His hips bucked harder, and his groin began to ache, fueled by the passion written all over her. His hand in her hair jerked her head back, leaving her throat exposed, and he buried his face there, his lips parted with ragged gasps.
She lost the battle under the onslaught of his body, arching, convulsing, tightening around him in painful pleasure. Her nails dug in his flesh as her senses spiraled out of control, and she was felled by a frightfully intense haze of pleasure she didn’t want to end.
“Laetitia,” he whispered, as he came in powerful jerks, lightning zipping through him. Her spasms held him in their grip. He fell over her, barely holding himself on his forearms. With the last of his energy, he turned their bodies on their sides so he was holding her tightly against him. They were still connected—he was unwilling to pull from her scorching heat, and she held him tightly in her arms as if she couldn’t let go of him, either. They both breathed in deep gasps of air.
They lay there for several minutes, until their breathing slowed down and the flashing intensity of their lovemaking began to dim.
Warmth, and what looked very much like satisfaction, shone in Tavish’s gaze. He reluctantly let her go and took off the condom.
They had been so passionate—so bold—she didn’t think of possible consequences.
He knew the moment she realized what she’d done: her lax body stiffened, and she began to push him away, her old insecurities coming back hard.
Her breaking of their connection made him somehow feel empty, disconnected.
She quickly grabbed her coat, but before she covered herself up, his hand stilled her.
“Nae. I enjoy looking at you,” he whispered, his hands moving along her collarbone in what could only be called a blatant, sexually possessive manner. “I want to map out all your curves, explore you some more.”
“I don’t . . . I don’t sleep with strangers,” she blurted out, angry with herself for falling under his charms instead of demanding an apology.
Tavish was feeling pretty good at that moment. He hadn’t planned on starting his day out by ravishing her, but he could think of far worse things he could have been doing, but seeing Laetitia staring at him with wide eyes in something akin to shock, his brows lowered in an angry scowl. “We’re no’ strangers, Laetitia, so don’t try that bloody nonsense on me.”
“I—we—” she sputtered, completely lost.
Laetitia never acted harshly, never leaped before thinking, planning. This time, she had just leaped into his arms, in the open, no debate, no considering the consequences.
“You smell so good. You feel so good.” He put his finger on her mouth, stopping her from speaking whatever excuse she was concocting. With a smirk, oozing with overconfidence, he murmured against her creamy-white throat, “We have undeniable chemistry.”
He was lying there in all his naked glory, and her eyes strayed south and back to his face again and then narrowed. She shivered as his hand caressed her lightly, her thoughts thoroughly confused, as her nipples tightened again, responding to the renewed assault on her senses.
“See? Your body knows what you want. You can’t deny it.” The curl of satisfaction on his lips became a full-fledged grin, and he rolled over her. Feeling her tense, he paused just over her lips, waiting for her to push him away. When she didn’t, he kissed her and said, “I thought of everything, Snowdrop.”
She didn’t understand his unspoken need to dominate and control or her willingness to give in to him. Even as she fought against the sensations, because they threatened the sense of independence and reclusion she’d told herself she needed, she wanted more of it.
Nonetheless, she turned her gaze away from those turbulent eyes that seemed to consume her. Because no matter what she felt when she laid eyes on him, yesterday’s hard truths hadn’t changed.
This time, she shoved against his chest and said, “No, Tavish Uilleam. You forgot the most important thing. You forgot to apologize.”
CHAPTER 27
Tavish shoved his feet into his jeans, tugged them on, zipped them up, and pulled his shirt over his head. His long fingers combed his tousled midnight-black hair back, and in a minute, he was as composed as if he had walked out of a shower.
Laetitia, on the contrary, didn’t even try to put her clothes on. It would have taken too much time, and she wanted to be ready as soon as he was.
With just her white overcoat, her hair pulled up in a loose bun, white-blonde tendrils framing her face, her supple legs curled under her, and the lacy bra containing her full, firm breasts, she appeared a vision to Tavish, who looked down at her from his towering position.
He opened his mouth to speak, but she raised a finger.
“Notwithstanding whatever my actions indicated to you, I didn’t deserve your words yesterday, Tavish Uilleam.” She paused, frowned, and asked, “Would you sit, please? It’s a bit difficult to talk with my neck craned all the way back.”
He sat in a fluid movement that spoke of strength and agility acquired from years of training. The nimble way his body moved and flexed was strange to such a large man yet so overwhelmingly powerful and strong that her heart hammered in her chest. She was shaken, having forgotten what she was saying.
However, it was as if he had no idea of the effect he had on her. Before she could counter his statement, he unfolded a large blanket he had brought to keep her warm if they’d decided to stay outside, and he covered her with it. “I came to apologize. And I did.”
“No,” she whispered, barely keeping inside her the sigh that threatened to escape at the thoughtful gesture. “You didn’t.”
Tavish was not a man given to frivolities or romantic gestures, but then he was not a man who was rude, especially not to women. He had returned with the intention to apologize. After fooling security at the main gates, he set up the elaborate picnic, something he’d never done before, and yet forgot to actually speak the words. He waved his hand in air, the gesture encompassing her back garden. “And what do you call this?”
