The Sweetest Hours (Harlequin Superromance) (23 page)

She shook her head.

“We’ll go there tomorrow, you’ll see. It’s this fairy tale world that doesn’t exist in reality....”

Kristin was looking pained for him, so he stopped. But
she
wasn’t stopping him; she was letting him speak. She was just...listening to what came out of his mouth, without judgment, without telling him how he
should
be feeling. And he needed that, for once. It felt nice.

She was nice.

He was so hopelessly falling in love with her.

Maybe by telling her what had happened, he would drive her away. But he didn’t see how much further he could push her—that damage was already done, he supposed. She had already shut him down, told him no. She wasn’t going to move to Scotland. She wasn’t ever going to sleep with him, never mind fall in love with him, too, no matter how much he might want it.

He looked at her again. She was still sitting on the bed. Waiting for him. Saying nothing. There was just understanding in her eyes. Empathy, as opposed to sympathy, and maybe that was the crucial difference that made him snap.

He just blurted it out. “I think she was molested.”

Kristin looked at him, sadness on her face. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap. Her head tilted, her eyes full of compassion.

He swallowed. So much pain he kept inside. He’d never dared tell anyone his suspicions. He had never even dared ask Rhiannon. He always stopped himself from thinking about it, or he would be driven mad.

He got up and paced, tearing his hands through his hair, wishing he could cut out the thought from his mind and erase it forever.

When he glanced up, Kristin was studying him.

He expelled a breath. “I shouldn’t be talking to you about this. I don’t know why I am. Forget what I just said.”

* * *

“M
ALCOLM
, I
WAS
attacked, too. One night when I was walking home to my apartment in New York City.”

He turned around. “Kristy?” he whispered.

“By a stranger. When I lived away from home those few months. He put a knife to my throat and robbed me—took my purse, phone, the watch I was wearing.”

Kristin swallowed, rubbing her arms up and down. “I wasn’t hurt physically. I never told anybody before, but if it helps you with your sister...I just want you to know that...well, to me...I feel like I understand her. After it happened, I retreated to my hometown, where it’s safe for me. Where everyone is my family, and where the risks are low. And that’s where I’ve stayed since.

“And just so you know,” she said, “I don’t think about it as often as I used to. It was so long ago. Maybe...Rhiannon keeps herself safe by drawing her beautiful pictures. I know that I have my scents and my shampoos I retreat to.” She laughed hoarsely. Kristin had made such a muck of it—really, comparing a twenty-two-year-old to an eight-year-old.

“Oh, Kristy,” Malcolm said in a low voice. He crossed the room to her. She could see, in the low light, that his eyes looked damp. Oh, she wished she had never said anything to compare a simple robbery to the horror of what Rhiannon had gone through.
Why
had she just said all that?

He cradled her cheeks with both hands. Just gazed into her eyes.

“I’m okay,” she insisted. “I never needed to tell anyone about it. Not even Stephanie knows. Please don’t make a big deal out of it. I’m just...well...scarred, I guess. That one experience has made me afraid of so many things—whether it be traveling to a strange country, or letting myself get close to people. Now you know.” She swallowed and looked down at her hands, feeling miserable.

“No.” Malcolm shook his head fiercely. His fingertips were gentle on her skin. “You are perfect,” he said, in that lovely Scottish accent.

“I’m not. I’m a grown woman who’s essentially afraid of the big, bad world.”

“You are perfect to
me.
”

Kristin looked up at him. Tears were stinging in the corner of her eyelids, and she needed to blink. She buried her head in his warm, broad shoulder.

“Kristy, you are the most perfect woman to me,” he said, and his voice echoed to her very bones.

She closed her hand around his muscled back, his crisply ironed shirt bunching in her palm.

“Your magic and your zest for living just infects me,” he murmured. “You say you’re afraid of so many things, but what you’ve done to try to save your factory, your town, shows courage. I hope you see that.”

“So...what should we do?”

“We’ll do whatever you want, love.”

With that, Kristin flung her arms around his neck. “Will you stay with me tonight? I want you to stay.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“A
RE
YOU
SURE
?”
Malcolm murmured, nuzzling aside her top and kissing the tender spot at the base of her neck.

