The Charm Stone (29 page)

She backed away from him even as she fought the urge to fling herself at him. “I'm not…” She trailed off, swallowing hard as he took steps toward her. “I'm not ready, Connal.” And that, she realized, was the truth. She wasn't ready to damn the consequences, no matter that she wished she was. “I do want you, but I can't give you everything you want.”

“I'm no’ here as The MacNeil, Josie. I'm here simply as Connal. And all I want is you.”

Dear God. She didn't think she was strong enough for this. He looked at her like he could consume her. And damned if she didn't want to be inhaled at the moment.

“It's supposed to be different,” she said quickly, trying like hell to hang on to her integrity and respect his needs like he'd respected hers. How did he make it look so easy when he'd done it? “Relationships, I mean. First you have dating.” She
continued backing up. “You know, going out to dinner, talking into the wee hours, discovering all the things you both like, the things you don't.” He kept coming, his expression unreadable. She backed around the couch. “Then, of course, comes the sex.” His eyes flared at that and she raised a hand, backtracking even faster. “Then more talking, lots more. And, eventually, if you're lucky, really lucky, you get commitment.” She skated by the loft stairs, circling her way back to the front door. “I never was really lucky. Not that I worked all that hard at it. I-I never really gave it much thought, actually.” She was babbling now, but didn't care. He was still coming for her. “I always thought it would happen when it happened, you know? Love, commitment, marriage, babies. In that order.”

“Stop running,” he said.

“I'm not.” But she was breathless by the time she got back to the front door. She stopped, her hand on the knob, uncertain whether she should just ask him to leave… or run into the storm herself. “I'm not running,” she said again, as much to herself as to him. “I'm explaining.” She gripped the doorknob more tightly as he stopped just in front of her. “I'm explaining why I can't do this, Connal.” She took a breath and looked up into his eyes. “I can't do this. I can't give you what you want. I need more.”

“You want this commitment then? The offer of marriage?”

It shocked her hearing him say it. So much so that she spluttered, laughing out loud, even as some small part of her heart yearned to believe the offer was real. “I was not angling for a proposal.” So what
did
she want?

With a far gentler touch than she could have imagined, he tipped her chin up so she looked directly at
him. “I wish to give ye what ye want, Josie. Only I dinna know how to go about givin’ it.”

She swallowed, which was difficult over the sudden lump in her throat. “I-I—”

The smallest of smiles flirted at the sides of his mouth. “I've finally done the impossible. I've rendered ye speechless.”

She tried to give him a look, but suddenly it was all too much for her. He was offering her… what?
Just what you want,
she thought.
Whatever you want him to offer.
She pulled from his grasp and left the doorway, moving so she put the couch between them. Even with the distance, thinking was almost impossible. “Why?”

“Why?”

“Yes,” she said, shoving her hair from her face, suddenly impatient. “Why do you want to give me whatever I want? Are we bargaining?” She'd seen in his eyes that he hadn't offered himself as some sort of calculated strategy. But maybe she needed to hear that from him.

“Tis no bargain I seek.” He didn't come closer this time. “'Tis only the path to yer heart I wish to travel.”

“What about the rest?” she choked out, forcing the rest out onto the table. “The baby?”

Now it was his turn to wipe the rain from his face as he searched for the words. He looked back to her and she saw the sincerity, the raw emotion on his face. “I can only think of you. I dinna want ye to leave, Josie.”

“Why?”

He frowned now. “Because I want you here. With me.”

“And this doesn't have anything to do with the baby you've waited three hundred years to make. The
one you're convinced will single-handedly restore wealth and happiness to this island.” She shook her head, even as her heart knocked hard a few times inside her chest.

He came to her then, but she folded her arms across her chest. He sighed heavily, maybe even swore beneath his breath.

Finally, she gestured to the couch. “Why don't you sit and I'll make some tea.” He looked like he was going to argue, then scowled and sat anyway. For some reason this made her smile. This was the Connal she knew. “Maybe we'll at least get to the talking to the wee hours of the night part,” she murmured before heading to the small kitchen.

