Scandals Bride (Cynster 3)

Catriona searched his eyes-desperately. They viewed her steadily, but told her nothing. "Yes-if you wish to. I mean…" Dragging in a breath, her gaze locked with his, she rattled on: "If you wished to stay I would be pleased, but I don't want you to think that you must-that I'd be expecting you to remain here always… or, or… resenting…" She gestured vaguely.

Impatiently, lips thinning, Richard shook his head. "That's not what I asked." He trapped her gaze and held it ruthlessly. "Do you want me to stay?"

Wide-eyed, Catriona tried another gesture. "Well! We're man and wife… I thought… that is, I imagined it was customary-''

"No!" He closed his eyes; his jaw set. Through set teeth he said: "Catriona, please tell me-do you wish me to stay?"

He opened his eyes-his irate gaze pinned her.

Catriona glared. "Well, of course, I want you to stay!" Wildly, she waved her bandaged hands. "I can't even sleep when you're not here! I feel utterly wretched when you're not by. And how on earth I'm supposed to get on if you're not here I don't know-" She broke off as tears filled her eyes.

Richard saw them; the breath trapped in his chest abruptly released in a huge sigh of relief-he reached out, grabbed her, wrapped his arms about her, and buried his face in her hair. And breathed deeply, inhaling the scent he'd so missed the previous night. "Then I'll stay."

After a long, silent moment, she sniffed, and softened in his arms. "You will?"

"Forever." Lifting his head, he brushed her hair from her face and kissed her. Long and lingeringly. "Come to bed."

Her lids lifted; she met his gaze. "Bed?"

Richard grimaced. "Your hands are hurt, remember." He stood, simultaneously lifting her into his arms. He lost his towel in the process; neither of them cared. He carried her to the bed, laid her down gently, freeing her hair, spreading it over the pillows, then, holding her wrists so she wouldn't forget in her passion and harm them, he covered her.

She'd cooled, but when he pressed into her she arched, then arched again and took him in. He settled within her, then drank her soft gasp when he drew back and thrust deep. Three thrusts later, she wriggled beneath him, tilting her hips to better receive him, lifting her legs and clasping his flanks-welcoming him in, holding him to her. Loving him.

Richard slowed, wallowing in the glory, in the intimate caresses she pressed on him. He bent his head and kissed her-she drew him deep there as well.

And so they loved-now slow, then faster, then slow again when the compulsion to savor the moment came upon them. Their bodies shifted and flexed in a dance older than time, hard pressing soft, rough rasping smooth. They lost track of time, of the world about them, of the night beyond their bed. The only things that mattered were each other's pleasure and the soft murmurs of contentment they shared.

And when the spinning stars finally crashed down upon them and took them from the world, they were together, as one, much more deeply than before.

Much more wedded than before.

Sunk deep in her softness, collapsed upon her, Richard's last thought was: At long last, he'd found his home.

Later, in the untrammeled depths of the night, held securely in Richard's arms yet still drifting in a sated sea, Catriona recalled her first sensing of him, recalled his hot hunger-his lustful desire-and his restless longing. She remembered very well that restlessness in his soul, his deep-seated need to belong. She could, she now knew, satisfy his lustful hunger-she could fulfill his other need, too. And thus anchor him here, by her side, satisfied with what she could give him.

She could be his cause, become his life's purpose.

Her initial reading of him, that, quite aside from his strengths, he bore a wound which needed her healer's touch, had been accurate. He did have a deep need for something she could give him-herself, but not just physically, he needed much more than that. He needed her specifically, and that need, even once satisfied, would never die; it would always be a part of him. And if that was so, then if she gave freely, she had no reason to fear losing him.

The only question that remained was how much he understood-whether he would still fight fate-The Lady's will-or accept what she offered him.

She knew he was still awake, still floating in the warm afterglow. She drew in a slow breath, and took her courage in both hands. "Why did you decide to come back?"

The quiet question hung in the dark, a sweetly tolling bell exhorting the truth.

Richard heard and considered the many answers. He'd returned because of the loneliness that had wracked his soul when, last night, he'd slept without her. Tried to sleep without her-without her warmth beside him, without her silken limbs alongside his, the sound of her breathing, soft and low, echoing in his heart. Tried to sleep without the fragrance of her hair sinking through his senses, anchoring him through the night. He hadn't slept at all.

He'd returned even faster after learning of Dougal Douglas, because of the feeling that had churned in his gut, spurring him back from Carlisle. Because of the dread certainty that he should never have left her.

A certainty transmogrified to fact in that horror-filled moment when, clattering wildly into the yard having seen the flames and smoke through the trees, he'd seen his worst nightmare enacted before him-seen her rush into a burning building.

He wasn't about to deny what he felt for her-the depth of what he felt for her-not ever again. He would have to learn to deal with it, learn how to

live with it-and so would she.

Not, however, tonight. They were both far too tired to face such a task.

So he searched for a way to answer, some phrase that encompassed the truth. "I came back because this is my place." Turning his head, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. "This is where I belong. With you. By your side."