Seduced by the Laird (Conquered Brides Series Book 2) (12 page)

And where was a lass to go who was ruined and carrying a child? No family. No coin. No home.

The church.

She’d run into the arms of God and his devotees.

And suffered the loss of their child. Without him.

Gregor turned, gripping the handle, prepared to push the door open and offer her what he should have so long ago.

But he stalled. Hearing her words ring out in his mind. She didn’t want him there. She wanted him out of her life.

Should he grant her that? After all he’d put her through, was it not selfish to demand entrance back into her life?

As much as it pained him, perhaps he should do as she asked. Walk away.

Nay.

He’d not make that mistake again.

Couldn’t.

If she tossed him out again, he’d go, but he wasn’t going to walk away just because she’d told him once.

Gregor opened the door, and took in the sight of her crumpled in tears on the floor. His heart broke even more. In one fell swoop, he slammed the door closed and dropped beside her, pulling her into his arms, settling her trembling body on his lap. She curled against him, gripped tight to his shirt, her face buried in the crook of his neck as she sobbed. He cradled her against him, feeling the beat of their hearts meld.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured over and over again.

She pulled back, her eyes swollen and red, cheeks soaked. He wiped at the tear tracks with the pads of his thumb, with the cuff of his sleeve. Her gaze went from his eyes to his mouth, and that was all Gregor needed as an invitation. He claimed her lips, remembrance rocking him as their mouths joined, slanted, treasured.

Their kiss was hungry, but more than simply the desires of the flesh, it was familiar wanting, much needed comfort. Kirstin shifted on his lap, straddling his hips, her palms pressed to his cheeks. Her kiss grew fevered as she pressed her breasts to his chest, ground the apex of her thighs to his middle. Gregor held tight to her, wrapping his arms around her back, fusing her to him and refusing to let go.

The taste of her was just as he remembered, sweet like honey and spice, and her scent, of fresh baked sweets and cinnamon. He threaded one hand into her silky tresses, massaging the back of her head, the other around her middle. Oh, how she’d changed for the better. Softer. Suppler. Warmer. Saints, how he’d missed her. Too many years had passed. Too many words unspoken.

He was never going to let go of her again. Never going to hurt her again.

“Never,” he murmured. “Mine. Always.”

She sighed into his mouth, kissing him deeper, harder, and he answered her demands with a thrust of his tongue, a growl of need.

And then she was grappling with his shirt, and he was helping her, pulling it over his head and tossing it. Her warm, steady hands pressed hotly to his chest, his shoulders, then scaling down his back. Her lips burned against his shoulder, his chest. Sensation whipped through him, searing him. Binding him. Hot hands splayed on his flesh. Their movements were hurried, frantic. The need to forget, and just feel.

“Kirstin—“

But she swallowed his words with another searing kiss.

Chapter Thirteen

There was no thought in her movements, her desire. Hands raking over his body. Lips tasting.

Kirstin was simply a woman in need.

A woman in need of the one and only man she’d ever loved. The one and only person in this world who felt an ounce of her pain. Knew of it. Understood it. Didn’t punish her for it.

Whatever sins she had already committed could not be undone, and this, how could it be so sinful when it felt so good and right? When nothing but Gregor’s arms around her was what she needed to calm the storm of emotions that were crashing through her?

“I’ve missed ye. Och, how I’ve missed ye,” he was saying, but she silenced him once more by biting his lip, slicking her tongue over his.

No talking. No more apologies. Nothing sentimental.

This was purely about pleasure. A physical connection.

Purely to forget the pain. To sink back into a place, a moment in time where they’d both been full of life, excitement, hope.

At least, that was what she was trying to tell herself. She couldn’t hear his words. His sentiments. His praise. That would only make her crash hard. What she needed was to escape. To
feel
.

She tugged at the ribbons of her chemise, Gregor’s fingers tangling with hers, their eyes locked, memories batting back and forth between their gazes. Him firing, her deflecting.

“I want ye,” she whispered. “Make love to me, Gregor.”

He tossed her chemise, the flimsy fabric landing somewhere behind him, exposing her in full view to his roving, hungry eyes. The heat of his hands and arms on her naked flesh replaced the chill draft of the room, soothed the shivers of her nerves. Her nipples pebbled, breasts felt achy and heavy with wanting.

She wanted to crush her skin to his, feel their naked bodies sliding over one another.

There was no turning back. Not when she was wrapped naked around him.

