Laird of the Highlands: International Billionaires IX: The Scots (34 page)

“See, here’s the thing, Ceri.” He turned to meet her gaze with a stark look of pain. “I got the message. Ye don’t want to be with me.”

“I…that’s…”

“And that’s okay.” He shrugged as if it meant nothing. “I’m an odd bird.”

“But…that’s not—”

“Ye have the castle now, and I want ye to build that shop of yours.” Waving at the tan packet in her hand, one she’d forgotten she held, he gave her another bleak smile. “Ye will have plenty of money from the tours, since ye don’t have to pay the taxes or mortgage anymore.”

He’d given her so much. Yes, he’d stolen her heart, yet in exchange, he’d given her hope and love. He’d given her his home and her dreams. The least she could do was tell him her truth. “I love you, too.”

Shock filled his slate-blue eyes, and his jaw dropped open.

“It won’t work, though.” Scuttling back, she slapped the packet on the desk.

“What?” He didn’t move a muscle, his gaze growing glazed.

“It won’t work,” she forced the confession out, “because I can’t be the woman you want me to be. And there’s nothing left to say.”

“What?” he said again.

Her hands fisted at how hard it was to tell him her weaknesses, her terrible scars, but she kept going. “I can’t be your doll.”

“Doll?” His eyes suddenly went clear and narrowed. “What the bloody hell does that mean?”

The tears came once more, this time in a rush. “I can’t dress up. I can’t wear those things you bought me.”

Before he could respond, before he could brush aside her truths, she headed for the door. Why hadn’t she let him call Doc? She’d have had time to confess her awful secrets and then she could have escaped the wretched aftermath. Instead, she was still stuck in this room with him.

“Wait, now.” He grabbed her before she even rounded the desk. “Just a minute, here.”

“There’s nothing left to say.”

“Ye are repeating yourself.” Wrestling her to a stop, his voice filled with humor. “As usual.”

“Don’t. Don’t do this.” She didn’t quite know what she was objecting to, yet she knew she couldn’t handle whatever he was going to say to her.

“Don’t do what, lass?” His gentle words wafted on her skin. He nudged at her chin. “Look at me.”

“No.” With a concentration born of pain and pride, she kept her gaze on the knot of his tie. But a red curl slipped into her view, bringing with it
him
. His bright brain, his fiery love, his fierce focus.

His sigh went through him and her, telling her they were so close they could be one. “Ceri.”

“I want to leave.”

“Repeating again.” He nudged at her chin once more. “So why don’t ye repeat the part about loving me one more time?”

“Lorne.” Giving up her last piece of pride, she met his gaze. “I can’t be what you want me to be.”

“A doll?” The blue of his eyes had never been so dark, so keen. “A woman who needs to dress up all the time and wear her pretty make-up—”

“Yes and I—”

“For me. Not herself.”

She stiffened as the lance of truth sliced into her. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Oh, I think ye do, lass. I’m finally getting the full picture of what happened in Edinburgh.”

“No.”

“Yes.” His dangerous voice curled around her. “And why it is ye tend to wear baggy jeans and ugly T-shirts, unless you’re working.”

“Stop.”

“I can’t,
a ghràidh
. Not if I’m going to win your hand.”

“What?” She gaped at him through the glaze of her sudden tears.

“Now if I let ye go, do ye promise to stay where you’re at for a spell?” His hands tightened on her, as if he weren’t sure he’d do it even if she agreed.

“Let me go.”

Sighing, he did what she asked. “I suppose I’ll have to learn to trust ye.”

“You already do.” The words burst from her mouth without her brain filtering the meaning behind them.

“I do.” He gave her a soft smile. “I’m glad ye know that and I know ye trust me in return. It will make this a bit easier, hopefully.”

“Make what easier?” Stomping away was a useless endeavor. The door was still locked, Lorne was still focused, and she was hurting but hoping all at the same time. “Tell me.”

“How about I show ye?” He pulled out a little, round box tied with a black velvet ribbon.

She stepped back, her heart leaping with joy and pain.

“Och. No going anywhere.” He glared at her. “I would appreciate it if you’d give me the chance to say my piece.”

“Lorne.”

A grin, his happy boyish grin, flashed across his face. “I love how ye say my name.”

“This isn’t—”

“And I love ye. With all my heart.”

“Lorne.”

“Aye. Here I am.” He eyed her before kneeling in front of her. “Now before I open this thing, I have something to say.”

Amusement, shiny hope, complete terror rushed inside her. “I can’t stop you, can I?”