Kristin tightened her arms around him. Her heart was pounding so hard she could feel it in her eardrums. “Yes,” she breathed. “Please.”

His palms skimmed up the sides of her hips, beneath her loose tunic and to the bare skin on her waist. She wanted to close her eyes and moan.

How lucky was she? Malcolm had just told her that he accepted her as she was. Within her, it was as if a dam of worry had broken and rushed away, leaving her free to be herself.

Malcolm had asked her what she wanted. And what Kristin most wanted was him—all of him. For weeks and days and hours—sweet hours—she’d been in his company, desiring him. Even now, her nipples felt tight and her breasts full. She stretched upward on her toes, across his chest, longing for no layer of clothing between them. Just skin.

His hands slid over her backside. She wanted him inside her, so badly. And when he lowered his head and pressed a soft kiss to her throat, she almost lost it.

“Kristy,” he whispered. “We...should find a condom.”

“Yes. Um...inside my cosmetic case, I think.” She was throbbing, all over. But somehow, her brain was managing to work again. “Do condoms go bad?”

“Show me it,” he murmured. “I’ll check.”

“Don’t you have any?” she asked, turning her head to look into his tender blue eyes.

“Er...no. Not here.”

Scampering into the small bathroom, she left him on the bed, feet on the floor, back stretched out. When she returned, he looked dazed. He pulled her down to him with one hand and accepted the condom with the other.

He squinted at it, holding it to the light. Maybe the printing on the wrapper was a bit faded. It had been inside a pocket of her makeup bag for quite a while.

“It’s good,” he decided.

She breathed a sigh of relief.

A slow smile spread over his face. “Oh, love. You were worried.”

He sat up and caught her face in his hands, smoothing back her hair.

“Please,” she whispered again, and they fell back on the bed, limbs entangled.

She leaned over him and kissed him tenderly, lips barely touching him at first. His breathing grew heavy and labored. She ran her hands over his smooth, muscled back. He caressed her breasts, lifting her shirt off, over her head. With gentle hands, he explored her body, heating her, exciting her with his touch. He trailed featherlight sensations over her abdomen and between her legs. She couldn’t see his expression clearly, but she felt the rhythm of his heartbeat, the heat in his breath.

She felt no fear. How could she? She was with Malcolm. She helped strip him of his suit, his work clothes, until he was naked and on top of the coverlet with her. She rolled over on top of that familiar chest, feeling deliciously happy, blessedly free, and he caressed her back, barely touching her.

Oh, she had never felt such desire. It didn’t take an expert to see that maybe she’d been traumatized by her life, years ago, and maybe she’d been in denial about it. But now, no. All of that was swept away, and she was with only Malcolm in her head. No worries. No fears.

“Make love to me,” she whispered.

“Kristy...” He caught her lips in a deep, soulful kiss, his strong hands bracketed on either side of her head. His tongue ran along the seam of her lips, stroking against hers.

The heat was building in her. She lifted her hips and rubbed against his erection. Groaning, he found her nub by touch and stroked her, softly caressing.

She moved on top of him, her lower back shifting and undulating. A soft rush of breath came from her.

He began to softly croon to her, using the full of his Scots’ accent. No holding back. “Kristy, my sweet.”

“I love when you call me that. Please never stop.”

“I won’t, Kristy.”

She leaned forward, pressing her breasts to his chest, her nipples taut, and her forehead to his.

* * *

A
CURTAIN
OF
HAIR
, sweet-smelling hair, fanned Malcolm’s shoulders. Tearing open the condom packet with one hand and his teeth, he quickly rolled it on. With a soft flutter of a moan, she didn’t wait; she took him inside her. At first, he didn’t move. He wanted to—God he wanted to. With one hand he was grabbing a fist of loose coverlet and gritting his teeth, but with his other hand, he kept up the soft stroking with his thumb.

She was just surrounding him. Maybe she was reclaiming a part of herself, through him. Heaven knew he had been coming alive through her all week long. Ever since the day he’d met her, actually.

He wanted her. She brightened his life by being in it. He wanted her however she gave herself to him. With whatever she had to give.

