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‘I am not yelling! You didn’t mean this and you didn’t mean that and you didn’t mean anything, but you are just plain mean! I hate you!’
He gave an odd laugh which was worse than all his words and she sank even lower in her unaccustomed and childish tantrum and tried to shove him back into the corridor. He took a step back, but planted his foot, covering her hands with his and her shoving amounted to nothing and all her powerlessness rose to the surface like Jamie’s tarts and she began to cry.
‘Jo. Please don’t. Ah, Jo...’ He let go of her hands, but only to wrap his arms around her and though this, too, meant nothing, she sank against him and let her weariness and pain win.
‘I didn’t even think of you,’ she babbled. ‘I only wanted to go to Jamie as quickly as I could. I didn’t mean to come between you and you are cruel to think that.’ She wailed, then rendered herself even more ridiculous by adding, ‘And my beautiful dress is ruined and Beth will be disappointed in me as well.’
‘Jo. Please don’t cry, I am so sorry, lass. I was scared, and I’m a fool when I’m scared. Hush, darling, please...’ The words were warm against her temple, his lips brushing the sensitive skin there, and she shivered, breathed in, utterly confused.
The words, the warmth and strength of his arms around her made no sense. Or only made sense to that part of her that had dreamed this. Darling?
An endearment that meant nothing at all. He wanted her to calm down and stop making noise. That was all.
The same applied to his hands shifting lower, shaping the slope of her waist, tightening on the softness of her hips. Just comfort, Jo.
She had a harder time explaining away the shudder that pressed his body against hers, or his voice wrapping around her name as it had for that strange timeless moment during the dance.
‘Jo...’
She froze. Raised her hands and wiped her wet face with her fingers and searched for the lie in the urgency she read in the tension of his body against hers. His embrace was no longer comforting—it was demanding.
It must be a lie.
She forced herself to lean back, to look up into his face and see the pity and contrition his words had evoked, but instead she saw what she could not mistake.
Fire.
She had never imagined a man would look at her like that. Not even Alfred, who loved her, had ever looked at her with such concentrated fire, with a tension that slashed lines of shadows and darkness into his austere face.
His hands rose, cupped her face, his thumbs brushing across her cheeks, sliding on the remnants of her tears. His touch was gentle but his voice was rough, an underground scraping that rose up from her feet and shattered her as it went.
‘Tell me to leave now, Jo.’
‘Why?’ she asked, without thinking, and he sank against her, wrapping himself about her, a laugh coursing through him and adding to her destruction.
‘Why? No reason. No good reason. Tell me to stay. Please, Jo.’
‘Stay. I want you to stay.’
He groaned, his hands moved from her hips to her backside, raising her against him. She felt it then. He was hard and hot and the contact drove back everything but awareness. What was no more than a dream minutes ago was now the very centre of her existence.
‘Oh, God, Jo. I’ve been wanting to touch you for ever. I can’t bear it any longer...’
His words echoed her thoughts and she ignored the lie. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he wanted her now. Even if it was only because of fear and loneliness and frustration. Right now he wanted her.
‘Then touch me, Benneit.’
She waited for him to pull up her skirts, press her back on to the bed as Alfred did on those rare occasions he took her when they were not already in bed. He always felt guilty later and she usually felt...incomplete. She did not want to think of Alfred now, but she could not help it. Her body was alive and straining for something, but her mind was scurrying away. She wanted Benneit, but she knew in a few moments he would be sated and then he would leave and she would still be there, even more alone.
Then she realised Benneit had stopped and panic set in. She did not want this, but she did not want him to go away. Her hand fisted on his kilt and she leaned against him.
