Chapter Twenty-Four
Gabriel was mindless. Mindless with rage at the man who dared insult Ryan, who put his hand on her; mindless with need because she was in his arms again.
He’d spent the afternoon trying to keep away from her. He’d given directions to his grooms about dismantling the furnishings for the wedding. He’d thanked them and given them an extra bag of coins for the vast change to their responsibilities these last weeks. He’d ridden to Mayapple and taken out each of Killian’s stallions, urged them to run full out and jump hedges and cantor sideways like dancers. His goal had been to pound out the doubts and desires warring inside his mind and exhaust his body to the point of collapse.
He’d succeeded only in the exhaustion—although in this moment, striding across the garden to the stables, Ryan in his arms, he felt exhilarated and boundless. He wasn’t exhausted, he was on fire. He could carry her to his camp in the forest, or to Scotland, or the moon.
He strode the garden path instead, across the stable yard, to the door of the small room. He kicked it open without slowing. Ryan had burrowed into him, pressing her lips to the sensitive skin just below his ear. She kissed, and licked, and savored; and Gabriel’s consciousness shrank to the sensation in that one spot and the echoing throb of his erection.
Once inside, he slammed the door with his boot and spun. He pressed her against the door and let out a moan. He released her only long enough to turn the lock.
“I’m sorry,” he breathed, speaking the words against her lips.
“Sorry for...?” she asked sharply. Her voice was demanding and accusatory, but she didn’t wait for an answer; she kissed him hard and then pulled back. “For what are you sorry, Gabriel?”
“Sorry that I wasn’t there—not at dinner, like a reasonable...” He couldn’t think of what reasonable role he would’ve filled at dinner, so he kissed her instead.
“A doting husband?” she suggested, speaking between kisses. “A faithful lover?”
He pulled back and stared at her, breathing hard. He deserved this, and he knew it—but his excuses were shite. There was nothing left to say.
“It couldn’t be either of those,” she mused. “You are not doting, and we are not lovers, are we?”
As if to make a point, she glanced downward. Their bodies were pressed tightly together. He’d pinned her to the door.
“You’re cross,” he breathed.
“We are not lovers,” she repeated, “and you’re not really my husband, despite the fact that we stood for the most beautiful wedding anyone has ever seen, and it’s been documented and witnessed and will prevent me from marrying your cousin.”
She kissed him hard and then popped her mouth from his and took his face in her hands. “What are you, Gabriel? If you could not come to dinner and I was left to my own devices with those terrible men? Are you my devoted friend? Is that what we are, Gabriel? Friends?” She kissed him again hard, arching off the doorway, pressing her soft heat against his aching need.
It occurred to Gabriel that “crossness” did not accurately describe how she felt in this moment. She was angry—and she had every right to be. He lifted her from the door and carried her to the bed.
He would’ve doubted her willingness to be kissed and carried and pressed against doors if she weren’t so tightly wrapped around him. Her legs hugged his hips. Her arms were at his shoulders. While he stared, panting, at her beautiful face, she launched herself at his mouth, kissing him like a woman starved. She was cross and she wanted him. And she would have answers, apparently. God knew she deserved them.
“I am,” he growled, striding to the bed, “the only one permitted to touch you. No one but me.”
He lowered her onto the mattress and came down on top of her. He searched her face, praying this answer was enough. It was woefully insufficient but also the bloody truth.
“So touch me then,” she dared. “If you are the only one, touch me, Gabriel—please.”
The miracle of this answer was a pardon and an invitation at once. It was mindless, and he loved descending into a mist of irrational need and possession with her. There was no logic or reason or tomorrow or next week. He’d come for her in the most primal way, and she’d allowed him to take her.
“Take off the dress,” he rasped, peeling himself off of her. First this, he thought. He’d wanted to see her, to see all of her, since that first night in the dark cave. He’d wanted her splayed before him; to look his fill and touch with no limits and bring pleasure. He wanted to simply resonate beside her nakedness, like a cymbal struck; to thrum and vibrate and hum for her.
He balanced on a knee and rolled her toward the wall, giving himself access to the fasteners.
“The girls chose the dress,” she said.
“I don’t care,” he said. He brought his hands to the fasteners and began, roughly, to unflick each of them.
She gave a shocked little laugh. “You don’t care that your nieces chose it or you don’t care that I’m wearing it?”
“My only care for this dress is that it’s off your body.”
“Of course,” she said, and he paused. He was losing her. He’d said the wrong thing. All of this was wrong, of course; and they could only forge ahead in the wrongness if they descended together.
He dropped his head over her shoulder and stared at her upside down. “What would you have me say about this dress? Before it’s on the floor—what would you have me say?”
“Nothing,” she said.
He sat up and stared, objectively, at the dress. “It’s blue,” he tried.
She laughed and dropped a hand over her face.
“It’s shimmery,” he guessed.
Her eyes were shielded, but he could see a small smile. He was on the correct path.
“I can see,” he added, “why it would appeal to children.”
She made a noise of surrender and tipped over, pressing her face into the mattress, offering him the row of tiny buttons.
He pulled her back, balancing her again on her side. He leaned over her. “Tell me what you would have me say. The dress is, in fact, green?”
Ryan sat up, and he dodged her just in time to avoid bumping heads. “Why,” she asked, “would I—or any woman—care about the shade of the gown, Gabriel?”
