Page 59 of Somewhere Along The Way (Mackinnon #3)

She opened her eyes, not knowing for a moment where she was.

Staring into the light from the Aladdin lamp, she saw a figure beyond it, fuzzy and in shadow.

She blinked again and rubbed her eyes. Slowly the fuzzy figure in the shadows began to clear.

Ross Mackinnon sat spread like a Christmas table in the chair across from hers.

An open book lay in his lap. His legs, encased in those animal-skin pants he had such a fondness for, were stretched out in front of him, the tips of his boots brushing her skirts.

“The sleep of the innocent,” he said, picking up the book, which she could see was entitled Valentinian. “‘ Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes, /Brother to Death ,’” he read, then snapped the book shut. “You were smiling. You must have had quite a dream. Was I in it?”

“Yes,” she said, coming full awake. “I dreamt about a barnyard. You were the pig.”

He laughed. “You’ve changed a lot, you know that?”

“I have? In what way?”

“You’re prettier now, more relaxed, more human. I like the freckles, by the way.”

“Thank you. My mother will have a fainting spell when she sees them, I’m sure. She’ll keep me in lemon plasters for a month. Mothers can be such fusspots, you know.”

“Annabella, I’m in love with you.”

Annabella looked up and, seeing the blank, suspended look on his face, felt her heart begin to pound.

Within her rose a terrible hope and, equally painful, a great fear.

She wanted so desperately to go to him, to kneel at his feet and lay her head on his lap, to feel his gentle hands stroke her hair.

The desire grew, blossoming more fully with each throb of her heart, until she had no way of knowing if it was born of desperation or physical longing. “You can’t be.”

“I can. I am. Question is, what are we going to do about it?”

“That discussion would be foolhardy and pointless. I am not free to love, or marry, in any case.”

He shot to his feet, swinging away from her with the powerful grace of a war-horse.

He doubled his fist and slammed it against the wall, and his curse sliced through the air with the sharpness of a two-edged sword.

After a few minutes, he turned toward her, standing still and alone beside the leaping flames, his expression pained and full of hurt.

He picked up one of the chess pieces from a nearby table and studied it. “How does it feel to be a pawn?”

She sprang to her feet, her smocking falling to the floor.

“You have no right to speak to me like that,” she said.

“You aren’t as pawky as you think. You speak of pawns.

You should know about pawns, seeing that you can advance only a square at a time yourself.

I doubt you’ll ever reach the eighth rank. ”

She turned on her heel and marched out of the room with all the airs she could put on. Annabella was livid with anger. She took the stairs two at a time and slammed the door to her room the moment she was inside.

He stopped the door with his foot and kicked it open.

She whirled around, her face pale with shock. “Have you lost your wits? What do you think you are doing? This is my bedroom, you dolt. You can’t come in here.”

“Wrong. I am in here, and here I’m going to stay until we settle this thing once and for all.”

“Are you daft?” Her head tilted to one side. “ What thing?”

“This.” He kicked the door shut and Annabella began backing away.

In three strides he crossed the room and yanked her into his arms with such force the collision forced the air from her lungs in one giant whoosh .

Before she could open her mouth, he opened his and placed it over hers.

It wasn’t the gentle kiss she remembered.

His desire for her had been riding just below the surface for too long.

It took no more than the feel of her soft body against his to send it gushing forth.

He twisted his fingers in her hair and the pins flew to the floor so that the long silken skeins fell cool and heavy over his arms. He twisted her, angling her head to cradle it in the crook of his arm, and kissed her with branding possession.

Like a man with no sight, he moved his hands over her, touching, feeling, learning each part of her, his calloused fingertips rough against rustling taffeta and warm, womanly skin.

He touched all the places he had wanted to touch for so long, learned the secrets of her he knew only in his dreams. She was his.

Every goddamn inch of her. Every bone. Every breath. Every freckle that adored her nose.

And her mouth. Dear God, that mouth. A man could go insane kissing a woman like her.

Annabella gazed up into the handsome angles and planes of a face that had become so dear to her, and the sadness of it struck her swiftly.

His was a face she would never grow tired of seeing, if she were only given the chance.

He had said he loved her, and she wished with all her young woman’s heart that were so.

There was so much to learn about him, so much to love.

He was recklessly handsome, with the firm jawline of a man who commanded respect, but when he smiled, all the boyish charm he possessed came out.

He had one of those smiles the women in London called devastating.

Devastating.

She liked that in a man, she decided. He was all the things a man should be, all the things she had ever prayed for. He was all the things she could never have.

