Chapter 11 #2
Not everything I need’s in there. She bites her lip and I cock my head to the side.
She gives me a shy look. Does she need me? I wish I knew what she needed from me, for I’d give her anything right now on a fucking silver platter.
I reach for her, bringing her close to me so I can embrace her.
“You’re an angel.” I kiss her cheek and send her to get ready for bed.
When she’s ready she goes to climb the ladder, then thinks better of it and runs back to the coffee table. She grabs the damn romance book, then trots back to the ladder and climbs up to the loft. I shake my head and join her. Fucking Scottish mafia romance, my God.
When I get to the loft, I love how Cairstina looks around me and claps her hands in delight at the bedroom. I look around, as if seeing the place with new eyes. I have to admit, I fairly like it myself.
It’s like the rest of my home here: rustic, but well-appointed. A four-poster bed with sturdy posts, a thick, soft ivory carpet beneath our feet, a wooden table I made myself beside the bed, with a lamp and books.
“I need to get ready for bed myself,” I tell her. “Do you need anything?”
She shakes her head, yawns widely, and climbs into the large bed. I lift the blanket up over her shoulder as she reaches to get her book from the bedside table and smiles at me.
When she sees me looking at her, she looks away, turning to the book as if to shield herself from me. Does she regret what we just did?
I never had sex like that before. There’s a simple innocence about her that makes everything feel more wholesome. I hardly know the woman, but that felt more like making love that having sex. I know, then, with a certainty I feel in my core… I won’t let this one go. Not now. Not fucking ever.
Tomorrow when we go into town, I will find her brother.
And I will make him hurt.
He’s fucking earned it.
When I come to bed a few minutes later, she’s softly snoring, the book wide open beside her. I gently lift it, trying not to wake her, and place it on the bedside table.
I glance at the cover and shake my head. He’s a sturdy, good-looking lad, but who walks in the snowy woods with no fucking shirt on?
“fuckin’ eejit,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. If she wants to read a book about a wanker, she can have at it.
I lie beside her, feeling sudden weariness in my bones. She nestles up to my chest, and I place my arm over her. I tug her closer to me, enjoying how sweetly she fits right here in my arms.
I could get used to this. Damn, could I. A soft place to land after a hard day’s work. For the first time in my life, I see the appeal of a committed relationship.
I’ve met women who were intimidated by me and some that were enamored. I’ve met women that wanted to use me, and some who could never get over who I was and what I did, so I’ve never pursued a real romantic relationship. And I wonder if I’m kidding myself if I say that this is any different.
It isn’t just the two of us that’s different, though… but her. She’s somehow strong, yet vulnerable. Intelligent, but innocent. And I’m eager to know so much more about her.
I finally fall into a deep and dreamless sleep, content with her by my side.
When I wake the next day, she’s still deep in the throes of slumber. I typically wake early, when the sun rises, for there’s nothing more beautiful than watching the sun rise from my front porch.
It’s the quietest time of day, and I’ve always felt that hope came in the morning. After Tavish died, I lost that hope for a time. I’m fighting to get it back.
I toss on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, careful not to wake her, and go down to the kitchen to put on the kettle. Snow falls heavily from the sky in tiny flakes. We’ve an expression around here. Little flake, big snow. Big flake, little snow. Tiny flakes accumulate the most.
I frown at the white vision out my window. I hope this doesn’t impact our ability to travel to Inverness today. Instead of sitting on the porch, I sit at the rocker beside the window, sipping the bracing cup of strong black tea and watching the snow fall in little flakes outside my window.
I’m on my second cup when I hear a rustling sound in the loft. A few minutes later, Cairstina peeks down, all tousle-haired and cute. When she sees me, she waves, then immediately blushes, as if she’s realized she’s not acted the way she should.
“Good morning, lass. You had a wee bit of rest, eh?”
She nods, as if to wish me a good morning back. She’s wearing one of my t-shirts that’s so big on her it nearly hits her knees, as she turns around and comes down the ladder from the loft.
“Cup of tea? Kettle’s in the kitchen.” She nods, and goes to the kitchen to fetch it.
A moment later, I hear a crashing sound. I put my cup down and run to the kitchen to see if she’s alright. She’s standing over the sink, a dishtowel over her hand, a pained expression on her face. Red seeps through the towel.
“Bloody hell, what happened?”
She points to a shattered mug on the floor. I step over it and walk to her, taking her hand in mine and unwrapping the towel.