* * *

K
RISTIN
WAS
ALMOST
THERE
.
He was whispering in her ear, sweet nothings, touched with that Scottish burr. Her mind was softly, but quite thoroughly, being blown.

She needed this. She needed him. He understood her, and he didn’t overpower her or patronize her. Even now, he let her lead.

“Malcolm.” She turned her head and kissed him deeply. He shifted, moving his hand from between them and settling her hips down squarely to his, rocking her into him, in just the right place, with just the right touch. Instead of rubbing his hand, she was rubbing the length of his erection, inside her.

Stars exploded, and she cried out. On and on. It was the sweetest thing. Just...sweetness. Like a reclaiming of her soul.

He held her close to him, against his strong chest, entangled in his strong legs, the smattering of hair tickling her in the most pleasant sense. She squirmed in his arms, going in for a kiss, laughing slightly and running her tongue over that small chip in his tooth. The slight imperfection that kept him from being too perfect and that drew her to him.

Because he was wrong—she wasn’t perfect. But it was nice that he thought so, even knowing exactly why she was not.

He’s the only one who knows my fears.

She lay in Malcolm’s arms, idly stroking his chest, thinking about what she’d just realized.

Ah, well, it didn’t matter. Her body felt alive again, and that was what she was enjoying most.

* * *

W
HERE
HAD
K
RISTIN
GONE
?

The next morning the key ring for her white car was still hanging on the hook in the entry, so Malcolm knew she hadn’t left the property.

He searched the castle from top to bottom. Inside her guest room everything looked tidy, and the bed was made. He stopped and touched her pillows and sheets. Earlier, the two of them had been tangled up in them together for hours. Maybe he should have waited until she’d woken up before he’d left. He just couldn’t wait; he’d wanted to get as early a start on the day—and on their project together—as possible.

On impulse, he’d checked for the slip of paper on which he’d left a note for her, just in case it had fallen, but, no, he couldn’t find it. She must have seen it. He trusted her and couldn’t imagine what had happened.

He checked his watch again: nine-thirty. And yet, she hadn’t met him at nine as they’d agreed on.

Malcolm shoved his feet into his boots, grabbed a raincoat and headed for the door to the garden. His last resort was to check the footpath that went along the edge of the glen. Because, well, security-minded person that he was, what if something had happened to her? The property was still fairly unfamiliar to Kristin, and it was windy, cold and raining outside. The boots that she’d been borrowing from Rhiannon were missing from the rack, so walking outdoors was his best guess as to where Kristin had headed.

“Malcolm,” Paul called to him from the breakfast room. He gave Malcolm the “come-here” sign.

Malcolm strode across the carpeting still wearing his boots, laces flapping. “Yes?”

Paul handed a pen and a notebook to him. “Kristin left her notes here at breakfast. If you’re going out to Rhiannon’s studio, you’ll save me a trip to bring them to her.”

“You’ve seen Kristin this morning?”

“She was down early, and the two of them left together. From the sounds of it, I believe they’re conspiring together about something.”

Malcolm’s heart slowed. He really was relieved. This just went to show him how important Kristin was becoming to him. And now, evidently, she was important to Rhiannon, too.

Smiling to himself, Malcolm took his time gathering his laptop and the report for Born in Vermont. Then he filled three travel coffee mugs, laced up his boots, and headed across the yard to the two-story outbuilding that held Rhiannon’s art studio.

A gust of wind drenched him with near-icy sleet. So much for the unseasonably warm weather they’d been having. Inside the outbuilding, cold without heat, he hung up the raincoat and dumped the boots in the foyer, then jogged up the stairs.

He heard the music before he saw them. A raucous Highland reel.

He stood in the doorway and just grinned, watching something he’d never thought he would see.

Kristin and Rhiannon, dancing together. Rhiannon was even laughing about it, enjoying herself. Strangely, it looked as if Rhiannon was teaching Kristin how to do the jigs. What was especially remarkable was that Rhiannon, as far as he knew, had never attended a family wedding before.

Malcolm broke out in a bigger grin. The day could only get better.