She shook her head, and her white-blonde hair tumbled down from her bun and framed her face. She instantly put it up again, arranging it so it didn’t diminish the effect of what she was going to say. But nothing she did could take her sweetness away. Sometimes, Laetitia detested this quality. It made her feel too easy to destroy, too unprotected from the horrors of the world. And yet, in a dichotomy, it assured her she had remained pure of spirit.
“I call this seduction. Apologies do not need flowers and chocolates, much less sex. They demand heartfelt words. Exactly what you didn’t do.”
He put a hand on the ground and leaned in her direction. “I waited for more than two hours, and—”
“I said I had a few errands to run . . .” She trailed off under his intense scrutiny. She couldn’t convince herself, much less him. “And what gave you the impression I would be here waiting for you? If and when you deigned to appear?”
Since he’d first set eyes on her in paint-spattered clothes, he’d wanted to possess her. Now that he’d had a taste of her, nothing would impede him from making her his. Worse, some primitive part of him loved the idea of marking her, in a civilized way, or not. He hadn’t fathomed how, but he would soon. It didn’t matter much, as long as she was only his.
“I was going tae apologize as soon as ye arrived, but it took ye so long. I—” He compressed his lips in a thin line when he noticed she had tilted her head and was studying him. From her seated position on the tartan, her head lower than his, she had a soft upper hand on the situation.
It should have been an insipid English day, with light rain and a dirty-white sky—a day she would spend alone, safe with her stencils and dependable paints. However, as everything always turned out whenever Tavish was near, even the air prickled with turbulence, the wind picked up as if answering to his moods, and the sun disappeared behind heavy clouds. In the late morning her back garden and the park surrounding her house were painted in colors that could be swayed to turn calm and pa
stel or fiery and bright.
“I’ve spent my entire adult life being careful and cautious, concerned about how I acted around everyone else. Because of many things that happened in my infancy and adolescence.”
“And why was that?”
Laetitia inhaled a troubled breath as her gaze wandered over the romantic scene he had prepared for her and the dramatic landscape around her. “The thing with you is, I didn’t. I didn’t think for one second, and I opened my door to you. But I was wrong. I should have thought about it first. For your sake and for mine, I should have kept my door closed. I am not the woman for you.”
“Not relationship material. Not the woman for me. Are you trying to scare me away?” he asked dryly. His lips twitched. There was a darkness inside of him, forged by the many losses, the torture, all he had seen and experienced in war, that was drawn to the sweetness and light that this strange woman radiated. He wouldn’t let her escape. “War didn’t scare me. The Taliban didn’t, either. Doona think you can, Little Elf.”
The yellow-gray skyline met the reddened-green trees, as charcoal clouds cast a thick haze on the horizon. A zephyr flowed around them, disturbing only ripe leaves and strands of his midnight-black hair.
It was the deceitful calm before the storm, because a thunderstorm was going to hit them if he insisted on continuing to pursue her.
And yet instead of being frightened, she was on fire, overwhelmed by him. His manly handsomeness, his deep voice, his passions and controlling ways.
It was all false hope.
It was worse than no hope.
The mere idea that she could have him was exhilarating, and perhaps she could trust him to protect her from any threats.
At least warn him. Her sense of honor poked at her. Her voice was as soft as falling snow when she said, “You don’t know me. I’m the kind of woman you should leave alone.”
He rubbed his jaw, not quite believing what he’d heard, while he stared at the vision before him, clad—or rather half-clad—in an overcoat. “Really? And who you are, Laetitia?”
Her response was a memorized quote. “‘I’m many things. No one thing defines me.’”
An expression crossed her face and morphed so quickly into one of her small and, this time, sad smiles, but Tavish couldn’t quite understand or ponder it for too long because she turned her head away from him.
“You should leave me alone.” But please, don’t.
Without warning, he grabbed her by the waist, scooped her off her feet, and turned her around to sit on his lap, then cupped her face to confront his probing gaze.
She squealed. “What are you doing?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re babbling.”
“I do not babble,” she informed him, sternly ignoring how good it felt to sit on his lap, his warmth seeping deep inside her. “I was sharing a reasonable argument for a possible course of action in a still nonexistent relationship.”
“Aye?” he mocked with a dark scowl. “You were avoiding the subject.”
She sighed out loud. “Because I don’t want to discuss it.” She wriggled on his lap to free herself, but his arms only tightened around her. “That should be obvious even to a stubborn fifteenth-century barbarian Highlander like you.”
“Too bad this barbarian Highlander is not from the fifteenth century then.” One of his arms snaked around her, caging her body as he cupped her face in his big hand, trapping her in an intimate cocoon. His expression brooding, he said, “You always want to escape just when the conversation is getting interesting.”
“You and I clearly have different definitions of interesting.”
“You don’t think it’s mildly interesting that I, a male, a macho, stubborn fifteenth-century barbarian Highlander, happen to be interested in more than a sexual fling?” The space between their bodies seemed to shrink even more.
Yes, I find it interesting, more than I should. Her eyelids narrowed to thin slits. “You don’t think that I may be not interested in compromise?”
