Kresley Cole - [MacCarrick Brothers 02] (30 page)

He was so gorgeous in the moonlight—his eyes were burning with intent, with possession. She swept her palms over his damp chest, reveling in the way the muscles in his torso flexed under her hands.

At last, he took his shaft and positioned it, clenching his jaw when the head met her entrance.
“So hot…so wet.”
His lips were parted, his breaths ragged. “It’s everything I can do no’ to come right now.” When he began working the head inside her, she felt it stretching her—no matter how much he’d prepared her, the fit was still tight. “Tell me,” he rasped, feeding his length into her, “tell me what you meant this afternoon, Sìne.”

By the time he met the barrier, she was trembling, clutching his shoulders, and he was sweating with the obvious effort to go slow. He gazed down at her, dark eyes questioning.

“
I’m yours
,” she whispered. “
To take
.” She’d never been more certain of anything in her life.

He groaned, thrusting deep. She felt the tearing, hissing in a breath just as he groaned, “So
tight
.” He shuddered, but remained still inside her as he gently smoothed her hair back from her forehead. “I dinna want to cause you pain.”

“No, I knew there’d be”—she tried to conceal a wince—“a bit of hurting.”

Even with this discomfort, the feeling of closeness awed her. This was worth the wait a thousand times over. She could feel him throbbing inside her, could see his anguished expression, but somehow he didn’t move, wanting to spare her pain, wanting to please her.

She gazed up at him and couldn’t hold back the words: “I…love you.”

“What did you say?” he bit out, battling the frantic need to shove his hips at her.

“I always have.”

Her words made him wonder if he was dreaming this entire scenario—this was exactly as he would imagine. Now, when he was buried so deeply inside her, the need arose to say the words that would bind her to him—a vow of self, spoken in the old language. Yet he couldn’t. He didn’t have that right.

Instead, he bent down and kissed her, with everything he felt for her, until she was panting. Her hands went from holding on to his shoulders, as though for dear life, to exploring touches over his body. When she tentatively rolled her hips, he withdrew, then eased back inside her, determined to make this good for her.
Concentrate. Slowly in…easing out. Again.

He had to stop wondering why she had chosen to give this gift to
him
—to
love
him. He drew back to study her face. “Does it still hurt, Sìne?” he asked, rocking against her.

Her eyes fluttered open with a look of wonder. “N-no, not anymore,” she murmured. “That feels so perfect….” She leaned up to press her wet little kisses on his chest, driving him mad. “Does it for you?”

In answer, he shuddered again and couldn’t help stirring himself in her, savoring all her wetness around him. When he thrust again, her nipples were hard points goading his chest. He bent to lick them, and she began meeting every thrust.

As soon as he slipped his thumb down between them and rubbed, she cried, “
I’m about to…You’re making me…
Oh, God,
promise
you’ll do this again to me. Tonight.” She took his face in both of her hands. “Promise,
Hugh
.” His name became a cry as she climaxed.

Though he fought it, had even stopped thrusting, her hungry body demanded, her sex squeezing him, tight as a fist. He couldn’t hold his seed. Defeated, he bucked between her thighs with all his strength, yelling to the sky. He came with a violent force, shuddering with each fierce pumping inside her.

As he leaned against her, heart thundering against hers, he said hoarsely, “You love me?”

Back in his bed, she curled against him, her breaths light on his chest, her body warm and soft with sleep. But Hugh was wide awake, turning thoughts over and over in his mind.

Tonight, he had dared to put his rough hands on her delicate body—his hands, which had killed so many times before. He’d dared to take her virginity—had been about to do it in a crazed moment of anger. He’d almost hurt her without measure.

Yet he
hadn’t
.

The only dire thing he’d done was to give in when she’d wanted him four more times. If he was destined to bring her pain, then why had she told him that what they’d done had
awed
her?

He wondered where the guilt was. He’d expected to be disgusted with his weakness; instead he felt alive, energized, optimistic. His body was relaxed, his muscles at ease. Throughout the night, she’d made him feel like the lad he’d been when he’d seen her last. He wanted more of that feeling.

