Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
In that instant, that very moment, Rowen felt more connected to the earth than ever before.
There was a deep, multifaceted bond with the man sitting beside her, as well.
She watched him out of the corner of her eye, a look of wonder and admiration on his face.
The overwhelming urge to reach for him, to place her palm against his, engulfed her.
Instead, she wrapped her arms around her middle and drank in the grandeur surrounding her.
One day, she would think back to this moment, and she wanted to be able to call up every detail.
The soft focus of the sun playing hide-and-seek behind the clouds.
The green of the grass and the gray of the stones protruding from the ground.
The earth, darkened by rainfall. The soft murmur of the wind.
And the warmth of the man beside her.
She opened her ears and heard the melodies of the plants, adding to the impressive backdrop.
It was a rare moment, when she was able to glimpse the world in all its magical delight.
She held her breath, wanting it to last, but understanding—and accepting—how fleeting it all was.
The rain began as a sprinkle, but within moments, it was a light, steady rainfall.
Mason grumbled something about raincoats, but she wasn’t listening.
She jumped up and spread out her arms as she twirled in a circle, her face tilted to the sky so the drops could pelt her skin.
She stopped and looked at Mason, blinking through the rain as she lowered her arms. His smile was wistful and sexy. And his gaze was locked on her.
There was no denying the pull she felt to him. The attraction was strong and only growing stronger. If she were anyone else, she wouldn’t hesitate to find out what it would be like to be his lover. But now, after sharing her fears, she felt vulnerable. Needy.
She shook herself before she did something stupid. “Race you back to the house,” she called before turning and running.
Rowen heard his footfalls behind her as he swiftly closed the distance between them.
She had difficulty keeping her footing on the slippery grass and undulating ground.
Each time she slipped, she laughed, and to her delight, she heard him laughing with her.
Her gaze stayed on the ground as she navigated the stones she saw, as well as the ones she couldn’t.
She felt Mason behind her and ran faster. His answering chuckle only made her smile grow. Strands of hair stuck to her face as rain slid between her collar and rolled down her back. One moment, she was upright. The next, she saw the ground coming at her, fast.
A strong, steady arm locked around her from behind and set her back on her feet, without Mason missing a stride. Somehow, his hand found its way to hers as they ran the last few feet to the front door.
Their laughter tangled with the soft rhythm of the rain as they burst inside, dripping water on the floor. Breathless and flushed, she became aware of their linked hands. Rowen turned to face him. Their gazes caught, held. And something shifted.
The laughter faded. The smiles melted. Silence stretched, thick with unspoken things.
The warmth of his palm against hers burned hotter as awareness prickled across her skin.
Only a couple of inches separated them. Her breath caught when his eyes darkened into a stormy mix of emotions that she was too afraid to contemplate.
Or name.
The look made her stomach feel as if a thousand butterflies had taken flight. She wanted to lean against him, to take his face in her hands. She craved to know the feel of his lips against hers, the taste of his tongue.
The strength of his arms as he held her against him.
The rain droned louder as it pounded angrily against the stone path that led to the back door and pinged against the windows. His mobile rang, the piercing tone severing whatever had held them in thrall. They released each other simultaneously. Rowen walked away, shaken by what had just happened.
With every step, she was sure her legs would give out on her.
She had nearly made a fool of herself. She left a trail of water in her wake as she hurried to her room.
Once inside, she leaned against her shut door and shook her head at herself.
It had been a long time since she had felt so out of control around a guy.
She pushed away from the door and stripped out of her soaked clothing. Each item removed sent a chill through her, and she hurriedly reached for some sweats. As she turned away, she caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror and stared at the disheveled mess that looked back at her.
That image faded, and she was back in the doorway, her hand linked with Mason’s as they stared at each other.
She blinked the memory away and combed the tangles from her hair.
Through the door, she heard Mason’s deep voice talking, though she couldn’t make out the words.
Her gaze slid to her cell sitting on the table.
She missed the sound of her mom’s voice.
It would be a good time to call and fill them in about everything, and maybe let them know she was coming home.
While she wanted to stay, she didn’t like being looked at as untrustworthy, and her confession to Finn had only made things worse. Without a doubt, she knew where she stood. Did that mean she wanted to go up against whatever this thing was that the Skye Druids were battling? Absolutely not.
She wasn’t a coward, but she didn’t go seeking problems either.
Maybe the voice had been nothing but a dream.
But if it had been this evil? Well, why stick around to see if it tried to turn her against those she cared about?
Because she did care about them, damn it.
Watching someone nearly die had a way of doing that.
Then meeting Mason’s sister and seeing their bond made her care deeply about Ferne.
And the rest by extension.
Her head swiveled toward the door as her thoughts turned to Mason.
She wasn’t ready to leave him, which was a dangerous thing to admit.
He was a noble. A man with a fucking title.
She was no one from a small island in America.