“Och, what a mess,” I say as I look at her lacerated hand. “Doesn’t look so deep you need stitches, but we’d best bandage you up. Seems it may’ve startled you more than anything.”
I lead her out of the kitchen to go sit in the living room with the towel wrapped around her hand while I head to the toilet to get some bandages. When I come back, she’s quietly crying.
“Does it hurt badly, lass?”
She shakes her head. Not too painful, then.
“Were you frightened?”
She shakes her head again.
I frown while I take her injured hand into my lap, gently unwind the towel, and disinfect her cut. It’s not much more than a scratch when it’s all cleaned up. I reach for her mobile and hand it to her.
“Then what is it? Tell me.”
She’s clumsy typing with only the use of her left hand.
I shouldn’t have broken your cup. I am sorry.
I shrug. “No use worrying about all that. It had no sentimental value whatsoever.” I don’t even fucking know how it got here. House help or something, I suppose. I only use the one mug I have.
She sniffs again, and she can’t shake the frightened look. Christ, did her family belittle her for breaking things or something similar?
“Is there something else bothering you, lass?”
She fumbles at the phone, clearly frustrated she can’t communicate quickly like she did before.
No one’s ever been tender with me before, and I have to admit, I feel honored because you are not the type to really be tender with… well, anyone.
I can tell there’s so much more for her to say, as her finger hesitates over the keys, but she doesn’t send another message.
I bring her injured hand to my lips and kiss it. “You make it easy, Cairstina.”
What is this woman doing to me? No one has ever affected me like this. No one’s ever brought out this side of me before.
I knew from the moment I met her that something was special about her. I don’t know what it is about the two of us, but it feels almost as if I’ve been waiting for someone just like her.
She giggles and taps something else out on her phone.
Suffice it to say, you make it easy, too, even if you infuriate me sometimes.
I kiss her hand again, and the desire to make love to her resurfaces.
“I want to make love to you again,” I whisper, holding her gaze with mine. “But we have to get ready to go into Inverness. Will you wait for me until later?”
She nods eagerly, her eyes wide with anticipation and pleasure. I pat her leg.
“Let’s get ready to go.”
She takes my hand when I offer it, following me into the shower. It’s a small room, but the shower itself is ample, so it’s only a matter of choreography to figure out how she showers right along with me. It’s almost a dance, as we lather and rinse, and she quietly lets me care for her.
Christ, I wonder if this is all I need in life.
We dress in amicable silence, her phone sitting on the table as we get ready. A few times she catches my eye and smiles shyly. I give a curl of her hair a little tug, and she silently laughs.
I wonder what it sounds like if she giggles. I wonder what her voice sounds like. I wonder what she’d say if she was able to speak. I wonder what her moans of pleasure and her gasps sound like. I wonder…
I call Mac and Tate, and we make our plans to go to Inverness.
“You sure it’s safe to go, Leith?” Tate asks, always the more cautious of the three of us.
“I’m not, but I don’t want this errand to wait. I’ll be taking Cairstina with me, but I want her well-hidden.”
“Of course,” Tate says. “You want me to send one of the girls up to help?”
“Aye, but I’ll bring her up to the house. We’ve more things there than I do here.”
A moment later I get a text from Islan.
Paisley is out and about somewhere, I’ll meet you instead for now.
I frown at my phone.
Where’s Paisley?
Her response comes back almost immediately.
I’m not her keeper, Leith, who knows? Last night after you left, Fran came to visit, and Paisley went back with her for an overnight. I’ll let you know when I see her.
Not her keeper. We’re all each other’s fucking keepers. Fran, Paisley’s best friend, comes from the valley sometimes to visit. Leave it to Paisley to leave after last night’s conversation.
Maybe Mum’s right. Maybe bringing up Tavish’s death was a mistake. She’s got to bloody live, doesn’t she?
We leave the house, and as I go to exit the porch, Cairstina grabs my hand and yanks it. I look at her, surprised.
“What is it?”
She waves her hand at the view from the porch, and texts me.
This. OMG this is so amazing!!!
I see the view with fresh eyes, just as she does.
She’s right. Snow-capped mountains, and smoky clouds that look as if God himself breathed them into life. They’re imbued with majestic dignity. The stark gray and white of the jagged peaks make my heart ache with the knowledge that we’re only small beings in a massive, wide universe.
My phone dings with another text.
I’d love to sit on this porch with you when the weather’s nicer.
I nod. “Och, aye, doll. We’ll make sure that happens.”
She flushes a bit. Gorgeous.