He must have sensed she was about to push him away, because he brought his mouth down hard, silencing any words she was about to say.

Dazed with passion and longing, she knew this could not go on, simply because it could not be.

To allow things to go any further would only serve to make her more unhappy and miserable than she was.

It wasn’t fair to her. It wasn’t fair to him.

It was the most difficult thing she had ever done, to push away the very thing she wanted most in the world.

With every ounce of newly acquired spirit she possessed, she broke from him, using her hand to wipe her mouth. “Get out,” she said, panting.

“Are my kisses that bad—that you have to wipe the taste of me away?”

Annabella was stunned to see the white-hot flame of hurt and anger smoldering deep in the blue depths of his eyes.

This man had always seemed in such control, always so invulnerable, so full of self-assurance, so ready to bounce back that she never dreamed words flung in desperation would find their mark, let alone sink as deeply as they apparently had.

“What’s the matter? Can’t you talk? Does it leave you speechless to have a man empty his guts and pour his heart out with declarations of love?

” he asked in a jeering, hate-filled voice.

“Does it give you a sense of power to know a man yearns for you until his insides are so twisted he can’t think straight?

” He grabbed her and dug his fingers into her arms. “Tell me,” he said, giving her a shake.

She couldn’t speak. She tried, but the words were too laden with grief, too heavy with anguish. The only way she could respond was to show him. She put her arms around his neck and went up on her toes to kiss him lightly on the mouth.

He jerked away as if he’d been shot. Before her very eyes, his beloved features hardened into a tortured mask.

“Damn you,” he said. “Damn you to hell!” He grasped her arms to disengage them, to put her away from him.

“No!” she cried, clutching him harder. “Ross, hold me. Please…please hold me and never let me go.” His grip was hurting her as he struggled to push her away.

Still she clung to him, tears of desperation falling freely down her face.

She twisted her hands in his hair and pulled his head down.

She kissed him, uncertain, untutored, but with tenderness and understanding.

The moment her tongue touched his lips, he froze.

Through layers of his clothing and hers, she could feel every muscle in his body draw up tightly.

With a groan he tightened his arms around her, drawing her against him with crushing strength.

His mouth closed over hers, his tongue plunging boldly, questioningly into hers, asking, seeking.

Her own tiny moan answered him as she followed the dictates of her own passion and longing.

This was what a kiss was all about. This was what she had known would exist, somehow, sometime, somewhere.

He kissed her. She kissed him back. His body was wild for her.

Hers was ready for him. He ached to carry her those few short steps to her bed and make love to her until hell froze over.

With tremendous effort he put her away from him. His breathing wasn’t the only thing hard.

He wanted her.

But he couldn’t have her. Not now. Not here.

Not this way. He took her sweet face in his hands and wiped away the last trace of her tears with his thumbs.

“How could anyone be so beautiful, so infuriating that a man wants to bite his own arm?” He kissed her lips softly and wrapped his arms around her tenderly, cradling her against him with the lightest touch.

“Just let me hold you for a minute,” he whispered.

“I need to feel you against me before I let you go.”

Suddenly someone knocked at her door and Ailie called out, “Bella? Are you in there?”

Frantically, Annabella looked at Ross, not knowing what to do. He was in her room, where he should not be. With a quivering voice, she said, “Yes, I’m here.”

“Well, open the door, oakhead!”

With a deep, fortifying breath, Annabella crossed the room and opened the door. She was so prepared for a lecturing outburst that she said, “Before you go jumping to conclusions, I can explain everything.”

Ailie drew up short and stared at her. “What are you talking about? Explain what?” Tilting her head to one side she said, “Bella, do you want to talk to Mother?”

“No. It’s a little late for that,” Annabella said, turning around. She was both speechless and stunned to see Ross was not in the room. She wanted to shout with happiness. He must have gone out the window, and bless his dear soul, he even closed the window behind him.

Looking grim, Ailie blurted out, “Have you given Ross your virginity?”

“No,” Annabella said, “it’s worse than that.”

“Worse?” Ailie croaked. “No one ever told me there was anything worse.” She grabbed Annabella’s arm and tugged her toward the bed, pushing her back to sit upon it.

Pulling up a boudoir chair, Ailie dropped into it with all due haste and took Annabella’s hands in hers.

“All right,” she said gravely. “Tell Ailie all about it.”

It was said with such a note of seriousness—one that was so unlike Ailie that Annabella couldn’t help herself. Seized with uncontrollable giggles, she gave a shriek and fell back across the bed, consumed with laughter.