Instead, she wished it were daylight so she could see that body of his, trace the tattoos with her fingers, especially that one on his… Desire convulsed her again when she thought of that part of him.
He stirred against her. The intimacy of it lent another stab of desire.
“Jeannie,” he said.
Oh, the musical lilt of his voice! She wanted nothing more than to hear it sing through her, unending.
“I had no idea you were—untried.”
Ah, that. She lay staring at the outline of the rowan tree overhead and acknowledged the need to explain.
“Geordie,” he said.
“I never lay with him.” She said it plainly, honestly. Could she prevaricate with this man who had touched all of her?
“Why not, if he was your husband?” Had a note in Finnan’s voice changed, become hard and sharp?
“Ours was not that kind of marriage.”
“How is that? I know he loved you.”
And how to explain the way things had been in Dumfries? Finnan had not seen his friend in some time. Would he even believe the man Geordie had become?
“He fancied he loved me, perhaps.”
“If he said he did, he did. I knew him, knew the strength of his heart.”
“I do not doubt he had changed since you journeyed together.”
Finnan stiffened in her arms. “Impossible. Geordie was the truest man I ever knew.”
Yet Finnan had not witnessed his disintegration as Jeannie had. Finnan had not watched as Geordie lost himself by bits to the drink and whatever private demons rode him. Jeannie, who had, could not even say what they were.
She said none of that now, for Finnan MacAllister had never come to Dumfries. He had been busy with whatever devilry had taken place here in the glen—the same that now left him running like a hart over these hills. He had known a different Geordie MacWherter than she.
“Geordie and I had an understanding.”
“Did you, so?” He hauled himself up above her, and his hand withdrew from her breast. “So he understood why you did not welcome him to your bed? ’Tis plain enough you do not mind a man between your legs.”
Jeannie’s every instinct went on alert. She studied the shadow he made above her against the lighter darkness. She could not see his eyes, but she felt his emotions strike at her like blows.
Why was he so angered? And where was the man who had just held her so tenderly, moved inside her gently for all his strength and passion? Flown…
Before she could speak, he demanded, “Are you sure Geordie comprehended how you used him?”
She gasped. This was the man she had first met by the pool, he who had flared to rage when he tumbled to her identity. Had he never put those feelings aside after all? Then what had this night been about?
Very carefully, she said, “Geordie understood I was prepared to give myself to no man.”Until now, until you.
He got to his feet and turned away from her. The starlight slid over his shoulders and flowed like water over the sculpted muscles of his back. Jeannie’s heart twisted in her chest with dismay and helpless attraction.
“What is it?” she asked softly, but he did not reply. She scrambled to her feet also, unsteady and all too aware of stings in unfamiliar places, and tried to smooth her skirt down over her knees. Her world tilted, and she almost fell down again, realizing that everything—everything had changed.
She wanted to turn and run, haul her bodice back up over her breasts and scamper off through the darkness, bar her door against whatever this was that flared between them, never let him in again. She had made a great and terrible mistake, the worst any careful woman could make. And yet he stood there tearing at her with his fathomless anger, a god in black and silver.
“Finnan,” she breathed, and her voice did not sound like her own. Instead it seemed to come from the night, on a breath of hopeless enchantment.
Yes, she should move away, flee and hide herself. Instead she took one long quivering breath, stepped forward, and placed her hand on his shoulder.
