“Even worse.” Tristan sighed and took her hands again.
She stared at where his hands enveloped hers. His thumbs caressed the backs of her hands. He was warm. He was safe. He said he loved her. She had the sudden urge to burst into tears again, but she managed to keep her head about her. She didn’t want him to think she was crying about marrying him. She nodded.
His blue eyes roved her face in such an earnest manner, it made her squirm to be so avidly viewed. But she let that thought go and examined him right back. He was beautiful, even here in this gray gully, cold and wet, deadly winds howling above them.
“I’ve bollocksed this up completely, haven’t I?” Tristan gave her a wry smile. “I’m sitting here confessing my adoration for you, utterly convinced you feel the same about me. And now, you feel awkward because clearly you don’t.” He sat back, staring into the small space they occupied. “Don’t I just deserve that.”
Eleanor fought the urge to go to him, smothering him in assurances that she didn’t feel. But she held herself apart. This was important. She needed to sort out her feelings, and his nearness made her dizzy all on its own. Couple that with his earnest declarations of love, she was positively nonsensical. “Give me a moment to think.”
Eleanor dropped her head in her hands. She was in a gully in Scotland with a sprained, possibly broken ankle that was swelling up to resemble a pale hot air balloon with a devastatingly attractive man. Oh, who was also completely in love with her. Top it all off with an astoundingly foul-smelling cheese, dried apples as hard as pebbles, unbreakable hazelnuts, and remarkably good whisky. She let herself fall back against the wall, thinking how strange it was to round her spine like that, since she wasn’t wearing a corset.
How very strange it all was.
Tristan stretched out, returning to his side, studying her as he propped up his head with one hand.
Eleanor looked down at him, not knowing how to cope with this man’s bizarre conversation. “I am beginning to think you’re daft.”
“But handsomely daft?”
“Tristan.” She tipped herself over to lie on her side, echoing his relaxed position. It felt dangerous and perfectly appropriate all at once.
“Eleanor.” His normal joking demeanor, the flirtatious façade, crumbled, and Eleanor was left staring at him. The real him.
“There you are.” The urge to touch his face was powerful, but she restrained herself.
“It takes a lot for me to stop making jokes,” he said. “But I am absolutely serious about you.”
“What do I have to give up in return?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
“How can I be certain?” Her heart still stung from his previous actions. She’d get over it, but it would take some doing. She wasn’t petty, but she was steadfast, and betrayals hurt so very much.
Tristan turned onto his back and looked up at the tarp. “I suppose you can’t. But we can put anything we like in our marriage contract. If you want a line in there that says I cannot forbid you from climbing a mountain, I’ll sign.”
Eleanor felt as if something was shifting into place inside of her. There was something at work here, more than just her mind.
For once, he didn’t speak. Didn’t joke. He merely stared up at her. Abruptly he took a breath but didn’t expel it. He looked down the gully. “Eleanor. May I kiss you?”
Chapter Fourteen
Tristan could onlysee her lips at this point. She was talking and flirting with him, and he was doing his best to stay focused, to answer her questions and parry her barbs. But holy hell, it was becoming near impossible to pay attention. His body was snapping from exhaustion to exuberance, and he needed something to distract himself.
She didn’t say anything, leading him to believe that he had once again, completely bollocksed up whatever this was between them. But suddenly he realized that this was her thinking face. The expression when she was thinking about why it could be a bad idea and why she mightdo it anyway.
“I think that would be fine,” she said finally, her eyes downcast.
“If you don’t want to kiss me, don’t be afraid to say no.” It killed him to say it, but he needed to make sure she wasn’t intimidated by him. He desperately wanted to kiss her, but he also didn’t want to kiss a woman who didn’t want it.
She raised her velvet brown eyes to his. “I would really prefer it if you would.”
He swallowed hard. His body was already reacting to her. There were many things he would like to propose in order to hear such proper words from her. He would love to find all the things she preferred. He went to his knees, pulling her up as well. Kissing a woman while lying down was too muchtemptation for him. At least, it was when the woman was Eleanor.
And he meant to be chaste. A virginal peck on the lips. He was trying very, very hard. But, as usual, things got away from him.
He tilted her chin up. She eyed him through her inky lashes before closing them in preparation. It gave him a moment to study her up close. The subtle spray of freckles across her nose. A virtually unnoticeable pock scar near her hair line. The perfect skin underneath all of it, as if she were made of marble or milk.
He pressed his lips to her soft mouth. And dear God, she melted into him. They matched bodies from knee to chest, and his lust sprang to life, urging him to explore deeper. Her rapid breathing distracted him, another signal to the animal in him. He deepened his kiss, pushing his tongue at the seam of her lips, until she opened her mouth and let him in.