Tonight, he’d made her his, and it had felt like it was his
right
to do so.

Because she wants me, too.
She’d
always
wanted him. Before she’d slept, she confided to him about her feelings, and how long she’d struggled with them. The more she revealed, the more astounded he’d become.

She’d told him she compared all men to him—and found them all lacking. Compared to
him
. He pulled her closer with the crook of his arm. He could scarcely credit it, but knew she told the truth.

What if I just tell her about the curse?
he thought again. She was intelligent. He respected her ideas and admired the way her mind worked. Maybe between the two of them, they could figure out a way.

Tomorrow, then. It would be done.

The next morning, Jane stretched with a grin on her face, feeling sore and well-loved. She was also more
in
love than she’d ever been. Last night had been everything she’d always dreamed it would be—better than.

Her only regret was that they hadn’t been spending the last ten years of their lives like this. But as long as they spent the rest of them this way, she was mollified.

Her eyes slid open, and she found Hugh was dressed in pants, seated on the edge of the bed. She took one look at his face and knew.

“Oh, dear God,” she murmured. “I’m a regret.”

“It’s no’ like that, Jane—”

“Then tell me you don’t regret making love to me.”

He raked his fingers through his tousled hair. “It’s more complicated than that.”

She gave a bitter laugh. “It’s very simple. The man I gave my virginity to, wishes he hadn’t taken it.”

He flinched.

“You win, Hugh.” She stood, wrapping the sheet around her. “I’m going to say three words I’ve never uttered to anyone in my entire life: I—give—up.” She stormed out, striding into her room. After slamming her door, she locked it behind her.

Seconds later, her door was rocked from its hinges. With a gasp, she glanced up from donning her shift.

He was huge, filling the doorway. She was even more aware of his strength and the power in his body because she’d spent the night learning every inch of it, rubbing, cupping, and licking it.

“Stop doing that to my doors!” she cried.

“Then doona ever keep a locked door between us.”

“I’m done talking to you!” she snapped, and darted past him, heading for the broken door.

He grabbed her elbow, swinging her around. “Will you no’ just listen to me?”

They were toe to toe, both breathing heavily. His brows drew together as if he was confounded, then his hand shot out to clutch her nape, yanking her against his unyielding chest. His voice a broken rasp, he said,
“My God, I’ll never get enough of you.”

His lips crashed into hers, slanting into a scorching, possessive kiss, making her ache anew. But she somehow shoved against him. “No! I’m not doing this! Not again. Not until you tell me what happened between last night and this morning.”

After a hesitation, he took a deep, seemingly calming breath, then nodded. “Verra well. Dress yourself. Then we’ll discuss some things,” he said, looking for all the world like a man sentenced to the gallows.

Forty-one

H
alf an hour later, once Jane had washed and dressed, preparing for whatever he had to confess, she sat patiently waiting on the side of his bed.

Hugh hadn’t spoken, just paced the room like a caged beast, appearing as if he were…
nervous
.

“Just say what’s on your mind,” she said as he passed. “Whatever it is, it can’t hurt to tell me.”

He slowed. “And how would you know that?”

“Is it a secret that someone would kill me for? That Grey would torture me for?”

“No.”

“Does it embarrass you?”

“No, but—”

“Hugh, they’re just words. Trust me with your secret, and you won’t regret it.” When he still resisted, she tried to make light. “Do you worry that I won’t find you as attractive if you’re not the brooding Highlander with his devilish secrets? Tell me.”

“Hell, you won’t believe me anyway,” he muttered.

“This is going to sound mad. I ken it’s going to.” He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “But my family was…cursed. I believe that I will bring you nothing but misery if I stay wed to you.”

Cursed? What the devil is he talking about?
Though her thoughts were wild, her tone was inscrutable when she said, “Go on, I’m listening.”