He panicked. His only regard for the gown was that it remained on her body. Also, she was no longer prone. Also, they’d stopped kissing. Also, he wasn’t touching her. She—
“Forget it. This is my error.” She sighed. “I was fishing for compliments.”
Gabriel thought of this, he thought of what he knew of women and dresses and compliments (almost nothing); and he thought of what he knew of Ryan’s face, and body, and her presence in any room, or standing in his garden, or on a dark hillside in the rain.
She was shaking her head, staring into the distance. “Foolish,” she said to herself. She dropped to the mattress again.
Gabriel caught her up, taking her by the arms and rolling her onto her back. Her eyes went wide, and she brought up her hands to clasp his shoulders.
“Ryan,” he tried, “my mind does not interact with beauty like that of a man who is socialized and accustomed to the guiles of a pretty female.”
“Please—” she cut in, squeezing her eyes shut. She turned her head to the side.
He dipped and kissed her neck. “Allow me to finish.”
She let out a little moan, and Gabriel exhaled. The damage was not irreparable. He’d not lost her.
He rooted up her neck and spoke directly into her ear. “I have taken your beauty for granted, Ryan, I can see that now. And the reason is—I take all beauty for granted. It would not occur to me to compliment the sky after a summer storm, no matter how radiant; nor the wing of a dragonfly, no matter how intricately lined or iridescent. I do not tell the deep green cavern of the forest that it’s breathtaking, nor the brook that it’s smooth. My life is awash in natural beauty—and I cleave to it, and derive my sanity from it, but I also take it for granted... because I can. You’ve seen how disinclined I was to leave the forest—this is but one of many reasons why.
“When first I saw you—nay, every time I look upon you—I see beauty equal to the untouched, natural splendor that has been my daily abundance for years. I see radiance and smoothness in your face, I see serenity in your bearing, I see perfection in your small, gentle hands, and your soft earlobe and delicate ankles. My breath is taken away when I look upon you; I cannot resist you—as we’ve seen. And I cannot share you, as we’ve also seen.
“In my very great entitlement, I’ve allowed myself to touch you, and kiss you, and see as much of your softly curved body as I possibly can. But it has not occurred to me to say any of this to you. Your dress, be it blue, or green, or the color of a riverbed after a drought, would have almost no impact, because I don’t care about dresses. I see the body and the face, both made perfect in heaven but existing within my own reach here on earth.”
He pulled away from her ear and studied her face. “Do you see, Ryan?”
She blinked up at him, tears in her eyes, bottom lip bit between her teeth, and nodded. Her arms went around his neck and she tugged him to her. His mouth found hers and they devolved into another kiss. The mindlessness returned, and he kissed her like they were descending into a wonderful, hazy trance. Only when he felt himself begin to press against her, to thrust and nudge to stoke the burn between his legs, did he pry himself off, tip her sideways, and return to the fasteners at her spine. She went easily, her body pliant and languid, and he worked quickly, his hands shaking, his body as hard as iron.
“I would see you,” he rasped. “If you doubt my incredible regard for your beauty, Ryan, look no further to how desperate I am now to see you.”
By some miracle, the dress opened easily, and she scooted and lifted and allowed him to peel it from her body. Beneath the dress, she wore a thin bell of petticoats and stiff stays. The petticoats went the way of the dress, revealing stockings secured at her thighs with garters and loose cotton drawers.
Gabriel swallowed hard, gaping at the resplendent display of sensual woman sprawled on his bed. “Now this,” he rasped, “I feel compelled to remark upon. You are gorgeous. I can barely touch you, you’re so gorgeous.”
With shaking hands, he unfastened the stays, releasing heavy breasts with dusky nipples. The sight of them poised Gabriel on the precipice of what felt like a small crisis. He’d never wanted so urgently to touch, to feel, to weigh, to tease; but he also wanted her entirely naked before him, he wanted to finish what he’d started. His mouth watered, his hands trembled, he stared with his breath caught. His erection felt like a marble club between his legs.
And then she arched up, peaking her breasts in his direction, and he let out an agonized moan.
Moving quickly, he slicked the stockings from her legs, dragging the garters with them. After the stockings, he tugged down her drawers; this afforded him the glorious sight of the triangle of dark curls at the juncture of her thighs. Gabriel swallowed hard and exhaled again.
When, at last, she was completely naked, he staggered to a stand and hovered on the side of the bed, looking down at her.
She tried very hard to be shy; eyes downcast, arm draped across her breasts, knees together, tipping slightly to the side. But she was grinning; and her half-lidded eyes lit with delight.
“You’re remarkable,” he whispered.
Her head snapped up. “And now compliments suddenly spring to mind?”
“I’m sorry, Ryan; there are skies after a storm, and then there are skies after a storm. Looking at you is like seeing the most glorious blue illuminated by a golden sun. You are incredible.”
Her shyness dissolved after that, and she preened a little—she actually preened—and Gabriel, mindless again, stripped from his clothes and dove for her, scooping her up and pressing every glorious inch against his bare skin.
“What are we doing?” she whispered, trying to keep up with his mouth.
“We are mindless,” he whispered.
“Oh, good,” she said.
“In fact, I may never have a functioning mind, ever again.”