Page 32 of Tempted by a Highland Beast (Tales of Love and Lust in the Murray Castle #9)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

F or the first time in weeks, Rowena could see past her fears.

The admission that she cared for Constantine had improved her mood, and she felt more settled in her skin.

But admitting her feelings to Lilias was one thing. Acting on them was another entirely.

As she walked through the castle corridors, Rowena found her steps quickening with newfound purpose. She had to see Constantine, to speak with him while her courage was still fresh and her resolve still strong.

The morning was still young, and she knew Constantine often spent the early hours in his chambers, reviewing reports or planning the day’s activities.

The thought of finding him in that private space, away from the watchful eyes of servants and the weight of his public role, sent a flutter of nervous anticipation through her stomach.

She needed something tangible to anchor her decision, something real and honest that would remind her why she’d chosen to trust him with her future.

His vulnerability, which he had revealed whilst discussing his childhood, had stirred something in her chest, something warm and protective that went far beyond mere attraction or political calculation.

She wanted to see more of that side of him, to understand the man behind the careful facade he presented to the world.

Rowena’s footsteps echoed softly on the stone floor as she made her way through the corridors toward Constantine’s chambers. The castle was coming to life around her.

“Good morning, Lady Rowena,” a maid greeted, and Rowena smiled at her.

“Good morning tae ye,”

Soon that would all be hers to help protect and guide.

The thought no longer filled her with panic, but with something closer to anticipation.

With Constantine beside her, she could see herself thriving in that role, using her skills and knowledge to benefit not just her own clan, but his people as well.

When she reached Constantine’s door, Rowena paused for a moment to gather her courage. Her heart was beating faster than usual, though whether from nerves or excitement, she couldn’t say. Taking a deep breath, she raised her hand and knocked firmly on the heavy wooden door.

Silence.

She waited, counting her heartbeats, then knocked again, a little louder this time. Still no response, though she thought she could hear some faint sound from within—movement, perhaps, or the crackle of the fire.

Rowena frowned, pressing her ear closer to the door. Constantine was definitely inside, she could sense his presence even through the thick wood. Maybe he was occupied with something and hadn’t heard her knock. Or perhaps he was still feeling raw from their earlier confrontation.

The thought made her chest tighten with concern. She’d seen how difficult it had been for him to open up about his past, his fears and his insecurities. Maybe her presence would be welcome, a reminder that he wouldn’t have to carry those burdens alone anymore if they wed.

As she stood there debating whether to knock again or leave him be, a sound drifted through the door that made her pulse quicken. It was soft, almost inaudible, but unmistakably her name. The low, rough, almost breathless way it was spoken, sent heat spiraling through her veins.

Was he calling for her? Had he heard her knock after all?

Without giving herself time to reconsider, Rowena pressed down on the door handle and pushed it open, stepping into the chamber with a smile already forming on her lips.

“Constantine, I?—”

The words died in her throat.

Constantine sat in a chair near the hearth, but he wasn’t reviewing reports or planning the day’s activities. His shirt lay discarded on the floor beside him, leaving his torso bare in the firelight. His head was tilted back against the chair, his eyes closed, his breathing uneven and labored.

And his hand...

Rowena’s mind went completely blank as she took in the scene before her.

Constantine’s hand was wrapped around himself, moving in a rhythm that left no doubt about what she’d interrupted.

His skin was flushed with heat, a thin sheen of perspiration gleaming on his chest and shoulders in the firelight.

Heat crashed over Rowena’s face like a physical blow, her heart hammering so hard she was certain he must be able to hear it. She should leave. She should back out of the room immediately, close the door, and pretend this had never happened. That would be the proper thing to do, the sensible thing.

But she couldn’t move.

Constantine’s eyes opened slowly, as if he’d sensed her presence rather than heard her entrance.

When his gaze met hers across the room, Rowena felt the air leave her lungs in a rush.

