“My grandmothers sent me there for the night. And you know exactly why. It is the reason you came there.”
He shook his head. “You are wrong.”
“You expect me to believe your tale of fishermen?”
“More than that. A tale of shipwreck.”
She huffed in disbelief and shook her head. Hearing voices calling out, she turned to see Alan Clarke and Norrie standing on another rise in the rock.
He looked up too. “They will find us. Come here.” Tugging on her wrist, he led her into the shadows and down a bit, where the sea swirled in little pools and eddies near the dark arch of thenarrow cave. He ducked inside with her, though she held back at first—then went with him.
“Remember this place?” he asked.
“I do. I thought you could not recall anything.”
“Some things from that night, aye. Other moments are gone.” Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her swiftly, pressing her back against the rock wall, his hands resting on her shoulders.
Warily, she watched him, her heart pounding hard now that they stood inside this place. Beyond the entrance, rather than a raging storm, she heard the cadence of the waves, and heard men’s voices. Then the crunch of stones as Alan and Norrie came looking for them.
“We must go,” she insisted. “They will think we fell into the sea—”
“Wait a moment.” He bent close, his breath touching her lips. Resistance fell away from her like a lead weight and she grabbed his hard-muscled arms, seeking support even as she tilted her head to meet him as his lips gently covered hers.
Allowing that kiss, she felt a shift, as if her innermost heart opened, wanting to let him into her life, go where this could lead. One kiss and the next, tender and slow, began to fill the well heart that had been empty for too long. She caught back a sob, desperately wishing time could slip back to change their very first meeting, remake it, redesign it for happiness. Then she thought of her son, born of passion in a wild storm. He was the joy of her life, and she would protect him.
And Dougal Stewart must not discover the truth about the boy.
In that moment, his kisses transformed, deep and urgent as he pulled her hard into his embrace. Doubt cautioned her to pull back, but she paid no heed, for as his kisses built, an intense and willing need rose in her. His touch, his very presence—he washere and words could wait. Just a man, she knew that now, but he had an irresistible magic, like a sea wave carrying her along.
Chapter Nine
He had notmeant to kiss her, certainly not like this, his fingers sinking into her golden thicket of curls, his heart racing, fervent need flaring in him. He wanted her, needed her, had for years, and was only realizing the strength of it. He felt her heart racing too, her breath quickening as she circled her arms around his neck, pressed against him with a little whimper of need. Now he fought an overwhelming urge—this place, this woman had a hold over him that was a form of irresistible magic. He had wanted to show her that he was not the heartless, selfish fool she thought. He was not succeeding.
Stop.He pulled back, struggled for breath, sought to find reason again. But she moaned and sank against him, pulling him toward her, seeking his lips. She fitted so perfectly to him, her mouth so willing on his, her fingers tender on his jaw now, and threading through his hair.
One kiss, just one more, yet it became another, a breathless, wild chain of kisses, though he swore to himself this would be the last, that would be the last. She was so willing, so passionate, leaning in his arms like a reeling drunk. He needed to stop this.
But he slipped his hands down her back, shaped her hips, pressed her against him. Hardening like fire and stone, he could not hide his need from her.
The first time they had met on this very rock, she had been his salvation, and he had been hers. Now he wanted to keep her safe—from him in the moment.
He pulled back. Beyond the cave, no storm whipped the sea to wildness this time. There was sunshine and heat, glittering waves, sweet breezes. And friends calling out for them.
That sound was the stinging slap he needed.
“God, Meg,” he said hoarsely, taking her by the shoulders to put space between his body and hers, his breath heaving. Meg stood with eyes closed, chest rising, falling. He could feel her trembling. “You must think me a beast,” he said raggedly.
Her eyes opened, and in that beautiful blue-green, he saw tears shining. She raised a shaking finger to her lips, then touched his lower lip.
“Hush. It was not only you wanting this, then or now. Not just you.”
“Dougal!”
“Meg!”
Then came the crunch of boots over stone. His heart slammed. He had so much to say, wanting to erase the hurt he had done her, wanting to begin again, if such were possible.
“Listen, quickly,” he whispered, framing her face in his hands. “I am so sorry.” He kissed her lightly, while she gave a breathy sob against his mouth. “I never meant to hurt you. That night, I had no scheme. I just wanted to survive. If I had known who you were, where to find you, I would have come for you—”