Gregor cupped her breasts, massaging the weight of them, before bending to kiss the puckered pink tips. Heated spurs of pleasure volleyed, singeing her skin, firing through her body and landing at the very center of her, then all the way through to the very ends of her nerves. Between her thighs was quickly slick, her body remembering all too well the pleasure Gregor could give her. The plunge of his thick arousal, the rocking of his hips against hers.

“Ye’re still just as beautiful. Ye smell the same, like sunlight and sugar.”

She thrust her chest forward, fingers twisting in his hair, begging without words for him to put his mouth on her and cease his talking, else she lose her nerve. And, oh, god, did he. Hot velvet lanced over her flesh, sparking flames as he licked then suckled her nipples.

A moan escaped her, before she clamped her lips closed. They had to be quiet. Not draw attention to themselves, else she be strung up naked for all the church to devour. Kirstin tightened her grip on his hair, her thighs clamping his ribs, shivers running over her skin like a pack of wild animals on the hunt, looking for a place to land, her pleasure its prey.

That was what this was, animalistic, carnal. She tugged harder, pulling his head back and letting her mouth crash down on his, burning forever in her memory the taste of him. Letting him know how much she missed him. Wanted him. Needed him. Kissing him for all she was worth, because this would be the last time.

The very last time.

Gregor kissed her just as passionately, his hand sliding from her breasts down her belly and then lower, cupping the dampened curls, fingers threading through her glossy folds. She cried out, shifting on his lap, wanting more and more. Magic fired from his fingertips, sliding over her, finding that special knot of flesh that reveled in every little touch, every little stroke.

“Just as responsive. God, how I’ve missed this. No one could ever compare to ye, lass…”

She bit his chin, sliding her tongue down over the column of his neck. “Dinna bring God or anyone else into this. I need ye. Now.”

She fumbled with the ties of his leather breeches. She’d not minded overmuch, because when he grew hard, she could see the length of him, every ridge, pressed with urgency to the leather. He didn’t wear a plaid when traveling, she knew that much from their time together. He was able to strap on more weapons with the breeches, better able to ride with speed. And while that was all well and good for the warrior side of him, it wasn’t boding well for him as a lover. The more she tugged, the more knots she made, and the more she wished he would return to his plaid, so there was nothing to fumble with beside his thick hard shaft.

“Och, lass,” he mumbled against her breasts as he wrenched open the ties of his breeches, the length of his thick erection springing free and brushing satisfyingly against her fingertips.

His teeth sank into her shoulder, scraping with exotic pleasure over her skin. Hands on her hips, he positioned her just right.

“Call me, Kay,” she demanded, wanting to be that lass from years before. She wrapped her fingers around his hard shaft and guiding him toward her slick entrance, feeling the head of his arousal breech her opening.

Gregor stilled, his eyes meeting hers, the cloud of passion dissipating quicker than mist when kissed by the sun. A drunk man growing sober upon hearing dire news.

But, what dire news?

Her stomach plummeted as the fog of passion lifted.

Slowly he shook his head and she felt the heat of their union shatter, chills replacing whatever fire had been licking at her limbs.

“Ye said yourself, ye are not Kay anymore. I want
ye.
I want
Kirstin
. I’ll not call ye by a name that is not truly yours, that ye dinna believe in.”

The heat of their near union evaporated, leaving her suddenly cold and exposed. She scrambled from his lap, his touch. Her bare bottom hit the wooden floor, cold, barren, hard. She grappled with her discarded chemise, covering herself. Humiliation filling her cheeks. A foot away from him, she stared unblinking, wide-eyed. Mortification, anger, weakness and regret pooled in her chest. She saw the two of them through different eyes, as though she floated from her own body, or was a stranger who walked through the door.

Her.
Naked, hands bracing, chest heaving, neck red from the scrape of his whiskers, his teeth. Lips swollen, nipples hard. Willing. Wanting.

Him.
Half-dressed, shoulders rigid, a scrape mark from her nails on his back, brows furrowed, lips still wet from her tongue. Sidestepping. Shutting down.

Slowly she stood, keeping her body covered with her chemise, suddenly feeling so exposed. So ridiculous. To have thought that he would… That they could…

There was something wrong with her. Had to be.

She was wicked. Deserved punishment.

Hadn’t she learned her lesson in the past? What a fool she was. An utter, ridiculous fool.

Hadn’t all the punishment she’d ever received been her fault? The night her parents’ castle was taken by marauders, she’d been arguing with her maid
. God punishes
. Then she’d refused to leave, sobbing, and when she finally did, her maid was killed. Her sister stolen.
God punishes
. Her savior, her cousin, he disappeared forever, when he saved her.
God punishes
. She fell in love, conceived a life that was taken from her. God would not let her go unpunished.

