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‘I told you I don’t intend to return to Uxmore. I always thought I would go to London, but when we were in the village the other day I spoke with Mrs McManus and she said it is becoming harder for her at the school. Lochmore may have shrunk, but there are more children than ever and she was thinking of speaking with Mr McCreary about finding someone younger to assist her. And I thought...perhaps I might...’
‘You wish to become a schoolmistress? At Lochmore?’
‘It was a foolish idea. I’m sorry. I dare say it would be embarrassing to have a relation of Bella here in such a capacity.’ She turned away and reached towards a cluster of buds hanging from the vines that covered the trellis above them. ‘What is this?’
‘Wisteria. It is one of the loveliest plants here, but you can only appreciate it once it blooms.’ He guided her towards the bower where the sun was strongest. One of the clusters was a pale lavender, soft and fresh, the colour of a mythical dawn. ‘They will all be like this soon and then you will see why my mother took such effort with it.’
* * *
Benneit watched Jo touch the delicate cluster hanging from the trellis, the buds shivering under her fingers and an answering shiver skimmed under his skin. In an instant he was on fire, his skin tight, tingling with the need to act, press himself against her. It was so immediate he felt dizzy with it, his breath turning shallow.
In his mind’s eye he saw her naked beneath the vines, covered with these flowered waterfalls, waiting for him. But that would never be and it hurt like nothing had hurt in his life.
‘It is lovely,’ she murmured, her voice sucking him further under the wave of lust. He rested his hands on her shoulders a moment before turning her. Her eyes were still bright with appreciation of the beauty, her mouth the soft curve of a smile that stripped him of his defences every time. It was that smile that made her impossible to ignore, each smile as soft as a petal unfurling, but with the power to destroy his defences.
‘There should be roses, too.’ His voice was hoarse because it hurt to talk. ‘I should have tried harder to keep them. They would be in bloom now. I want to see you surrounded by roses, find the one as soft as your mouth, as sweet as your scent so I can find you when you leave.’
Even speaking those words hurt and he pressed his hands to her cheeks, moulding his fingers over her face, mapping her, the soft curve of her cheek, the firm, stubborn chin, the long gold-tipped lashes that were shielding the cool pixie eyes, and her mouth, the generous, sweet bow that could rule his reactions and which gave her away far more than her eyes. It was parted now, her breath as uneven as his, as vulnerable as he felt, shivering like a petal in a rising wind. He brushed his fingers over it, catching the warmth of her breath.
He couldn’t touch her here. Anyone could come by out and see them...
One hand slid into her hair. Without her bun it was looser and it made way for his fingers, warm and silky, made to be set loose and wrapped about him as it was at night.
‘I want to make love to you in daylight, here, with the sun streaming through the vines, touching you as you touch me. I want to taste the sun on your skin, every golden gleam, every freckle, I want to make you blush so I can watch heat pour through you when I enter you, when I make you shudder. Right here in the centre of the garden so that no corner is ever free of you, of your feel and your scent. You will always be right here.’
She was shivering and her eyes were damp; he knew he was going too far, but he could not stop. Not if the whole of Lochmore and McCrieff were standing around them baying for his blood. Right now he could not, would not stop. This was his. One last moment of something purely for himself. It was not even for Jo because he could not have her, but he could have this. Jo in his garden. He would never take anyone else here. Here, with her, he was completely himself. As she was. This was Jo—perfect, lovely, clever, impossible. His Jo.
The kiss was hard and deep, his mouth capturing hers, his hands crushing her against him. Even as his body raged, his hands dragging at the dress that kept her from him, his mind was howling in agony that it could not be more than a moment.
How was that possible? It was all wrong.
