Page 56 of Managing the Major

“Dash it all, Octavia, I’m so sorry. She’s not the Lucy I knew if she’s capable of such behavior.” He stopped pacing and faced her, extending his right hand. “Do you forgive me for exposing you to something so disagreeable?”

She reached out, taking the left one as well, and squeezing them both. “I think you should have told me this before now. Did you not trust me to understand?”

He lifted his good hand and cupped her cheek, stroking the curve with his thumb. “I knew you would; that’s not the reason at all.” He hesitated, lowering his forehead to hers and taking an unsteady breath. “You’re so fresh, Octavia, so vibrant and untouched, and I didn’t want to come to you as someone who had loved once before, whose heart and body were both scarred.”

Burying her face in the crook of his neck, she breathed in the scent of him: cedar, a hint of cardamom, and the musky scent of exertion from his ride. “You said you might be falling in love, but you didn’t ask what I felt.”

His lips brushed the top of her head, her left temple. “No. Because it won’t change anything. I’m past that.”

Touching his slightly damp skin without the barrier of clothing made her senses reel. She slid her arms around his waist and pressed against the column of his body, warm from the sun, a dense series of curves and hard muscle beneath.

His heart thudded heavily beneath his shirtfront. Drawing one more deep breath of him, she lifted her face. “Shall I tell you?”

“Octavia…” a muscle ticked in his cheek.

“My freedom isn’t the prize it was before you, Alastair. All my life, I thought happiness was doing exactly as I wished and answering to no one, but that’s not enough anymore.”

His fingers gripped her shoulders. “Be careful what you say, Octavia.”

She turned her head and pressed a kiss to his scarred left hand. “I know my own mind.”

“You might grow bored with a simpler life, or become impatient with my infirmities. God, Octavia, would your family even consider a marriage between us?” His voice dropped to a knotted whisper. “If this goes any further and I lose you, I don’t think I could recover.”

“You have so little faith in me,” she chided softly.

He drew back, brushing aside a stray cluster of curls that escaped from her braid. “I haven’t had much faith in love, my darling.”

“Alastair…” It was difficult to find the precise words for what she wanted from him—why she thought they should be together.

“Yes, Octavia?” His faint smile made her toes curl.

“It may be naïve, but I want to be much more than your wife. Recently, I’ve glimpsed an idea of marriage as it could be, as it is between many of our friends. I couldn’t imagine a union between two people, each equally important, until I met you. We will always strive to be our best selves, only stronger because we’re together and we fill the emptiness each has kept hidden away.”

His eyes glittered with emotion. “Octavia…Octavia…I want all that and more.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

A Truce Becomes Much More

Alastair’s lips swooped down to capture hers, his right arm crushing her against him. He kissed her hungrily, as though he couldn’t get enough. When she was dizzy and shaking in the circle of his arms, he lifted her off the ground, his right arm under her knees.

“What are you doing?” she choked, still breathless from his kisses.

“We’re in the wide open, and I’m taking you inside. When will Peter return?”

“I don’t know…another hour maybe…but we’ll hear him at the gate. Oh, Alastair, be careful of your arm.”

He smiled, and she saw the boy he’d once been. “You weigh next to nothing, sweetheart, and I can easily carry you.” And he did, walking into the barn and stopping in an alcove where bales of hay stood stacked. The skylight above them cast a ray of light across his face, and his hair shone guinea-gold. She drank in the familiar features: the straight nose and chiseled lips, the hazel eyes sharp with ardor above high cheekbones.

He set her on her feet, letting her body rest against his tall frame. She felt the hardness of his arousal low on her stomach, and a delicious warmth spread through her limbs. Eagerly, she reached for the buttons of his white shirt and undid the first, but he caught her hands, kissing each one passionately.

“My Valkyrie,” he whispered, sweeping his eyes possessively down her figure. “You must be patient this time.” Goosebumps rose on her skin, even though the warmth of the sun poured through the glass of the window and the open doors behind them.

“What do you call me that?” she whispered back. Thor shifted in a nearby stall, snorting softly.

“Because you’re a warrior like Brunhilde and Sigrun and the women of Valhalla. I thought that when I first saw you.”

“But I thought you disliked me immediately.”