Even if he was attracted to her, it wouldn’t work.
She would leave. She always left. It was the one thing she’d gotten from her father.
Yet none of it mattered, because they were in the middle of a war. It might not be plastered in the headlines, but it was happening. There was no time for romance.
She set the comb down and considered returning home. There was a great deal she could teach the others about what she had witnessed and learned. No one would stop her from leaving this time.
There was a soft rap on her door. Then Mason’s deep voice. “Rowen?”
“Yeah?” she asked, her head swinging toward him.
“That was Ferne. She found clothes for us to wear to the funeral. If you want to go, that is.”
“I’ll go.” She almost added If I’m still here, but the words got stuck in her throat.
“Okay. Good.”
It felt as if he were hesitating at the door, like he might want to say more. She could go to it. Maybe open it. But what if he was there? Would she reach for him? Kiss him? Ask him to hold her?
“Would you like some tea?” he asked.
She needed to act normal, as if she weren’t in the middle of a crisis, because she didn’t want him to begin asking questions that didn’t have answers. “That sounds nice.”
Her ears strained to hear him walking away.
Several seconds ticked past before she finally heard his footsteps fade.
She curled her cold toes in the rug and sighed.
She was making things weird without even trying.
It was a gift that seemed to come out of nowhere.
The awkwardness would be next, and on the heels of that, questions.
Lots of them. She hated it when that happened.
If only she could pretend the moment by the door hadn’t occurred.
If only she could ignore the ever-present desire.
Rowen found some socks to cover her icy feet and then made her way to the kitchen.
Mason had his back to her, searching through the myriad teas.
He was now in dry clothes, the long-sleeved maroon tee hugging his broad shoulders and showing off his muscular arms. He had a bag of tea in each hand as he turned around.
The moment he looked up and saw her, he halted, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips.
His happiness at the sight of her made her knees go weak. She wanted to be the kind of woman who had relationships. The kind who knew how to be a long-term girlfriend.
The kind who stuck around.
“I was about to ask you which one you wanted.” He held up his left hand. “Herbal meant to warm and calm? Or this white tea blend for mental clarity?” he asked with a grin. Then looked behind him to the counter. “Or one of the dozen others.”
Why did he have to be so damn handsome? And kind. And generous. Men like him weren’t supposed to be real.
“The white sounds nice,” she replied.
He studied her for a moment, the barest frown puckering his brow, as if he’d noticed something different about her. Thankfully, he nodded and punched the button on the kettle instead of asking. She smoothed out her expression to make sure there was nothing there that would make him question her.
Mason rubbed the back of his neck. “Ferne is going to drop the clothes by in a bit. Theo is lending me one of his suits, but Ferne needs to check to see which one he’s wearing first.”
“Everyone has been so generous.” Ugh. Things were getting awkward. Why did she always do this?
He glanced at her, nodding. “I’m not sure the same would’ve happened with the London Druids. They’ve all become close here. A family.”
She heard the catch in his voice. “Ferne is your sister. Nothing will ever change that.”
“I know. But I feel like an outsider. It’s strange.”
“That’ll change the longer you stay.”
The kettle beeped, and he poured water into two cups before sliding one across the island to her. “Perhaps.”
“You have nothing to worry about.”
“Except being able to go home, finding the spies among my staff, and bringing Thomas and the others responsible for murdering my parents to justice.”
Her face creased as she grimaced. “Yeah. There’s that.”
“I, ah,” he hedged, slowly walking around the island until they were a foot apart. A small frown furrowed his brow as he glanced away. “Perhaps I’m wide of the mark, but I thought we had a moment earlier.”
She blinked, not entirely sure her mind hadn’t interjected the words she longed—and dreaded—to hear. The longer she stared into his eyes, the more she realized that he had, indeed, said them. She knew how she wanted to respond, but she also knew it was the wrong thing to do.
He forced a tight grin and looked away. “Okay. No problem.”
The sight of his dejection gutted her. Not because he looked hurt—though, he did—but because she knew why. He thought she didn’t want him. It was in the stiff line of his shoulders, and the flicker of something lost in his eyes before he turned away. He tried to mask it, but she saw the ache.
The regret.
And it splintered something inside her.
“We had a moment.” The words were out before she had time to think about them.
He froze, and his gaze swung to her. Hope flooded his eyes, shifting the turbulent gray to a softer, gentler hue.
It was the absolute worst thing that could’ve happened, because now she couldn’t turn away.
She should’ve kept her mouth shut. She should’ve lied.
She should’ve done anything but speak the truth.
But what was done was done.
There was no turning back now, no ignoring it.
No forgetting.
She closed the distance between them and brought his head down to her mouth.
For a heartbeat, he didn’t move, then his arms snapped around her, crushing her against him as a low, guttural groan escaped him.
His mouth found hers, rough and hungry, and when his tongue swept past her lips, it wasn’t a kiss.
It was a claiming.