Her hands trembled as she boiled the water and steeped the tea. Where could this possibly lead but them back in bed again? And where did she want it to lead if not back to bed?

“Why couldn't I fall in love with a regular mortal guy?” she muttered, then squealed when Connal spoke from directly behind her.

“Do ye want help carryin’ that?”

It was only then that she realized what she'd said. Out loud. Her breath caught as she looked at him, but he apparently hadn't heard her. It whooshed back out in a relieved sigh as she handed him the tray. “Thanks.”

He carried it to the small table fronting the couch, then sat, looking up at her expectantly. Which is when the ridiculousness of this whole thing hit her. They couldn't simply sit here, sipping tea, and calmly figure out what in the hell it was they were both doing tangled up in one another.

“It can't work,” she blurted out.

He paused in the act of pouring tea for them both-somehow looking really sexy while doing it-and looked back at her. “What won't work?”

She flopped down beside him. “This. Us.” She hiked a knee onto the cushion as she turned to face him.

“It's fair to say we want each other, right?” She took the look in his eyes to be a yes. A big, pulse-racing yes. “So where can that lead us? I mean, even if we can forget, for the moment, that you need an heir, which, frankly, is really hard for me to get past—”

The teapot clattered back to the tray just before he gripped her flailing hands. “Josie, I am no’ here about the bairn!”

She actually believed him, which only made what she had to say next more frustrating. “Even so, I can't go to bed with you again. My pills have run out.”

He sat and stared at her. And her heart sank.

“So,” she said quietly. “If you're not here to make a baby, you certainly came here expecting to get some practice in. Am I right?” Of course, she had no right to judge him considering she'd done little but think about “practicing” herself of late.

“I willna lie and say I have no’ thought of you… of me. Of us. Together in such a way again. I've never experienced anything like you.”

Her heart could barely take the things he said. It was harder and harder to cling to the cynical when she so badly wanted to revel in the romantic.

He cupped her face and she simply couldn't make herself pull away. “But 'tis no’ why I came here tonight. I spoke the truth about it being yer heart that I want.”

There it was. The pathetic thing she'd wanted to hear. What all women want to hear, she tried to tell herself, but the cynic inside her was receding quickly. She made one last stab at it. “But you'd take my body if it was all I had to offer.”

He merely looked at her then, his gaze steady on
hers until she wanted to squirm at the directness of it, the intimate penetration of it. “Days ago, I'd have said yes. Perhaps even hours ago.”

“And now?” She was trembling again.

“I've had your body, Josie. Tis wonderful, and I'll no’ deny I want it again. I dinna think I'll ever tire of it, in fact.” He reached out and stroked one blunt finger along the side of her face. “But 'tis no’ enough.”

“What more can I give you?” she asked shakily. His touch was undoing what little control she had left.

He looked her straight in the eye. “Yer heart.” He took her hands, and for the first time she could feel the fine tremors in his own fingers. It was only then that she realized he was nervous, too. And it changed everything.

“I told you I came here as a man. A man who is afraid of no’ doing the right things to keep his woman here,” he said roughly, as if the words were being torn out of him. And maybe they were.

“Connal—”

He pressed his lips to her fingers, halting whatever she'd been about to say. His eyes searched hers. “A man who doesna want to see his woman sail away from him.”

She was shaking now. His woman. Just hearing him say that sent a thrill of awareness through her she couldn't deny. A thrill she liked, dammit. And wanted to experience again. And again.

“I dinna wish to lose your smile, the sound of yer laughter.” He stroked her face, her lips. “And I admit, I dinna want to wake up knowing I'll never taste ye again.”

She swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat. “What can come of it?” she whispered,
completely undone by his words. “What can come ofus?”

He pulled her into his arms then, and lowered his face to hers. “That is why I am here. To give us the chance to find out.”

O
ch, but her taste inflamed him. Once he settled his mouth on hers, he was fairly certain even the gods couldn't have dragged him away. He'd done right in coming to her-for she accepted his kiss with one of her own.

