Bryce raised himself onto one elbow and stared into her eyes, his own swimming with mischief. ‘You are a delight, Maren, and so polite.’
‘What?’ she said, frowning up at him.
‘Please, please.’ He laughed. ‘There was no need to say, please. I was more than willing to oblige.’ He smirked, and suddenly, the teasing Bryce was back, and the earnest man who had revealed himself was banished to the shadows.
‘At least I did not abase myself by saying ‘I could love you, Bryce Cullan,’ she retorted, with a sudden spurt of anger. ‘I am not that much of a fool.’
‘Aye, my ardour got the better of me,’ he said, brushing aside a strand of hair stuck to her face. His smile was heartbreakingly handsome as he said, ‘And do you want to know the worst? I meant it, lass – every word. I could love you, for you are unlike anyone I ever met.’
His blue eyes warmed to turquoise in the dying rays of the day, and there was truth in them.
‘Bryce, stop, I....’
‘I do not need a response, lass. And I am not trying to trap or trick you. I just needed you to know it,’ he breathed. ‘I needed you to know what was in my heart and the admiration taking root there for you.’ Then, before she could reply, he kissed her tenderly and slowly, and something nipped at Maren’s heart, bittersweet and almost frightening. If Bryce was sincere, then she suddenly had something precious in her life and something more to lose.
It was hope.
Bryce rolled off her onto his back and gathered her against his chest, stroking her hair. ‘Sleep now. We can talk in the morning, for this day has pressed heavily on us, and you have worn me out, she-wolf that you are.’
His voice was light, but there was melancholy behind his words. Had she hurt him by not returning his expression of admiration? Maren’s heart clenched at the thought. Bryce kissed the top of her head and put his palm on her cheek. She was so safe and warm in his arms and so overcome with soft feelings that tears stung her eyes. Maren wiped them away before he could see, and when she tilted her head to look at him, Bryce had fallen asleep with a little smile on his face.
How easily this man slipped into oblivion. Their lovemaking had been everything she could have hoped, yet now, thoughts of doom intruded again. She had wanted Bryce with every fibre of her being, but there was another reason she had let him have her. It was to keep at bay the terror that assailed her like a pack of baying hounds. It had her pinned, helpless and fearful. The man in the woods would give her no rest, for despite everything she had just shared with Bryce, there was one thing she had kept back.
The corpse laid out in Machrie’s stables for a pauper’s burial was no stranger. He was a ghost from her past, sent to drag her down to hell.
Chapter Sixteen
Bryce emerged from a deep sleep at dawn to find Maren snuggled against him, her bottom warm against his stirring cock and her hair tickling his face. She was still and peaceful, and when the memory of their shared passion crept into his mind, he hauled himself up on one elbow slowly and peered down at her face.
Sleep gifted her softness, and Maren looked like a sad child in repose, her mouth hanging open a little, her thick-lashed flashing eyes, which mocked and challenged, now closed and peaceful. He would forever gift her that peace if he could, for he knew without asking that the lass had suffered in life. Tenderness warred with lust in his belly at the sight of her. Her chemise had fallen off one shoulder, exposing the creamy cushion of a rose-tipped breast, full, smooth and taut. By God, she was a sight for sore eyes.
Last night, the lass had made a passionate and eager bedfellow, and his loins stirred anew at the thought of her little moans and the sting of her nails on his back, her hands on his buttocks pulling him deeper inside her warm body. But his lust was tempered by a need to protect her now. Suddenly, Maren McEwen seemed fragile, and his need for her bittersweet, as if she had gouged out a piece of his heart.
He didn’t like that one bit. Theirs was a bargain between two people who stared at life’s realities and confronted them, not some sickly-sweet coupling of foolish romantics. He hated that he had begun yearning for a sight of her. At first, he had thought Maren commonly pretty with her almond eyes, which were not flat as some brown eyes were, but changeable. Amber, when the sun lit them, streaked with gold at their centre, and other times almost black with anger. Her hair had streaks of fire in it, and her skin was lovely. There was a sheen to it that only really beautiful women could lay claim to. And that delicate pout of a mouth, set in a heart-shaped face, plump of cheek and slightly ruddy from the weather.
No, there was nothing common about Maren McEwen, and after a night spent under her hands and mouth, delighting in her sighs of pleasure as he took her, Bryce had to own that he was dangerously close to being smitten.
She must have sensed his scrutiny, like a wild animal feeling the hunter, for suddenly, Maren’s eyes opened, and she was alert. She twisted her head to look at him, and he bent his head for a kiss.
‘Get off,’ she howled, leaping from the bed and holding her chemise about her like a shield. Her fulsome breasts disappeared behind layers of cotton.
‘That’s not what you said last night,’ he cried. ‘Come back to bed and warm yourself on my manhood, lass,’ he said, beckoning with a smile and a flick of his hand.
‘Last night, I was not in my right mind, or I would never have…I would not have wanted to….’
‘Well, you did want to, no doubt about that, and very nice it was too. I am eager to do it again and don’t pretend you aren’t. The time for bashfulness has passed, for we are wed. Come back to bed, lass, for the sun is scarce up.’
‘I will not, and we are far from wed. And as to last night, I was in shock, beside myself at the sight of that corpse. I gave in to your demands when I should not have and ....’
‘Demands? I don’t recall demanding anything, but I do recall you being most generous with your favours. In fact, I almost had to fight you off. Not that I’m complaining.’
‘Oh, you are insufferably arrogant.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘And what if your lust has got me with child? Did you think about that?’
No, he had not considered that, but the thought did not altogether displease him. Was he tottering into his dotage and going soft?
‘I doubt I put a bairn in you with that hurried coupling, Maren. I will be more careful this time, I swear. Come here to me, lass. Please. I want you. I want to make you happy.’ Strangely, Bryce found he meant it.
When she did not move, he rose and stood before her. Maren looked up at him, all wild brown hair and huge eyes full of uncertainty, and to his surprise, she let him slide a hand into her hair and kiss her. The yielding sweetness of her lips on his was a triumph – all her hardness surrendered to him. It was as if she had given up the fight.