The sea-green eyes blazed at her denial, bothered by her stubborn refusal to admit their growing bond. “That’s not what you implied yesterday. It was in your body language when you entered my suite.”
She shrugged. “That was . . .” I don’t know what I was thinking.
“Aye?”
“Why can’t you understand? I like your companionship. You are an interesting man.” She fought the decadent rush of pleasure that coursed through her veins. “But we need to better establish our . . . connection before moving to something deeper.”
Bingo. “And you think if the connection doesn’t work you can ignore it as you did with the contract.”
She stared into those mesmerizing, beautiful eyes. “That’s exactly what I think.”
“Then all I have to do is show you the wisdom in saying yes to me.”
She pursued her lips and shook her head. “No. This is different.”
“And I don’t have any say in the future of our relationship?”
It isn’t like I have a choice in any of this. She turned her face away. “There is no relationship.”
Like hell there isn’t. “That’s not how it felt when you were begging me not to stop.”
She shifted. Just the memory of being wrapped around this beautiful man sent a heat swirling through her chilled body. Tavish was no Prince Charming; he was like those beautiful dragons of the fairy tales: so mesmerizing one could not walk away, and so lethal it was reckless to dare to tame him.
“Sex. It was just sex,” she muttered, ignoring the fact that she would happily beg again, given the opportunity.
“Nae.” He shook his head. “It was more than sex.”
“It can’t be.”
“Why not?” He wrapped a lock of her hair around his finger.
Aren’t men supposed to want a woman who doesn’t expect “happily ever after”? It’s as if he wants me to claim him as my . . . mate! She almost laughed out loud, but the mere thought of having such a man want her for herself and nothing else was elating. But she shook off the feeling as soon as it appeared. It was mere desire.
“You’re a difficult woman.”
“I told you so before.” She sighed in frustration and glared at him. There is no point in pursuing what will only bring unhappiness to us both. Her voice was soft and lilting, prodding at his spirit, mocking in its gentleness. “Why are you so bent on insisting we have a relationship?”
“Why are you so bent on pushing me away?” He studied her face, trying to discover why there was such a fear. At the same time she physically clung to him, her spirit drifted away. She was a puzzle. One he wanted to solve. “Let’s compromise here. We can go out with no expectations until the day we start working together. Meanwhile, you think—you feel your way around me and how you feel about us two. If you still are against having a relationship with me, we split ways. Just give me a chance to prove to you how good we can be together.”
A swarm of emotions bombarded her. Fear, awe, and, yes, feminine curiosity of how a real relationship could be developed. After all, she had little or almost no experience with men and less with desire.
He traced his fingers over her lips and jaw with surprising gentleness, stopping at the base of her throat, lingering on the wildly thumping pulse. She sucked in a breath and swallowed it, his fingers moving with the motions, an unintentional yet wholly erotic caress that melted her resolve to push him away so fast.
Seeing her debate with herself, he asked, “Can I apologize now?”
Foolish woman, foolish man. “Yes.”
CHAPTER 28
Unlike her ground floor, Laetitia’s bedroom had a more contemporary decor: painted in light-blue and dove-gray tones, with a white iron chandelier and a bed with a button-tucked white headboard shaped curvaceously, covered with a plush white comforter and many pillows. Artfully arranged, they lent the room a warmth and homeliness, which spoke to Tavish’s most deep, secret needs of peace and womanly affection. Its sombernes
s fit Laetitia much more than any girly room could.
“Ugh,” he teased her, “a woman’s cave.”
“Hmm . . . not really.” She motioned around pointing to a shelfful of books, a small desk with a dainty chair beside a fireplace with logs on it, and an armchair on the other side. “It serves multiple functions: bedroom, office, and a place to practice yoga, if the weather doesn’t permit me to do it outdoors.”
She knew she was babbling again, but she had never had a man in her bedroom and was quite nervous. Even though it was roomy and spacious, taking more than half of the second floor of the house, Tavish’s presence made it feel it had shrunk to a very small box.
“A woman’s cave, nonetheless.” He studied her face as she fidgeted from one foot to the other. “You are . . . nervous?”
“Yes,” she said in a small voice. “This is not an everyday occurrence for me.”
Feeling extremely comfortable and amused by her behavior, he turned the chair backward and straddled it, leaning his crossed forearms on its back. “What?”
“What, what?” she said, having forgotten already what he was referring to; she eyed his large torso hugging her chair.
He ogled her large bed, and he wiggled his eyebrows. “What is not a daily occurrence to you? Having men here?”
“Oh, you!” she muttered. She didn’t know what to do. She shouldn’t have agreed to his desire to go up with her to her bedroom. She motioned her hand to the bathroom but paused in the middle of the room; her arm fell down to her side. “Look . . . ah . . .”
“What’s going on in that active mind of yours?” Tavish asked.
“I’m thinking about how bossy and intimidating you can be. And moody,” she admitted, deciding that straightforward was the way to go. She walked to him and cupped his face in her hands, her fingers weaving through his hair, enjoying its silkiness. “About how, in a few days, you have taken away the control of my life. You confuse me. You scare me. I don’t know what to do.”