Page 33 of Tempted by a Highland Beast (Tales of Love and Lust in the Murray Castle #9)

But even as her body urged her forward, her mind finally reasserted itself with a crash of mortified awareness. This was wrong. She shouldn’t be there, shouldn’t be seeing that, shouldn’t be drinking in the sight of Constantine’s arousal like wine.

What kind of woman stood frozen in a doorway, watching a man pleasure himself and feeling nothing but desire in response?

The thought broke the spell that had held her captive. Rowena’s face flamed with fresh embarrassment, and she took a stumbling step backward toward the door. Constantine’s eyes followed the movement, but still he didn’t speak, didn’t try to explain or apologize or cover himself.

He just watched her with that same dark intensity, as if he was memorizing every detail of her reaction for later consideration.

Rowena’s heart hammered against her ribs as she struggled to find her voice, to say something that would restore some semblance of normalcy to the situation.

But what words could possibly address what had just happened?

How did one apologize for interrupting such an intimate moment?

How did one pretend not to have seen what could never be unseen?

“I—” she began, then stopped, her voice cracking on the single syllable.

Constantine’s expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his eyes that might have been amusement or satisfaction. As if her flustered response pleased him in some way.

The realization sent another wave of heat through her body, followed immediately by a rush of indignation. How dare he look pleased when she was dying of embarrassment? How dare he sit there so calmly when she felt like she might spontaneously combust from mortification?

But beneath the indignation was something else, something darker and more dangerous. A part of her that was pleased by his reaction too, that was gratified to know she could affect him so powerfully.

She turned to flee, but his voice stopped her cold.

“Rowena? What are ye daeing here?”

Rowena’s face burned in embarrassment, but she steeled her nerves and turned to face him.

“I wanted tae speak with ye about somethin’, Constantine, but it can wait.”

Rowena’s voice was quiet, tentative in a way that was unlike her. Constantine closed his eyes briefly, steeling himself against the sound of his name on her lips, and he quickly pulled his breeches up to avoid shocking her even more.

When he turned, she was standing just inside the doorway, her hands clasped in front of her and her expression uncharacteristically uncertain.

She was beautiful, he realized with a pang. More beautiful than he’d let himself notice when she was challenging him or laughing with Lilias or moving through his halls like she belonged there.

“Ye’re already here. Speak.” he said.

“I came tae apologize,” she stropped only for a moment. “I was wrong,” she continued when he didn’t respond. “What I said in the hall about ye treating me like a commodity, about this being some calculated trap, it was cruel and unfair, and I’m sorry fer it.”

Constantine forced himself to keep a neutral expression. “Were ye? Wrong, I mean. Because from where I stand, it seems like ye had me figured out perfectly.”

“Nay.” Rowena took a step closer, and he could hear the rustle of her skirts, smell the faint scent of lavender that always seemed to cling to her skin.

“I was scared, Constantine. Scared and cornered and too proud tae admit it, so I lashed out. I said things I knew would hurt ye because I was hurting, and that was unforgivable.”

The admission hung in the air between them like a bridge, delicate and uncertain. Constantine turned to face her, studying her expression for any sign of deception or manipulation. He found none.

“Scared of what?” he asked quietly.

Rowena’s hands twisted in her skirts. “Of ye. Of this. Of wanting something I might nae be able tae keep.”

The words hit him like a fist to the chest. Constantine had spent years learning to read people, to see through lies and identify hidden motivations. But Rowena’s honesty was so stark, so unguarded, that it left him momentarily speechless.

“I’ve seen who ye are,” she continued, her voice growing stronger.

“How ye lead yer people, how ye protected me, how ye’ve been nothing but patient and considerate even when I’ve given ye little reason tae be.

Ye’re nae like him, Constantine. Ye’re nothing like me uncle, and I should never have suggested otherwise. ”

Constantine felt something tight in his chest begin to loosen. “Then why?—”

“Because I’m a coward,” Rowena said simply. “Because it’s easier tae push ye away than tae risk caring about ye and losing ye. Because I’ve been running fer so long that I’ve forgotten how tae stand still and fight fer what I want.”

“And what dae ye want?” The question came out rougher than he’d intended, weighted with more hope than he’d meant to reveal.

Rowena lifted her chin, and for a moment he caught a glimpse of the fierce Highland princess who’d defied her uncle and fled into the night rather than submit to a forced marriage. “I want tae stay. I want tae marry ye, Constantine MacLean. But only if ye can promise me something in return.”

Constantine’s heart began to race, but he kept his expression carefully neutral. “What kind of promise?”

“That ye’ll rule beside me, nae over me. That me voice will be equal tae yers in matters concerning our clans, especially those tied tae MacKenzie lands and people. That this will be a true partnership, nae just a convenient arrangement.”

The request should have stung his pride, should have triggered his instinctive resistance to sharing power or authority. Instead, Constantine found himself impressed by her boldness, by her clear-eyed understanding of what she was worth and what she was willing to accept.

“Ye drive a hard bargain, lass,” he said, and was rewarded by the faintest hint of a smile.

“I’m a MacKenzie,” she replied. “We’re kenned fer that.”

Constantine studied her face, searching for any sign of doubt or reservation. He found none. What he saw instead was determination and something that might have been hope, carefully guarded but unmistakably present.

“Aye,” he said finally. “I can promise ye that.”

The words seemed to unlock something in Rowena’s expression. Her shoulders relaxed, and the smile that had been threatening finally broke free, transforming her face with its warmth.

Constantine felt his own control slip at the sight of it. Without conscious thought, he stepped closer, close enough to see the flecks of gold in her eyes, close enough to smell the lavender in her hair.

“So ye’ll have me then?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Aye,” Rowena breathed. “I’ll have ye, Constantine MacLean.”

The admission hung between them for a heartbeat, weighted with promise and possibility. Then Constantine was moving, his hands came up to frame her face, thumbs brushing over the soft skin of her cheeks.

“Good,” he said roughly, and then his mouth was on hers.

The kiss started tentative, a question rather than a demand.

But when Rowena’s lips parted under his, when her hands came up to fist his shirt and pull him closer, Constantine felt the last of his restraint snap.

He kissed her like a drowning man, like she was air and water and salvation all at once.

Rowena met his intensity with her own, rising up on her toes to deepen the kiss, to pour into it all the words she couldn’t say and the promises she was finally brave enough to make. She tasted like honey and hope, like the future he’d never dared to imagine for himself.

He broke the kiss and traced a careful hand around her face.

Her face was warm in the palm of his hands, and his lips fell upon hers again.

She wobbled on her feet, and Constantine drew her flush against his body.

She was soft, all womanly curve against him, and he knew he would too easily get used to it.

“So it’s settled then,” he murmured against her lips when they finally broke apart.

“Aye,” Rowena whispered back, her eyes bright with unshed tears and something that looked suspiciously like joy. “It’s settled.”