Chapter 21
The kiss burned like fire in Alex’s mouth. He stood as rigidly as he could, almost like the sheer force of his will might just manage to stop him if nothing else did.
“Daenae,” he said, voice low. “Daenae.”
“Why?” she asked, her voice a bit hoarse.
Alex swallowed, his throat bobbing. “Ye ken why.”
Her breath caught. “Because ye think the kiss before was a mistake?”
“Aye,” he rasped. “It was.”
She held his gaze. “Have lies ever made anything easier?”
His jaw tightened. “This isnae about lies.”
“It is,” she said, quiet and steady. “Ye keep telling yerself rules will save ye. Have they?”
He took a step as if to end it, then stopped.
The room waited, and the fire burned even lower. Her face stayed calm, her hands at her sides, her shoulders squared as if braced for a blow that would not come.
Alex felt the fight in him turn into heat and loss and burning desire.
“Erica,” he warned one last time.
“Alex,” she answered, and the way she said his name burned through every line he had set.
The space between them closed. It was not a rush. It was breath and the sound of cloth and the press of her mouth. His hand found the back of her neck, not to hold her, only to be sure she was real. She rose into him.
Their argument fell away. Heat took its place. Her fingers slid over the laces of his shirt. He found the end of her corset tie.
The kiss turned fierce and more certain, and the world narrowed to the room and the floor and the small sounds between them as they grew even more frantic.
Her clothes fell behind her, and he couldn’t look away. His eyes roamed over her, nothing but sheer hunger and desire in them.
“Christ, ye look breathtaking.”
He stepped closer to her, before shrugging off his shirt. He strained against his trousers as he leaned in and pressed into her, the friction maddening.
Her hips shifted almost with instinct, and the heat between them grew even through the thin fabric. The floor felt cold beneath his feet, even though every other part of his body burned hotter than the sun.
He gritted his teeth and suppressed a groan. Her skin smelled of rosemary and soap and the sweat that was just beginning to gather on her neck.
Then, before he could do anything, her hand dipped between them. His heart skipped a beat. He felt his whole body lock into place as her warm fingers wrapped around him.
The wave of pleasure that shot through him at that moment was almost disorienting. His hips jerked, then his jaw clenched so hard he could have sworn he heard a tooth crack.
“Erica…” he grunted into her neck, reaching for her wrist right on time. “If ye keep doing that, I daenae think I can—”
He pulled her hand away and pinned it to the wall above her head, while his other hand cupped her jaw and tilted her head up. Then he trailed his fingers down her throat, across her chest, and buried his face in her breasts.
“Alex,” she groaned and rocked into him, almost reflexively.
His tongue flicked against her right nipple, her reaction spurring him even further. His tongue trailed lower and stopped right at the heat between her thighs.
The feel of her shuddering against him almost sent him over the edge. His fingers slid through her folds easily, and the slickness almost made him lose his balance.
She was hot. And wet.
It drove him mad.
His lips remained locked on hers as he worked his finger inside her slowly. He kept the pace slow because he wanted this moment to linger in his head. He wanted to remember everything. How she moved, how she arched against him, and how she moaned into his mouth when he curled his finger.
He found a rhythm and started to ride her through it, quickening the pace as slowly as it would take. He felt it in the way she gasped against his lips and pressed tighter against his chest. He added a second finger, and her body tightened even further.
He didn’t slow down. His fingers moved faster instead, and soon, he could feel the exact moment she climaxed.
He kissed her harder as she clenched around his fingers and shook almost violently against him. He felt her breath break, and she was almost unable to make any noise at all. When she grew sensitive and started trembling, he broke the kiss.
Without waiting for the other to speak, they both collapsed onto the floor.
Later, the stones were cool under his shoulder blades. The fire had died to a red bed. They lay side by side, eyes on the ceiling, breath evening out in the tense and rather rigid silence.
“How have I never noticed the stars on the ceiling? Who carved them there?”
“Her.”
She turned to him. “Her?”
He turned his face towards her. “Isabella.”
“Oh,” Erica said, her voice soft.
He understood the regret she felt for bringing it up at that moment.
“‘Tis all right,” he soothed, a low pant escaping his lips. “She was me own loss. All the time. The cost of duty. The cost of patience. I stood for it because I thought that was what a man should do, and it nearly tore me apart.”
She kept watching him.
“It is a good thing I daenae intend to marry again,” he said. He kept his voice even, as if tone could turn truth into sense. “I cannae survive that twice.”