“No. I don’t think ye will want me to, once I began.” His lips firmed and she could practically see the logical wheels swirling in his head. “I’ve said I love ye. So there’s that.”

She suppressed a crazed chuckle.

“But here’s the thing I think ye need to understand about that phrase, Ceri.” His gaze pinned her down. “I love ye for who ye are, not who I want ye to be.”

A big gulp of tears clogged her throat.

“I bought ye those pretty things because I thought ye might like them.” His brows furrowed. “Well, that’s not the whole truth. I thought I might like them on ye as well.”

“Lorne.”

“But for all I care.” His tone was stilted, his voice monotone, yet something about his controlled nature flooded the words with meaning. “Ye can wear your baggy jeans for the rest of your life, if you’ll only allow me into it.”

Ceri’s heart went to mush. Again with this man. Again for the thousandth time. Because he’d heard her awful confessions and accepted them right away. He didn’t quibble around the edges or ask her to change her mind. He didn’t demand she fall into his wishes or pretend what she told him wasn’t important.

He did accept her. Just the way she was.

Lorne Ross is true.

He looked at the small box lying in his palm. “I think I might have made another mistake here, but I’m hoping ye will forgive me. And ye can change it to anything ye want.”

The reality was, she’d forgive him for anything now. Because he’d taken her hurt and pain and turned it into joy. “Open the box.”

His grin came once more. “There’s the lass I know. Confident. Strong. Ready for anything.”

“I suppose I’m ready for you.”

“Are ye?” Delight flushed his face red. “Then I better open this box, eh?”

The ring was more than pretty. More than what she’d expected from a billionaire. The blindingly brilliant diamond sat within a simple silver mounting. It looked like something the Queen of England would wear. Or a billionaire’s wife.

“Oh.”

“I know, I know.” Lunging to his feet, he wrapped his arms around her. “Don’t run.”

“I won’t.” Wearing that ring would be a statement she didn’t know if she could handle. Still, he’d promised her she could change the ring if she wanted.

He latched onto her eyes with a fierce glare. “Will ye marry me? With whatever ring ye want?”

A burst of sure, sweet love filled her, washing away the pain of her past and bringing hope back to her heart for the first time since she was a girl. Lorne Ross had done this for her. Given his truth to her, and in the process, transformed her life. What wouldn’t a woman give to a man who did that? Her hand was only the first of many gifts she planned on giving him. “Yes. I will.”

His eyes went blank for a minute like he couldn’t take her truth in. Then he grinned, the boyish grin that got her every time.

“I came after ye, Ceri, didn’t I?” He threw his head back and laughed his glorious laugh. Then he looked at her once more and she saw everything she needed. “And I got ye.”

“
D
a
.” The tone of his little girl’s voice told him he was in trouble.

Lorne blinked at the set of toddler books lined up on the shelf. He’d straightened them just last night. But apparently, Dilys Freya Ross had decided to mess with them. And his head. Typical. “What?”

“I don’t want ye to read me another story,” his grumpy daughter stated from her princess bed. “I want ye to tell me a story.”

“Do ye now?” He swiveled to eye her with a mock frown.

Dilys had turned five last month, and had gone from an enchanting child to a monster in less than five seconds. Or that’s what her mother claimed. Lorne preferred to think of this as a phase his only daughter would grow out of. He held onto this hope with an illogical grip that was not like him, his wife had told him.

His little girl sat on her pink pillow, her flame-red hair in tangles around her freckled cheeks. Wearing her favorite dog-eared pj’s, she looked like a small fairy queen dressed in rags, scowling at her servant with disgust. “Come here,” she demanded. “Right now.”

“Och.” He straightened, shrugged, and paced to the bed. Before she could issue another order, he grabbed her and tumbled her into his lap.

She giggled, the sound a tinkling noise that had come to mean the world to him.

“Da!” His three-year-old son, Stewart, raced into the bedroom, his laser sword stringing behind him. “Come and see.”

“Didn’t I just put ye to bed?” Lorne narrowed his gaze.

His son stopped short, his white skin, so like his mum’s, flushing. “Aye, ye did. But I forgot to show ye something.”

Sighing, he leaned over and grabbed the lad before he got upset. “Why don’t we all tell a story together and then both of ye are going asleep, okay?”

“I’m not sleepy,” said the princess.

“I have to show ye something,” said the laser-wielding warrior.

“Your mum has a surprise for me.” Lorne scowled at both of them in pretend ferociousness. “And I want to find out what it is. So I need ye both to go to bed.”

His children grinned at him, not intimidated in the slightest.

“I love surprises,” Stewart chirped.

