Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
F iona
I lay on my bed, staring at the pink lamp, mindlessly tapping the corner of the white card he’d sent me this morning on the tabletop of the nightstand, waiting for him to come. It arrived with a dozen roses.
I’ve showered but not bothered to dress up for him. Let him see me as I am, clean-faced and unruly red hair all affright from air drying. No makeup. No concealer or foundation to hide the days of crying and forgotten skin care routines.
I wear an oversized white T-shirt that says, ‘SAVE THE COD!’ and flannel Christmas print pajama pants, a jolly Santa riding a Christmas tree downhill instead of a sleigh.
I’ve agreed to let him come.
But I’ve agreed to nothing more .
Rest assured, I’ll be making no special effort for him.
He was, as I told him, an ass.
There’s a soft, polite knock on the door. Too docile to be his big fist. I almost wonder if it’s someone else, but then I hear his voice.
Lord, just the sound of him, knowing he’s here in this house, makes my pulse quicken, my breaths come faster. Part of me wants to run to him, throw myself in his arms.
The other part of me wants to lock my bedroom door and bury my face in the pillows, unable to face the enormity that is our failed—what word would describe us—relationship?
More of a situationship as Carol Ann would say.
I hear him speaking in quiet tones to my dad. An apology, I’m hoping. I hear my dad tell him he’s going on his afternoon walkabout, a habit he took up when he got sober, choosing to meander across the island shores instead of down to the pub.
The front door closes. Footsteps. Heavy ones. His.
My tummy flips.
I reconsider the air drying of my hair.
But then I see his face.
And everything in this world that isn’t me and him falls away.
When he enters, my heart races to my throat. When I’d agreed to let him come, I had no idea the effect it would have on me, seeing him in the flesh.
He looks even more handsome than I remember. When I left him. And…more desirable, which I’d have thought wasn’t possible. As Kitt would say, the man is HAWT.
Perhaps I find him more attractive because of the distance we’ve had, the humility in his eyes, and the softness in his face.
Or those worn-out work jeans slung around his hips.
I tell my pussy she can forget about it. I wear this ugly tee and flannel as my armor—my chastity belt. He’s not getting anywhere near this.
“Nice shirt,” he says. “Save the cod.”
“Hiya.” I get up and greet him, deciding between a chaste hug and a handshake.
He stops me. “No. Don’t get up. You look so cozy there; I’ll join you.”
So much for my attempt at a platonic welcome. He’s got a lost puppy dog look on his strong face, one I’ve never seen. I don’t have the heart to refuse him.
“Come on in, then.” I pat the covers, turn on my side, facing him with my back against the wall to make room for him. My laughter breaks the tension. “I don’t think we’ll both fit in such a small bed.”
He slides into the bed. “Yer da went for a walk. He says he goes for an hour each afternoon. Otherwise, I wouldnae even dare to.”
He’s so big, he’s hanging off the side of the bed.
“Told you we wouldnae fit,” I laugh.
“Aye, I can. Let me get closer.” He takes me in his arms, holding me tight.
It feels so good to be back like this, him wrapped around me, warm and protective. I reach up, brushing my fingers over the stubble along his jaw. “You shaved your beard.”
“Yeah. It was this whole—” He shakes his head. “Never mind.”
I tap his bare chin, echoing old words back to him. “Who told you that you could do this?”
“Is that what I said to you when you dyed your hair?” he asks.
“Aye,” I say. “And you did some dirty deeds to me because of it.”
“I won’t make any more major decisions without you,” he says. “Promise.”
A funny thought comes over me. “Does this mean I get to punish you if you do?”
“No. No way.” Changing positions, he says, “Never.” He grabs my wrists, pinning them to the pillow above my head. He hovers over me. “Now, tell me what you wouldn’t tell me on the phone. You said you wouldnae come home to me until you told me your one condition.”
“Not till you let me go.” I put on my best lawyer tone—the one I’ve picked up from Freya and her gang. “And because of your terrible acts, now two conditions must be met before I even consider, as you say, returning home. Two. Not one.”
He eyes me, torn between wanting to be in control and knowing, at this moment, I hold every ounce of power in our relationship.
Finally, he exhales. “Fine.” He releases my wrists.
I rise, elbow into the mattress, propping the side of my face against my palm. The earlier thought of being in control tickles the back of my mind. It’s intriguing, the idea of me being the sexy one…
The one calling the shots, making his heart race, making him beg.
I make my decision, raising a brow like he would. “I’m taking charge. On your back.”
“Do I have a choice?” he asks, a naughty grin coming over his face.
“Do as you’re told,” I say. “On. Your. Back.”
The look he gives me is so heated, such a sexy look, I almost lose my nerve and give up. Relinquish control and beg him to do those things he does to me. He has that kind of hold over me.
He rolls from his side to his back. “Yes, ma’am.”
I crawl over him, and he shifts his weight to the center so I can put one knee on either side of his waist. It feels oh-so-good to be this close to him again.
I flatten both my palms against his chest. “Much better.”
“Aye. I agree. You’re gorgeous. And I get to see all of you from here.” He smooths his hands over the tops of my thighs, up and down, slowly, staring up at me like I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.
He makes me feel like I am .
Maybe I am…to him.
Taking his wrists, I slowly guide his arms above his head, leaving them lying there against the bed.
“No touching,” I say. “Keep your hands right where they are.”
Gripping the hem of my raggedy old T-shirt, I begin to lift it. Slowly, teasingly, never taking my eyes from his face. His lip runs over his lips, greedy for more.
“I’m not wearing anything under these clothes,” I say, inching the shirt up and exposing my breasts.
“Fiona,” he moans.
He reaches out to caress my bare breasts, and I stop, leaving the shirt around my neck. “No touching.”
“Damn.”
“Put your hands back where they were.” He obeys. I toss the shirt to the floor. “Good lad.”
Planting my hands on my hips, I let him take in the makeup-free, wild-haired, bare-breasted version of Fiona that he’ll see many a morning if he wants to keep on with me.
He stares up at me, pleading. “Come home, Fiona. I need you.”
His voice makes my heart patter uncontrollably. But first: “My conditions.”
“Anything. Everything. Tell me.”
Sliding a hand over his chest, I cup the base of his neck, my fingers teasing the smooth skin there. “Never, ever, tell me to leave.”
“God, no. Never.”
“Good.” I tighten my hold around his neck. Playful, sexy, but firm.
His eyes darken with need, his voice thick with desire. “You’ll be lucky ever to step foot out that front door again.”
The front door. “And you have to repaint the door from black to pink. Dusty rose.”
“Pink? My door? Do ye know what would be said about me ‘round the city?”
“Joking,” I laugh. “Just an idea.”
“Run it by Freya,” he says.
“Oh! Okay. Really?”
“I told you anything you wanted.” I add, “And the color would be a nod to your mam, Rose.”
Darn this man for making tears instantly spring to my eyes. I brush them away. “You are soft and sweet inside that Viking body of yours, aren’t you?” I teasingly poke his rock-hard abs.
“Only for you,” he grins. “Now tell me, what’s the final request?”
“Demand,” I say.
And this one’s a deal-breaker.