Finally, he moved to get her under him and slid inside her, and they both continued the movement of hips in a silent accord. A slowly building symphony, their eyes on each other, palm to palm. They had done this before, and it was intimate, but it felt even more intimate this time.
He kissed her again, pausing his movement to hold still inside her and savour the moment, the sensations, the being.
“Aihan,” he said softly.
“Hm,” she responded, her expression soft, almost dreamy.
He kissed her again, swallowing the words that wanted to burst forth. He knew what he was feeling, and he hadn’t felt it in six years. But he couldn’t, not when she was leaving. So, he kept the words inside, but he felt like they were leaking out his pores anyway and soaking into her. That she knew without him saying anything, because he could feel the same thing coming back to him from her.
It was a perfect bubble of love and contentment. A waking dream.
He rolled them onto their sides and began to move in her again. Slowly. She responded and they moved together, arms round each other, mouths locked, bodies joined, holding onto a blissful pleasure.
Gradually it built, moment by moment with each sensual sway and grind of hips, slide of flesh, grip of muscles, touch of lips, caress of tongues. It was all-consuming, the rising flame of passion, desire and need, a building conflagration about to consume them and burn them away to ashes.
Yet when the moment of absolute pleasure arrived, it held for long moments outside of time before sending them cascading down the slope of pulsing joy and into a pool of warm, boneless bliss. Bodies stilled and heartbeats and breathing slowed, but neither of them moved.
Col couldn’t. He felt like he would shatter if he moved. Or shatter her. The sense of unity he had felt in that moment had removed the barrier between self and other, and he was no longer sure where he ended, and she began. And he didn’t want to know. He just wanted to stay like this forever. He felt as if he had touched heaven or looked upon the face of God. Feltsomething akin to universal all-encompassing love. The sense of beatific love was so overpowering he wasn’t even sure if he was breathing.
How long he drifted in this state, he wasn’t sure, nor could he recall who moved first or how he came back to himself eventually. But something changed to bring him slowly back to reality, and they settled to sleep. Her face tucked into his chest and their legs entwined, arms round each other. And he kissed her hair. The scent of it, spice and roses, sent him into slumber.
When Col woke in the morning, he was alone. The realisation sent a chill through him, causing his skin to prickle with alarm. He sat up and looked around. Her robe was gone. She had retreated to her own room.
A sharp pain stabbed him in the chest.Was I wrong? Was it only me that felt that communion of souls last night? Was it some form of dream, a mental aberration, brought on by my desperate desire for it? Did I imagine the whole thing?
A heavy lump in his stomach made him feel sick. He rose slowly, washed, and dressed and, calling the dogs, he headed downstairs and through the back to the courtyard, passing the kitchen. He poked his head in, but there was no sign of Aihan. She must still be in her room?
He set off across the fields, letting the dogs roam while his thoughts chased themselves round in circles. He was glad he’d swallowed the words he’d wanted to utter last night in the throes of his delusion. What reaction would he have got if he had? Recoil?
His chest ached. His throat felt tight and his eyes stung. He was far too vulnerable. How had this happened? He’d been absolutely convinced there was no other woman in the world for him but Cat. That she had taken his heart with her to the grave.
Then Aihan exploded into his life and caused all sorts of chaos and got under his skin and inside his heart. But she didn’t feel the same way he did. That was obvious. She enjoyed the sex, but that was all. He had thought—well, it didn’t matter what he had thought, he was wrong. So wrong.
She had seduced him for her own purposes, her own reasons. Was it revenge for stopping her from going home? Surely not. She seemed to care, after all. She fussed over his wounds and took care of the boys . . . . He shook his head. None of it made any sense.
Well, he had taken some steps to perhaps find a way to send her home. If that was what she wanted, he would make sure she had the opportunity. Even if it broke his heart all over again. Because, he realised, her happiness meant more than his own.
With this noble resolve in mind, he called the dogs and headed back to the house, resolutely swallowing down the lump in his throat. Cathadbeen the only woman for him, becauseshehad loved him. It was fairly obvious to him after last night that Aihan did not. Not in the way he understood love to be. Well, he would find a way to get her home and be grateful for the bit of happiness he’d had with her. It couldn’t last much longer, but he’d take what he could get.
Aihan was baking bread, but nothing was going right this morning. The oven had gone out overnight and needed to be relit, a process that proved extremely difficult and resulted in her getting covered in soot and charcoal before she got the flames at last to take.
Then she mistook the sugar for salt and had to start over and discovered the milk was sour.
Fergus, finding her staring hopelessly at the curdled milk, sent Willy to milk the cow and get some fresh. With a nod at hergrubby apron and face, he said, “Ye should ha’ asked me to light it fer ye, lass. She’s a stubborn old besom, that oven.”
She shook her head. “It’s alright, Fergus, I mastered it in the end.”
“What ails ye, lassie? Ye look peaked.”
“Nothing. I didn’t sleep well.”
“Aye, that’ll do it.”
Willy came back with fresh milk, and she started on her third batch of dough for the morning. Kneading the wretched stuff with ruthless efficiency, she gritted her teeth and tried to push down the feelings that were bubbling up and destroying her peace of mind.Last night.
She had never experienced anything like it. And it terrified her. She had to leave, and soon. Because if she didn’t, she feared she never would. She wouldn’t be strong enough to tear herself away from the man who eclipsed all others. Who had stolen her heart out of her chest and threatened to tear her in two between her loyalty to Liang and her desire for him.
She sighed, pounding the dough mercilessly. There would be no bread for breakfast this morning; it wouldn’t be cooked in time. Just parritch, eggs, and salted ham. She set the dough aside to rise and put the oats on to cook in the big pot with salt and sugar, and got out the ham to carve off slices to fry up with the eggs.