“Ten generations ago, a clan seer foretold the futures of the Carrick line and recorded them in a book called the
Leabhar nan Sùil-radharc
, the
Book of Fates
.” He pointed to the old book he always had on the table. “My brothers and I are fated to be solitary, living our lives alone, and will bring pain to those we care for if we think to do otherwise. We will be the last of our line and can never have children. For five hundred years, the foretellings have all come true—every single one of them.”

“I-I don’t understand…” She inhaled and began again, “Do you care for me enough to stay with me otherwise?” she asked.

“Aye, Christ, yes.”

“Then you’re telling me that nothing stands in the way of us staying married except for a…
curse
?”

When he didn’t deny it, Jane barely stifled the scream welling in her throat.
This just isn’t happening to me!
How could she be rational in the face of this? Reasonable was impossible.

It was as if one of the foundations of her adult life had just suffered a fracture. Now everything built on it had gone askew. The quiet, steady Hugh she’d known for half her life was gone, and in his place was a superstitious madman.

“Hugh, people simply…people like us simply don’t think like this anymore. Not with science and medicine. Mòrag is superstitious because she doesn’t know any better. You’ve traveled the world, and you’re educated. Beliefs like this belong in the past.”

“And I wish I could put them there. But this has shadowed me for my entire life.”

“You know me well enough to know I can’t accept things like this.”

“Aye, I ken that.” He exhaled a long breath. “And I know that you scorn those who do.”

“Naturally!” she snapped, then struggled for calm. “Are you telling me this now because you’re willing to forget this, forget these beliefs?”

His expression looked hopeless—and resigned. “If I could have figured out a way to get around it, I never would have had to tell you.”

When she realized that he wasn’t revealing this to explain his past behavior, but to explain why he couldn’t stay married to her, her lips parted. “You’re really saying this? That a
Scottish
curse—and, my goodness, aren’t those always the worst kind?—keeps us from remaining wed?”

All of the worry, the careful strategizing, the effort to win him—all of it was for nothing.

Because of a curse.

Frustration threatened to choke her.
No, Father, actually I
can’t
cajole him into staying with me.
She’d never had a chance from the outset.

“Everything in the book comes to pass,” Hugh said.

“Everything. I ken it’s hard to believe.”

“I should have kept a tally of your excuses! You’re not the marrying kind, you can’t have children, and, oh yes, you are cursed. Anything else you want to declare to scare me away? I know! You
used
to be a eunuch? You’ve only two months to live?” Then, in a breathy voice, she said, “You’re a
ghost
, aren’t you?”

He clenched and unclenched his jaw, visibly grappling for control. “Do you think I’m lying about this?”

“Hugh, I sincerely
hope
you’re lying—” She broke off as a thought arose. “Oh, dear God.” A trembling hand flew to her forehead. “Does this mean that a five-hundred-year-old curse is the only thing you were trusting to keep me from conceiving?”

“I told you I canna get you with bairn.” His eyes narrowed. “But you said it dinna matter either way.”

“I said it didn’t matter, so long as we were married! Right now, all I know is that you’re still leaving. And, yes, you told me you can’t have children, but I’m having trouble with the source of your information.”

He strode to the table, flipping to the end of the book. “Just read the words, and let me explain.”

She shook her head. “I can’t listen to this. I would no more listen to this than I would hear an argument that the sun is blue.”

“You’ve wanted to know, and now I’m telling you—the first person I’ve ever told—but you doona want to hear it?” he demanded. “Read the words.”

She yanked the book out of his hands. “This is the root of the
curse
?” At his nod, she tossed it back to the table and flipped through, not bothering to be careful with the pages, though she could tell it was very old. Some of the text was written in Gaelic, some in English. Her brows drew together as she flipped toward the end. Now it all seemed to be written in English.

“Why’re you frowning? Did you feel something—”

“Yes!” she cried, swinging a wide-eyed gaze at him. “I’m feeling an overwhelming urge to toss this into the lake.”

Ignoring her comment, he moved beside her and turned to the last page. “This was written to my father.”

She perused the passage.
Not to marry, know love, or bind, their fate; Your line to die for never seed shall take. Death and torment to those caught in their wake…
“You said all of this has come true?”