to take care of you and now you’re ill as a result of something I did. I feel bad about that.” He shakes his head as he looks down at his hand covering mine. “That doesn’t instill huge confidence about my ability to care for you.”
“It was a piece of haggis—not the end of the world. And I take medicine for the ovarian stuff. It’s a diabetic medication for insulin resistance. It often nauseates me so it’s likely that contributed as well.” I lean forward and grasp the back of his neck, pulling him close for a kiss, not giving a damn who’s watching. I press my forehead to his. “Not another word about it,” I whisper. “Got it?”
He nods, causing my head to move with his. “Got it.”
We leave Royal McGregor’s, walking hand in hand up the steep incline of the Royal Mile. We go into several shops along the way but most are full of souvenirs and things you buy when you know you’re leaving soon. I can’t br
ing myself to purchase anything because it feels symbolic of my approaching departure.
“MacAllister is Scottish. Have you ever studied your genealogy?”
Harry has done some research into his family tree but I’m not a MacAllister by blood, so none of what he has learned applies to me. “No.”
“You should. I bet you’d find some interesting facts.”
“I should. I have lots of free time on my hands, being a claimed woman and all.” I feel a few scattered raindrops against my face. I look to the sky. It’s suddenly dreary, the complete opposite of the way it looked only fifteen minutes ago. I’ve learned that’s typical weather for these parts. “Looks as though we’re going to get wet.”
“It rarely lasts for long. If it becomes heavy, we’ll duck into a store or covered alley until it clears.”
The raindrops fall faster as we trudge up the hill. “I’m glad I didn’t work on my hair and makeup for an hour.”
“You’re beautiful without all the fuss.” He gives me a crooked grin. “Come on. I know a place we can go.”
He leads me into a dark, cool alley with seats burrowed into the stone. “We’ll wait here until it stops.” He fidgets with my hand, running his thumb back and forth across the top.
“Will you tell me about losing your leg?” The records I have about Sin’s shooting are obviously incorrect since none mention an amputation.
“What do you want to know about it?” Everything.
“What were the circumstances?
“I was ambushed by a rival alliance called The Order. They had uzis. My leg was no match for that. It was barely hanging on when I arrived at the emergency room. There was no saving it.” That sounds gruesome. And it’s the kind of danger he faces on a regular basis.
“I don’t understand how you’ve kept it secret.”
“It wasn’t difficult. Dad sent me to Lucerne for months. I was rehabilitated by the best doctors in Europe. I could walk almost flawlessly by the time they finished my physical therapy.”
“It must have been awful.” He never exhibits signs of PTSD. I wonder if he sees a therapist.
“It wasn’t pleasant.”