Chapter 26 #3
Margaret reached for my hand, squeezing it gently. “I know. You’re not replacing anyone. You’re building something new.” Her smile was sad but genuine. “We are so grateful he found you.”
Her words choked me up—the permission I’d been craving without realizing how badly I needed it. Not just from Shannon’s mother, but from some part of myself. Permission to move forward. To live. To love again without betraying what came before.
Tears spilled down my cheeks. Margaret reached up and brushed them away, the gesture so maternal it made me ache.
“Thank you,” I managed.
“No,” Margaret said. “Thank you for bringing Patrick back to life. For making a place in your heart for my grandchildren. It’s all we could have hoped for.”
We sat in silence for several minutes, watching the breeze ripple across the surface of the reflecting pool. When we finally rose to return to the castle, something had shifted between us—an understanding that transcended words.
Later that night, long after the guests had departed, and the castle had grown quiet, I found myself drawn to a small tower room Patrick had shown me earlier.
Circular in shape, with windows facing in all directions, it offered a panoramic view of the Highlands stretching endlessly under a star-filled sky.
I stood at the window, watching moonlight silver the landscape, lost in thought. The door opened softly behind me. Patrick’s reflection appeared in the window glass, his face serious in the dim light.
“There you are,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you.”
He crossed the room and wrapped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. We stood like that for a long moment, gazing out at the land that had shaped him.
“Your family is wonderful,” I said. “Especially Margaret. We had a very nice talk.”
“She told me.” His arms tightened around me. “She said you were exactly what she’d hoped for.”
I leaned back against him. “She gave me her blessing.”
Patrick kissed my temple. “She’s a remarkable woman.”
“I keep thinking about Marco,” I admitted. “About what he’d think of all this...” My voice caught. “Of us.”
Patrick waited, giving me space to find the words.
“He’d tell me to be happy,” I said, smiling through tears. “To live fully. That’s what he always believed.”
“He was right,” Patrick murmured against my hair. “So let’s live.”
He turned me in his arms, and the kiss that followed was slow at first—tender and reverent.
Then it changed, deepened, became something hungry and urgent.
His tongue slid against mine, coaxing a low moan from my throat as his hands moved down my back, pressing me hard against the solid length of his body.
I felt him already rigid against my belly, the thick heat of him making my knees weaken.
“Come with me,” he whispered, voice rough with need.
He took my hand and led me down the short corridor to the master bedroom—the laird’s chamber, centuries old, dominated by a massive four-poster bed draped in deep green velvet.
The fire had burned low, embers pulsing like a heartbeat, throwing golden light over the ancient stone walls and the thick rugs beneath our feet.
Patrick didn’t bother with lamps. He backed me against one of the carved bedposts, his mouth claiming mine again, hotter now, more demanding.
I clutched at his shoulders, fingers digging into muscle as his hands slid under my sweater, palms skating over bare skin, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts until I arched into him with a gasp.
“Christ, Theresa,” he growled against my throat, teeth scraping the sensitive spot just below my ear. “I’ve wanted you like this all day—wet and desperate and mine.”
His words sent a rush of liquid heat between my thighs. I yanked at his shirt, buttons scattering as I tore it open, needing skin. He shrugged it off, then dragged my sweater over my head in one impatient motion, leaving me in nothing but lace. His gaze raked over me, dark and feral.
“Beautiful,” he rasped. “Every inch of you.”
He dropped to his knees, mouth closing over one lace-covered nipple, sucking hard until I cried out.
His hands shoved my skirt up to my waist, fingers hooking into my panties and ripping them down my legs.
Before I could catch my breath, his mouth was on me—hot, wet, merciless.
His tongue parted my folds, licking a slow, deliberate stripe up my center that made my hips jerk.
He pinned my thighs wider, devouring me like a starving man, circling my clit until I was shaking, fingers tangled in his hair, begging incoherently.
“Patrick—please—”
He surged up, capturing my mouth so I tasted myself on his tongue, and lifted me onto the edge of the bed.
I clawed at his belt, freeing him, wrapping my fingers around the thick, velvet-hard length of him.
He groaned, hips thrusting into my grip as I stroked him, thumb sweeping over the slick head.
When his hand reached toward the nightstand drawer, I knew what he was reaching for.
My hand shot out, covering his, stopping him.
Patrick froze, looking down at me, his eyes dark and questioning. “Theresa?”
“Don’t,” I whispered.
He hesitated, his hand still hovering near the drawer. “Theresa, we have ten children between us. We haven’t exactly planned for...”
“I know.” I laced my fingers through his, pulling his hand away from the drawer and bringing it to my heart. “I don’t want anything between us tonight, Patrick. No barriers. No safety nets.”
“It’s a risk,” he said, his voice rough. “A big one.”
“I know.” I looked up at him, seeing the desire warring with his protective instinct. “But we said we wanted to live, didn’t we? We said we wanted a life so full it spills over at times.”
I thought about the empty ache that had lived in my chest for months, the silence I’d feared would never end. And now, looking at this man who had brought color back into my world, I didn’t want to be careful. I wanted everything.
“I want to feel you,” I said, my voice fierce. “All of you. I want to know there’s nothing separating us.”
Patrick searched my face for a long moment. Then, slowly, he let out a breath that sounded like surrender.
“All of me,” he growled softly.
He pushed my knees wide, lined himself up, and drove into me in one long, searing thrust. The stretch was exquisite—almost too much, perfect, overwhelming. I cried out, nails raking down his back as he buried himself to the hilt, bare and blazing hot inside me.
“Fuck,” he hissed, forehead pressed to mine, trembling with the effort to hold still. “You feel—God, you feel like heaven.”
Then he moved.
Slow at first, dragging out almost to the tip before slamming back in, grinding against my clit with every stroke.
The rhythm built—harder, faster, the rustic bed creaking beneath us, headboard knocking against stone in time with our bodies.
I wrapped my legs high around his waist, heels digging into his ass, urging him deeper.
He obliged, angling his hips until he hit that spot inside me that made stars burst behind my eyelids.
I came first, clenching around him in pulsing waves, screaming his name into his shoulder. He followed seconds later, thrusting deep and holding there, spilling inside me with a hoarse, broken groan—hot, endless pulses that I felt everywhere, marking me, claiming me.
We collapsed together, sweat-slick and shaking, his weight a delicious anchor. He stayed inside me, softening slowly, our combined release slick between my thighs. His lips brushed my temple, my cheek, the corner of my mouth.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against my skin, reverent and fierce. “And all mine.”
I smiled into the curve of his neck, feeling him still pulsing faintly inside me, and thought—yes. And you’re mine.