Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Owen stroked Charlotte's hair as she drifted in and out of sleep.
He smiled as she yawned for the fifth time.
He had tried to convince her to sleep after she woke up the first time, but she told him she wanted to continue talking to him and keep him company since he was not sleepy.
She had ended up falling asleep mid-conversation.
Owen replayed what had happened between them in his mind.
A part of him was happy that it had happened.
Something had been building between them from the minute he saw her, and Owen had done all he could to ignore it until he could no longer do so.
He stroked her cheek gently, resting his chin on her head.
When he realized he had been her first in so many ways, he smiled.
No wonder she blushed horribly every time he teased or put her on the spot.
She was innocent, and that was what endeared her to him the most. He had enjoyed her moans as the effects of his administrations ran through her body.
He wished he could do it all over again.
Charlotte was the polar opposite of the women he'd known while living with his family.
He preferred women who were well-versed in bed and knew exactly what he desired and how to satisfy his desires.
But there was something about her innocence that touched him deeply.
Charlotte had been shy and reserved at first, and Owen had relished every moment of it.
But he liked it even more when her desire for pleasure caused her to let go of her inhibitions and shame.
Owen swallowed. Her sweet nectar was still in his mouth, and her scent was all over him.
He took a whiff of her before replacing his fingers with his tongue.
Her scent was imprinted on his mind. When she moaned and moved closer to him, he smiled and continued stroking her hair.
He was amused by her reaction to him. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her closer, inhaling the scent of her hair.
She smelled familiar, like the evenings he spent in the monastery's garden. Fresh flowers filled his nostrils.
He was glad that he could control himself and had not taken things further. He had never been so affected by a woman the way he was with her. And yet, he had wanted her to have a beautiful experience. At that moment, he had not cared for his own pleasure.
Owen knew he could not have taken things too far because no matter what drove him to the monastery, he was still a monk.
Owen felt guilty. He might not have joined the other monks to pray, but he knew the rules that governed the brotherhood and he had broken it.
He had given in to her wants and allowed himself to stay in an enclosed space with a woman, even though he had the choice to do otherwise.
Even worse, Owen had given in to his base desires.
It had not even been a day since he left the monastery and had already begun descending into his old life.
He looked down at Charlotte as she stirred in her sleep, murmuring something he couldn't understand.
She was a beautiful woman. Her blonde hair, though rough cut, gracefully framed her face.
She had lovely, full lips. Her eyes were stunning.
When he first met her, it was her intensity that struck him the most; it added to her beauty.
Even though she was sleeping and her eyes were closed, she still appeared beautiful and ethereal to him.
Her long, blonde lashes danced graciously across the apple of her cheeks.
Owen groaned. She was too much of a distraction, too much of a temptation for him.
Not that he could blame her for his earlier actions.
He had been glad to receive her attention and had been the one to take it further.
He tried to brush off the guilt. There was nothing he could do to change what had happened.
Charlotte moved in her sleep once again, and Owen felt the softness of her breasts on his side.
His breath caught in his throat. He was still very much tempted by her and did not think that he would ever not be.
Maybe when they got to his home and finally parted ways, he could get her out of his mind.
The thought of not being able to see Charlotte anymore filled him with grief.
Somehow, in their short time together, Owen had grown quite fond of her in a way he had not felt for anyone in a long time.
Her quick banter, comical fear of bugs, and ability to go from witty to shy in a minute was endearing.
How could he let her go? He knew he would not be able to stay calm if she was not with him.
Charlotte had dangerous men searching for her. So how could he just let her go, knowing that at any minute, she could be snatched up by the very people she had gone all this length to escape?
He chuckled when he felt the weight of her leg on his thigh as she adjusted her position again.
He caressed it softly above the gown that pooled below her waist where he had left it during their earlier act.
Owen paused when his hand grazed a rough patch that did not feel like the skin of her gown.
He looked up at Charlotte, feeling guilty for what he was about to do while she slept.
He slowly sat up, making sure not to wake her.
Owen lifted the hem of her dress a tad higher than where it sat and looked at the bump on her leg. He ran his hand up and down the rough patch absentmindedly, just as his mind struggled to reconcile what he was looking at.
And then, it donned on him. Like a flash of lightning, it was her. He ran his hands up and down his face, wondering how he had not made the connection until ow.
"Charlotte," he murmured over and over again. He could never forget that name, not when it plagued him in his dreams. He had tried all he could to erase the memory of the man screaming the name at the top of his lungs just before he jumped into the fire to rescue the girl, and here he was with her.
Her father had died in that fire while trying to save her. He had watched the fire burn her leg just before he ran to rescue her, and it was on the same spot as the burn wound his hands currently caressed. He looked at her hair. The girl he had tried to rescue had long blonde hair.
His heart began to hurt. This was not a coincidence.
There was no way a lass who bore all the similarities to the girl who had plagued him for years was suddenly right before him.
Owen let out a shuddering breath and arranged the gown to cover the scar on her leg before moving it from his thigh and placing it on the bed.
Yet, despite what his head knew to be true, he tried to reason with himself that it was not true.
No, there was no way fate had placed her before him like this. That would be too cruel.
He looked at Charlotte, who had woken up after he moved her leg. Her eyes struggled to remain open as she stared at him, but he knew she would soon succumb to sleep, so he took advantage of the opportunity.
"Charlotte, how exactly did yer faither die?" he asked her shakily. He already knew the answer to that question, yet he prayed that she would give him an answer that would prove she was not the one he had encountered many years ago.
"He died in a… house fire at the Musgrave… castle," she said in between yawns before falling back asleep.