Chapter 19 #2
There was no gentle request, no slow lean. His hand snapped up, calloused palm cupping her jaw, fingers tangling in the hair at her nape to tilt her face to his. His mouth crashed down on hers, not a kiss but a claiming.
This was no careful meeting of lips. It was devouring.
He tasted of the night’s rain and the sharp, metallic tang of his own frustration.
There was nothing polite in it, only a raw, open-mouthed hunger that demanded her surrender.
For a single, suspended heartbeat, she stiffened, her mind screaming a protest that was instantly smothered. Thought shattered into sensation.
His other hand, rough and warm, slid from her jaw to her cheek, his thumb a brutal caress along the line of her bone as if memorizing her through force.
His tongue swept into her mouth, a hot, insistent invasion that drew a ragged gasp from her lungs. This wasn’t a man asking, it was a man taking, and the terrifying truth coiling low in her belly was that she was more than ready to be taken.
When he drew back, their breaths tangled in the hush. His eyes searched hers. “That,” he said quietly, “is what ye do to me.”
Scarlett tried to gather herself, her lips tingling, her thoughts refusing to catch up. “Ye kiss me and call me insufferable in the same breath. I cannae tell if that’s an insult or confession.”
“Both,” he said, the ghost of a smile at his mouth. “Because it’s the truth.”
She shook her head, breathless. “Ye think truth excuses everything, do ye?”
“Nay,” he said softly. “But it’s all I’ve got left when I look at ye.”
Her heart pounded so hard, she was certain he could hear it. “Ye talk like a man who regrets it already.”
“Maybe I do,” he murmured. “But regret’s easier than wanting what I cannae have.”
Scarlett stared at him. “And what is it ye think ye cannae have?”
He didn’t answer right away. His hand, still near her cheek, flexed once before he lowered it.
“This,” he said simply. “Peace. Control. Whatever name ye give it, I lose it when I’m near ye.”
Scarlett swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. “Then why come at all?”
Robert’s eyes met hers, steady, almost defiant. “Because staying away hurts worse.”
Scarlett’s pulse fluttered in her throat. She wanted to be angry; she should have been, but her body betrayed her, warmth blooming where anger should have been.
“Ye’ve a cruel way of saying such things,” she said at last. “Ye make it sound like a curse.”
He gave a low laugh. “Maybe it is.”
She searched his face, the hard lines softened by firelight. “Ye talk of madness and curses, but what do ye want of me, truly?”
“For now?” His voice dropped, rough and quiet. “Only the truth.” Her pulse jumped. “And if I say I daenae ken what that is?” “Then I’ll wait till ye do.”
He was close again, so close she could see the flicker of the fire in his eyes, could feel his breath against her skin. For a moment, she thought he might kiss her again, and God help her, she wanted him to.
Instead, his hand brushed the pendant at her throat, tracing the chain lightly with his thumb. “Ye’ve kept it on.” “I didnae think to take it off.”
He hummed under his breath. “Or ye didnae want to.” Scarlett’s cheeks burned, but she held his gaze. “It was a gift.”
“And gifts mean nothing, aye?” he said, repeating her own words. “Ye said they were only coin and courtesy.”
Her throat tightened. “I was wrong.”
He smiled then, not the sharp, guarded smile she knew but something gentler, unguarded. “A rare thing to hear ye say that.” “Daenae get used to it.”
He chuckled low, the sound curling around her. For a moment, the storm outside faded, and there was only that sound, warm and dangerous.
Scarlett forced herself to breathe. “Ye cannae keep coming here, Robert. I meant what I said. This night is mine.”
“Aye,” he said quietly. “I ken that. But I had to see ye.” Her defenses wavered. “To do what? Torment me?” “To remind ye that what’s between us is real.”
She blinked, startled by the rawness in his voice. “Real?” she echoed. “Ye mean the arguments? The games?”
He shook his head slowly. “Nay, lass. I mean this pull, this ache. It’s rare, and it’s ours, whether we name it or not.”
Scarlett stared at him, words lost. For the first time, he looked almost uncertain, as if saying the truth aloud had cost him something.
Before she could speak, he stepped back.
“Sleep well, Scarlett,” he said at last. “I’ll trouble ye naymore tonight.”
“Robert…” she began, but he was already moving toward the door.
He hesitated there with his hand on the latch.
Then, without looking back, he said, “I never meant to make ye doubt what ye are. Or what ye do to me.”
And with that, he was gone. The door closed softly behind him.
Anger warred with something softer, something she didn’t dare name. He had come uninvited, kissed her without warning, and still somehow left her wishing he had stayed.
When she finally lay back, the pillow cool beneath her cheek, the storm outside had quieted. But inside her, it still raged, wild, restless, and far from over.
Would she ever truly understand him?
Or worse, would she ever stop wanting to try?