She did not flinch or even try to argue. “I suppose that kind of response isnae over exaggerated,” she said softly.
He sat up and reached for her gown. Then he helped her into it with careful hands, almost like a man who could not bear to see her cold. He tied the laces neatly.
Erica stood still under his hands, head bowed so he could reach. When he finished the last tie, he cupped her cheeks. Her palms rose to his wrists and wrapped around them before she knew it.
“Thank ye,” she said.
This was the moment. The moment he should have stepped back.
For some reason, he did not. Instead, he leaned in and kissed her again, slow and sure, as if that could fix what words never would.
At that moment, the door clicked and creaked open. Grandmamma stood there, cane in hand, eyes wide with shock that looked wrong on a face that had seen everything.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. The air felt thin.
Alex moved toward her. “Ye didnae knock.”
“Forgive me,” she said, recovering her breath. “I’m sorry. I came to see Erica. I saw how distraught ye were when ye had entered the castle, and I thought—”
“Ye thought what?” His voice rose. “That ye could walk in whenever ye pleased?”
“I said I’m sorry,” she repeated, softer now. Her gaze flicked from Erica’s laces to Alex’s face, then back again. “But this changes things.”
“Nay,” he snapped. “It changes nothing.”
Grandmamma straightened. “It changes everything. Ye cannae do that to a lass and then speak as if it were air.”
He held her stare. “Do what?”
“Kiss her,” she said, sharp but not cruel. “Touch her like that and think the clan willnae expect a chapel door to open soon after.”
He let out a mirthless laugh. “It was nothing. Just a kiss.”
Grandmamma’s eyes narrowed. “It didnae look like nothing.”
“It was. And it is none of yer business anyway,” he said.
Erica stood very still, hands folded tight to keep from shaking. She watched them like a woman at the edge of a cliff, feet apart, the wind hard against her face.
Grandmamma shook her head. “As a woman, it is me duty to protect the lassie. Move up the wedding. Ye can say what ye like, but this house has eyes, and ye ken it. If the betrothal stands, then act like it.”
Alex took a step toward her. “Ye willnae make this into a sermon.”
“I will if I must,” she returned. “Because I love ye, and I love those girls, and I willnae have gossip starting with the man who should end it.”
His hands curled at his sides. “I said it was nothing.”
Grandmamma looked from him to Erica again. “Ask the lass if she thinks so.”
“Daenae drag her into this,” he bit out.
“She is already in it,” she said. “We all are.”
He lifted a hand, palm out, as if stopping a charge. “Enough.” She opened her mouth, but he cut her off. “Leave.”
“Alex—”
“Leave,” he said again, harsher.
She stood her ground for a beat, old spine straight, chin up. “Ye daenae frighten me.”
“Leave!” he roared.
The word echoed off the stone. Erica flinched. Grandmamma did not. She held his gaze a second longer, then nodded once, slowly.
“I’m sorry I didnae knock,” she said. “I am. But think on what I said.” She turned, stepped out, and pulled the door shut behind her.
The lock clicked, and the silence came down like a curtain.
Alex stood there, chest heaving. He looked at the door as if waiting for it to open again. It did not. He looked at Erica then, and whatever anger he had worn fell off his face in a breath.
She had not moved. Not even once.
He did not move for a long time. Then he reached for the lock, but her voice stopped him.
“Why are ye so set on refusing me?” she asked. “Am I so undesirable?”
He turned back. “This isnae about ye.”
She laughed sharply. “Could have fooled me. Ye made it sound like marriage was murder, especially after what we just did.”
He flinched. “Daenae say it like that.”
“How else should I say it?” she scoffed. “If Grandmamma had walked in earlier, she would have dragged us to a priest by noon.” She smiled without humor. “Should I be grateful she didnae?”
“This isnae funny,” he said.
“It is the truth,” she shot back.
“I have sworn off marriage,” he said. “I told ye that.”
“So ye want to eat yer cake and have it,” she said.
“That’s nae what I meant.”
“Then ye are doing a good job of hiding it,” she said. “Ye keep me close, ye claim me when it suits ye, then ye speak as if a vow would end ye.”
His hands clenched into fists. “I cannae go through the same ordeal twice.”
“Say what ye want,” she said, voice low. “But ye need to stop walking the middle because ye are scared.”
“I am nae scared,” he said.
“Aye, ye are,” she said. “Of losing control. Of losing face. Of losing me after ye let yerself have me.”
His jaw worked. “Ye daenae ken what it cost.”