His hand stilled but didn’t move away, he didn’t attempt to cover himself or pretend she wasn’t seeing exactly what she was seeing.

He just looked at her.

His eyes were dark, pupils dilated with desire, and there was something almost predatory in the way he watched her reaction. No embarrassment, even though she had just caught him in an intensely private moment. Her met her stare with an intensity that made her knees feel weak.

Rowena’s lips parted, but no sound emerged. She felt frozen in place, caught between the urge to flee and a darker, more dangerous impulse to step closer. The sight of him like this stirred something low in her belly that she’d never experienced before.

She’d known Constantine was an attractive man, of course.

The sharp angles of his face, the lean strength of his body, the controlled grace with which he moved; she wasn’t blind to any of it.

But seeing him like that, flushed with desire and completely unashamed of his need, made her aware of him in an entirely different way.

This was Constantine stripped of all his careful control, all his calculated restraint. This was pure want, raw and honest and utterly masculine.

And her name had been on his lips.

The realization sent another wave of heat through her body. He’d been thinking of her. Whatever fantasy had driven him to this state, whatever images had filled his mind as his hand moved over his body, they had involved her.

The knowledge was as terrifying as it was thrilling.

Constantine’s breathing was still uneven, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that drew her eyes to the lean muscle and scattered scars that marked his torso.

She could see the evidence of his dangerous life written across his skin—thin white lines that spoke of blade wounds, a puckered mark near his ribs that looked like it might have come from an arrow.

But there was beauty in that scarred flesh too, a testament to his strength and survival that made something clench low in her belly. This was the body of a warrior, honed by years of combat and hardship, and the sight of it laid bare before her made her mouth go dry.

Constantine still hadn’t moved, still hadn’t attempted to cover himself or break the charged silence that stretched between them. He simply watched her with those dark eyes, as if he was cataloguing every flicker of expression that crossed her face.

Rowena could feel her pulse beating in her throat, could hear the rush of blood in her ears. She knew she should say something, do something to break the spell that seemed to have settled over the room. But her mind felt sluggish, overwhelmed by sensations and desires she didn’t fully understand.

The firelight played across Constantine’s skin, highlighting the sharp cut of his collarbone, the defined muscles of his abdomen, the dark trail of hair that disappeared beneath his still-present hand. He was beautiful in a way that was utterly masculine, all hard edges and dangerous grace.

And he was looking at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

Rowena’s breath came in short, shallow gasps as she tried to process what she was seeing, what she was feeling. The heat in Constantine’s eyes, the way his body responded to her presence even in this most vulnerable of moments, the knowledge that her name had been the one to fall from his lips.

She’d never seen a man in such a state before. Her sheltered upbringing had left her woefully unprepared for the raw reality of male desire, for the way it could transform a controlled, careful man into something primal and needy.

But there was something deeply feminine in her that responded to the sight, something that whispered of power and possibility. Constantine wanted her. The evidence of it was right there before her, impossible to deny or dismiss.

The realization should have shocked her, should have sent her fleeing from the room in a flurry of maidenly virtue. Instead, it sent liquid heat coursing through her veins, pooling low in her belly in a way that made her press her thighs together instinctively.

Constantine’s lips parted slightly, and Rowena thought she could see her name forming there again, silent but unmistakable. The sight made something clench deep inside her, a physical response to the knowledge that she could affect him this way.

This was what desire looked like, she realized with startling clarity.

The knowledge was intoxicating and terrifying in equal measure.

Rowena had spent her entire life carefully controlled, her desires and impulses firmly leashed by duty and propriety.

But standing here, watching Constantine struggle to maintain even a semblance of composure while his body betrayed the depth of his need, she felt something wild and reckless stir to life inside her.

She wanted to step closer, to touch the flushed skin of his chest, to discover for herself what it felt like to inspire such desperate want in a man like Constantine MacLean.

The urge was so strong it made her hands shake, made her press her palms against her skirts to keep them from reaching for him.