She took as hungrily as he did and he lost himself in the knowledge that her needs met his. It was a sweet promise that somehow, this would all work out.

He pulled her on top of him and slid down into the cushions, never wanting to let her go. Aye, how she fitted herself over him. Nothing could be as right as this. Surely this was meant to be.

He wove his fingers into her hair, holding her mouth to his, plundering her. More, he wanted more. He slid his hands beneath the soft shift she wore. Her skin was warm, smooth and his to caress. It left him reeling, this drunken immersion into sensations that flooded him simply by touching her.

Her hands skated over his skin as well, as she peeled back his shirt, tugging it from his breeches, sliding her hands-gods yes-over his chest. His hips pushed into hers, blindly seeking, and the sweet pressure she returned almost undid him right then and there.

He skimmed his hands up her sides, brushing the
pads of his thumbs over her nipples as she arched back above him. A moan tore from her lips, lips reddened from his kisses and all but begging for more. He could give her more. He would give her all he had.

And that was what stopped him.

For, beyond pleasure, he had nothing to give.

“What's wrong?” She whispered the words against his cheek. His hands had stilled completely, and now so had hers.

“I canno’ take ye, Josie,” he said hoarsely, his body still trembling with need.

She smiled at him then, her eyes shining with trust. Trust in him. He'd never do anything to shatter that.

Then the smile shifted to one of promise. “I believe there are other things we can do, that won't be risky. Or have things really changed that much in a few centuries?”

He looked into her teasing eyes and understood more clearly than ever before that his heart was well and truly lost. “How was it that you came to me?”

She leaned down and kissed him. “Destiny.”

He cupped her face. “I've nothing to offer ye. No future.”

Her gaze didn't so much as flicker. “I'm not asking for promises.”

“But—”

“Are you going anywhere right now?”

“Nay.”

“Then that's all I need to know.” She kissed away his response to that, and, in the end, he realized he didn't need promises either. Other than the promise that neither of them was going to run away this time.

He kissed her deeply, pouring everything he felt, his confusion, his needs, his wants, into it, until
they were both panting, bodies writhing for what they could not have.

“About these other ways,” he managed hoarsely.

She laughed a bit breathlessly and slipped off him, standing shakily beside him. “You once drew me a bath I foolishly wasted. Would you care to share one with me now?”

Connal's entire body leaped. But even as he stood, somewhat shakily, he wondered at the wisdom of stripping off what little barrier their clothes provided. “I'm no’ so sure 'tis wise.”

She took his hand. “I think I can change your mind.”

He smiled then. “I think yer probably right.”

He followed her up the stairs and watched from the door as she filled the deep, claw-footed tub and set about lighting candles. “In case the power goes out, of course,” she said with a teasing grin.

“Aye, of course.” He folded his arms as he studied her. She had a graceful way about her, not delicate, but certain in her actions, sure of her body and its abilities. He thought of her on her wave board, her confidence even under the pressure of the thundering wall of water chasing just behind her. She thrilled him, even when he worried for her. He'd not deny her any pleasure if it was in his power to give it to her.

“Well, are you just going to stand there?”

He let thoughts of all the things he couldn't give her drift away as the steam rose from the scented water. For now, he'd focus on what he could give her.

He stepped to her and drew her shirt over her head in one simple movement. She didn't move away from him or try to hide herself. Instead she reached for the laces at the front of his own shirt, loosened them the rest of the way and removed his shirt much as he had hers. He slipped his fingers
along the inside of her waistband, enjoying her sudden inhalation at his touch. He unfastened the catch and let the fabric rustle to the floor. She stood naked and perfect before him.

“Do all women in this day wear no undergarments?” he asked.

“Does it matter?”

His lips quirked. “As it happens, no.”

She laughed, and reached for the front of his breeches. He stepped back and she merely raised her eyebrows. “Perhaps 'tis best for me to do this. I fear your fingers brushing me at this moment might ruin an otherwise interesting bath.”

Her pupils widened and it was all he could do not to simply take her where she stood. With incredible restraint, he peeled the damp fabric down his legs until he, too, stood naked before her.