“Please, leave. I know not what I was thinking. I shall be flogged for certain as it is the way it should be. I am full of sin and have sinned in the house of the Lord, breaking my vows.”

Gregor tucked himself back into his breeches and stood, hands imploring her. “Dinna push me away. Not now. Dinna punish yourself.”

She shook her head. “I have to. I…” Kirstin swallowed down the mortification of what she’d just done, feeling no sense of relief at having been able to stop before it went even further.

“Nay, ye dinna.” He stepped closer, imploring her.

Whatever hesitation she’d seen in his eyes had dissipated and she swore she wouldn’t look at him because she thought she saw pity. She didn’t need his pity. Didn’t want it.

Stilling her quivering lips, she looked him straight in the eye. “I am many complicated things, Gregor. Dinna presume to tell me what I can and cannot feel or how I should handle myself. I know I told ye that Kay was not me, that she had died long ago, but she is still inside me, still remembers ye, and I should never have allowed her to be set free. Never have let that part of myself seduce ye. For that, I apologize.”

Zounds, but her world was crumbling. She could almost hear it cracking all around her.

“Ye dinna have to apologize to me!” Gregor sounded frustrated, his hands swiping down his face as he breathed hard. “Ye never have to apologize to me for your desire. For your want of me. I’ve wanted ye for the past decade. I wanted ye then and I want ye still.”

She trembled, backing away. “There is nothing between us. We cannot be. We should never have been.”

Gregor raked his hands through his hair, frustration darkening his eyes. “That’s the thing ye dinna see, that ye willna allow yourself to see. There is so much, if ye will only open your eyes, your heart.”

She shook her head, hugging herself tighter, squeezing her thighs together to hide the evidence of her desire that had not yet faded. “Please. Leave me.”

“Dammit, Kirstin,” Gregor said, stalking forward. He gripped her arms, giving her a little shake. The warmth of his fingers seeping into her cold skin. She couldn’t look at him, kept her gaze cast toward the ground. “Look at me. Really look at me.”

She opened her eyes wider, staring at his beautiful face and wishing she could take him back. Wishing she could take back all the years and sorrow that separated them. Wishing that fate had given them a different path. Wishing that she’d only ever known him as Kirstin, not Kay.

“Do ye see me? I am but a man. One who’s made mistakes in his past. Dreadful mistakes that I’ll never forgive myself for. But I won’t be punished for them forever. Not when I’m standing here before ye, begging ye to let me make it up to ye. Begging to make it right. And ye shouldn’t be punished either.”

She blew out a ragged breath, her mind unable to grasp wholly onto what he was saying. She wanted to. But she couldn’t.

“I’m so sorry, love,” he whispered. “I know I shouldn’t ask ye for your forgiveness, but I want it all the same.”

He wanted what she couldn’t give. She wanted what she couldn’t have. So many restraints. So many obstacles. She couldn’t face them. Him. Herself.

Head high, she straightened her shoulders, quit hiding herself and in her most calm and authoritative voice, she said, “I need to get dressed. My companion will be back any minute. Leave me.”

Gregor pointed at her, determination clear in his dark eyes, the set of his lips. “It is not over between us.”

She nodded, then shook her head. “It has to be. Forgive me for leading ye to believe in something I am unable to give.”

Gregor let out a low growl. “Ye were stubborn then and ye’re stubborn now. Ye haven’t changed a bit.” He yanked on his shirt, stuffing it into his breeches and stomped toward the door, started to open it, then stilled. “I’m not giving up on ye this time, Kay. Mark my words. I’m not pushing ye away. I know what I want, and I think deep down, ye know what ye want, too. Ye want us. This. ’Tis not so much about my forgiveness as it is about ye forgiving yourself and allowing yourself to find happiness. God is merciful. He forgives, and if ye call yourself a woman of faith, ye should know that, too. Love is kindness. Love is compassionate. Ye need to forgive yourself.”

Love? Forgiveness? He spoke words she’d longed to hear. To bathe in. But he spoke them too late.

Through a haze of fresh tears she stared at him, wanting to say so many things, but there she was naked, vulnerable and in a position she told herself she’d never be again. Her throat was tight, her lips unable to form words.

His frown deepened and he shook his head, disappointment clear on his face. And then he was gone. Leaving her shivering in the center of the room, the same place she’d been not a half hour before, standing warm in his arms.

It was too late.

Too late.

Late.