* * *

“I
T
WAS
SUPPOSED
to be a surprise,” Rhiannon was saying to Malcolm. “We’d only planned to practice for a few minutes, but we got carried away and forgot about the time. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Malcolm said to his sister, laughing, passing her a mug of coffee.

Kristin clasped her hands to her heart. She loved the light that spread over Malcolm’s face when he was happy. Last night he’d been, well...amazing to her. Everything had changed between them. Everything had changed for
her.

There was now one person on earth who knew the truth about her. And rather than blame her, or feel averse to her, Malcolm had understood. It was strange, but...she’d woken up, and she’d still felt free.

Her body still hot from learning the reel, Kristin walked over to the table near the door and gathered her purse, with her copy of the report she’d packed for Born in Vermont. She needed this proposal to be approved, now for a new, more personal reason than she’d had before: she wanted Malcolm to be able to travel to her, and to have a reason to spend time with her in her town, as well.

Kristin took the last mug of coffee Malcolm had brought and glanced at him over the top of the mug. Not for the last time that morning, their gazes tangled and then held.

His face was newly shaven, his hair damp. He wore old, comfortable-looking jeans, and they looked...really great on him.

She tucked her chin in to her collar, speechless for a moment. Malcolm’s eyes were so blue, like the sky over Scotland on a rare, sunny day.

From across the room, he winked at her. He hadn’t stopped smiling at her since he’d first walked in.

Now he strolled over and handed her the notebook she’d left in the breakfast room. His hand caught in hers, and their fingers interlaced. “Are you well today?” he asked in a low voice.

“Umm-hmm.” She nodded, feeling breathless. The last she’d seen of him, he’d been asleep in her arms, his warm chest and steady breathing a comfort beneath her body.

“Thank you for last night,” she said, suddenly feeling shy. She glanced over at Rhiannon, but Malcolm’s sister had returned to her laptop stand, shutting down the computer she’d been using to show Kristin internet videos that demonstrated the overhead patterns of the dances. To Kristin’s eyes, it had looked very similar to American square dancing.

Kristin glanced back at Malcolm, and he held her gaze. “Kristy, love, it was my pleasure.” He said “pleasure” with a soft rolling
r,
like
playsurr.

It meant the world to her that he still seemed to respect...and desire her, even more after last night. She’d been thinking about it in the shower this morning. Maybe her difficult time in New York had been a form of post-traumatic stress—in a small way, like a soldier returning from a battlefield. The only man she’d so much as hugged since then had been Malcolm.

Maybe this was not a bad thing, though. He’d been just the right person for her.

She actually felt
healed
in a sense, which was a great sensation. She hadn’t wanted the night with him to end. And afterward, she’d slept so easily.

It made her trust him all that much more.

He reached out and moved a lock of hair out of her eyes. A small, intimate gesture, and Kristin didn’t feel the slightest urge to flinch. On the contrary, it flushed her with desire. She caught Malcolm’s hand and held it in hers.

“Are you ready, love?” he murmured in that low deep voice. “I want to get started.”

“I do, too.” She swung her hand in his and then stepped closer to him, between his legs. He drew his free hand lightly across her waist.

This is the sweetness of falling for someone who is good for me.

“Hey, you two,” Rhiannon said from across the room. “Don’t you have work to do today?”

“Sorry,” Kristin said, dropping Malcolm’s hand, feeling the flush cross her face.

Malcolm chuckled from deep in his throat. “Enough with the PDA,” he agreed.

“Yeah,” Kristin said. “I hate it when people do that, too.”

“What’s PDA?” Rhiannon asked.

“Public display of affection,” Kristin answered. Rhiannon was so isolated here.

“What do you think of the studio?” Malcolm asked Kristin.

She had already spent an hour gawking at it. “This place is amazing.”

“I paid her to say that,” Rhiannon joked.

In Kristin’s opinion, Rhiannon’s studio
was
awe-inspiring—a large, airy space facing south with windows that opened up the length of one wall. The other three walls were covered with a mixture of murals and framed artwork. Even the floor was painted—parts of it to resemble a forest floor, other parts a pond and another section with a wide green field. Kristin and Malcolm currently stood in the field. Rhiannon knelt on a lily pad in the pond.