One had taken. The other had given pleasure. Slade had soothed her sparks of fear and turned them into different sparks. And now, she wanted more.
Lightning pierced the sky and flashed across the mouth of the cave, highlighting the molten desire in Slade’s gaze.
Sweetness melted her heart mingling with her desire, creating a swirling masterpiece of heat and sensations racing through her body, making her drunk. Drunk on love, desire and a sense of safety, which she hadn’t experienced in seven long blistering years. And then it hit her like the shot of a bow straight through her chest. She was unequivocally and undeniably in love with Slade MacLean.
Phoebe never got the opportunity to kiss his fourth knuckle.
Because his hand slipped from hers, taking her chin in a gentle but firm hold, bringing her lips closer to his. But his didn’t touch hers, they lingered a hair’s breadth away, his warm breath in soft rushes of air sensitizing her mouth. His beautiful face lined with desire, torture and restraint squeezed the air from her lungs. The rough pad of his thumb brushed along her lower lip. It was gentle, tantalizing, and hypnotic. Her lips parted and the tip of her tongue touched his finger. He made a guttural sound as if in pain.
Her insides turned to liquid fire propelling her mouth onto his. The blood rushing to her head was so loud it drowned out everything except the softness of his lips, the rushing puffs of her breath mingling with his, and his divine taste which made her body boil with hunger. She pushed so hard into him, his teeth grazed her mouth. He nipped her lips in response, first the top then the bottom, drawing it towards him, releasing with a sucking sound. Her arms went around him roughly seeking contact with his hard, toned body.
He tasted of male, sea, and rain. And she desperately wanted more. But then he pulled back, and she gazed confused at the dark intense storms of desire brewing in his eyes. It would take little to unleash those storms.
“Are you sure? Tell me what you want” he said, sounding hoarse and winded.
Phoebe had to inhale a few breaths before she could manage rational thoughts. But she had to speak now, before all courage and sensibility evaporated.
“I want us to be husband and wife in all sense of the words, but first ask me again. Ask me about the most dreadful experience of my life,” Phoebe said.
Slade blinked at her, her question taking him by surprise. She imagined his pallor turned gray, but she wasn’t sure if it was just the way he was angled away from the fire’s light.
“What is the most dreadful experience you have ever had?” he asked, quietly.
She took his hand again, the pads of her fingers smoothing over his skin as she stared at their rugged perfection. Or perhaps she just couldn’t meet his eyes for her next words.
“I’ve been a reluctant wife, but it’s naught to do with you. In fact, you’ve eased my fears …” Phoebe paused to allow air to inflate her shriveled lungs and to calm the rampant beats of her heart. “I was forced against my will seven years ago, and it filled me with hate, made me distrustful, fearful and wary,” she said.
He said nothing. Her eyes flickered up to meet his. He’d gone dangerously still, his face as hard as marble, equally white and cold. But his eyes were pools of burning green, and in them she saw encouragement, support, and love. She was safe.
Her heart warmed at the fact that he hadn’t pulled away. But why wasn’t he shocked?
His jaw muscles worked before he spoke. “At first, I dismissed your nervousness when we were alone. At the manorI thought you were simply unsettled by Ludlow’s accidental shooting. Then it happened again on the way to the jewelers, and it puzzled me to no end that you were nervous with me. We were friends after all. But at Hortons I could no longer dismiss it. I wanted to believe you were simply being melodramatic, but that wasn’t it. Then I saw you with Ross. And I hated how you were with him. On our wedding night, out of sheer desperation and self-induced torture, I worked it out. After speaking with Aila, I knew. It was Ross, wasn’t it? Slade hissed.
His low voice raised gooseflesh on her skin and sent cold shudders down her body. His jaw muscles sharpened and she saw the barely leashed fury and murder in his eyes.
Her heart staggered. Fire joined the cold shudders. Dear God. He’d already known. “You spoke with Aila? Does she know?” Her voice rose with shock and disbelief.
Slade’s eyebrows drew together, and he used the hand she was holding to gently squeeze hers reassuringly. “She hates Ross, and she already had her suspicions. But I would imagine after my questions, there’s no doubt in her mind he hurt you. The same as there is no doubt in my mind either. I now understand why you hate the British, why you so adamantly side with the rebels. I understand why it’s a fight close to your heart and emotions. That woman you saved near Glenfinnan, were Bolingbroke’s men attacking her?” Slade asked.
His eyes searched her face as shadows from the fire danced across the lines of his jaws.
“Yes. I would give everything I have to ensure no other man does to a woman what Ross did to me,” she answered.
Everything around Phoebe shifted, as if she was watching herself in a dream, starting seven years ago. Her descent into emotional and physical turmoil after Ross’s attack. Her bleak blackness of a life until she signed up with the Movement and started fighting.
“Ross is a big part of why I hate the British. But the other part is, I can’t abide that they subjugate, murder and torture farmers and their children, and rape womenfolk,” Phoebe said.
Phoebe watched the dancing flames of the crackling fire. She felt raw, exposed, and emotionally naked and blistered. But her body and mind were lighter for having spoken out loud her darkest secret.
The seconds ticked by as both Phoebe and Slade gazed at the fire. She’d ended up leaning into his embrace, his body forming a safe warm haven, lending her support and strength.
“My body isn’t as a new wife’s should be, but it’s yours …” Phoebe started to say.
He took her shoulders gently but firmly. “A million twinkling stars in the dark sky pale in comparison to your beauty. I will never stop wanting you. Your value comes from your spirit, your fight, and your strength of will. No one can ever take that from you. I am deeply sorry for what he did,” Slade said.
There was murderous fury in his eyes, but when his gaze fell on her again, she saw the empathy, regret and love. It eased all the knots in her.
“After it happened, I locked myself in my bedchamber. I couldn’t go out for days, weeks, months. But during all the time of my self-imposed prison I kept my boots on, ready. I was always ready. Ready to run from predators. When I did emerge from my bedchamber, every time a man came near, I’d break out in cold shivers. It took me years to realize I needed to fight for control of my life. I learned to dress drab, to be invisible. I learned to arm myself, I learned to fight,” she said.