“Can we see the surprise, too?” Dilys snuggled into his arms. “Or maybe mum can sing us a lullaby.”

“Nope. I’m thinking this is a da surprise only and your mum is getting ready right now.” He wasn’t sure, but there’d been a look in Ceri’s eyes. A look he’d become familiar with during the last few years.

She’d had the same look when she’d come back to the townhouse, two months after giving birth to Stewart, carrying package after package…of shoes.

He liked shoes.

He had no objection to shoes.

They weren’t exactly at the top of his male list of interest, but it was progress.

Then, a year and a half ago, she’d stated she wanted to go to London with him, leaving the children with her brother. Elis might be only twenty-two, but he loved his niece and nephew, and was more conservative and protective than their parents, if that could be believed.

Yet, Lorne had worried about what all this was about.

His wife had steadfastly refused to go to the big city up to that point. For the entire four years they’d been married, she’d preferred their cottage in the summer and their Edinburgh townhouse in the winter.

He’d understood.

He hadn’t pressed.

He loved her and their life together with their children. As he often told her, she could wear a pumpkin on her head and a cloth of ashes and soot. He’d still be ecstatic. And he’d meant it. Meant it throughout the years of their marriage.

But she’d come with him to London. Come with him and gone…shopping.

For clothes, this time.

Soft, cashmere jumpers that hugged her beautiful breasts and tight, hot-looking jeans that made his tongue hang from his mouth. A sleek dress suit that made her look like she was about to take over the planet with her growing business. Even a cocktail dress that sparkled. Sparkled!

So when she’d tried to pretend she hadn’t sneaked out of the house yesterday, he’d wondered. When she’d instructed him to get the children to bed and come up to their bedroom as soon as he could, he’d dreamed.

“Da.” His daughter tugged on his beard, another scowl crossing her face. “Pay attention to me. Mum can surprise ye later.”

Chuckling, he wrapped his children in his arms and told them about a fierce and fiery ancestor who’d kidnapped a fair princess and won a great war. After a long string of objections, he finally had both of his children in bed, Dilys dozing, Stewart snoring.

“What took you so long?” His wife’s voice was decidedly sulky.

Or maybe husky?

Lorne stopped just inside of their bedroom. There was a row of candles lining the window sill, and another one running along the low table Ceri used as a place for her books. That was…unusual. His wife didn’t usually spend any time making things…sexy.

He swung his attention to her and his eyes widened.

She lay on their king-size bed, the covers thrown down at the end, her graceful body on full display.

Not naked, though.

He’d seen her body naked a thousand times. Naked in their shower, naked in this bed. He’d seen her soul naked, too. Seen the naked emotion in her eyes when their children had been born, and when he’d cried as he held them for the first time. He’d thought once or twice, he’d seen her naked spirit, too. The spirit who had taken on the challenge of building her business with strength and determination that made him so damn proud. The spirit who accepted him and loved him, even when he was difficult to understand. A spirit he was privileged to be married to.

“Are you going to answer me?” she teased, brushing a dark curl off a white shoulder.

A white shoulder dressed in black lace.

“I. Ah.” He grabbed his brain and stepped into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. The lock flipped closed with a click. There was no way his children were going to interrupt this.

“I ah? What does that mean?” His wife straightened in the bed and then rose.

“Fucking. Bloody. Hell,” he croaked. “What have ye done?”

“What?” she stopped, her mouth going slack. “I thought you’d enjoy this.”

“Ah. I.” His hands fisted before he reached out and snatched. He needed a moment here. A moment where he could just look and gaze and stare.

The black lace went from the top of her collarbone to the tips of her toes. It swirled its patterns on her white skin like tracings of black chocolate on white ice cream. There were no discreet pieces of silk to cover certain areas of her body—like her nipples or the dark curls between her legs.

“Fucking. Bloody. Hell.”

“At the risk of being annoying, I’ll point out you’re repeating yourself.” His wife scooped up a black silk something that lay on the bed. “I found this a few weeks ago in your clothes.”

“Eh?” He couldn’t focus on anything else but her body.

Glancing at him, her eyes began to twinkle. “It’s yours and I want you to put it on.”

He managed to drag his gaze from her, and pinned it on the garments. It was a matching set—loose trousers and a long robe. A memory swept back. “Hell. That’s a stupid Doc prank. He bought it for me years ago.”

“And you’ve never worn it for me.” She gave him an exaggerated pout. “How dare you?”

Teasing. She was teasing him. Something they did all the time, now. His lust still simmered, yet he managed a meek grin. “Sorry. I’ll put it on right now, lass.”

"And you'll put on this, too?" she purred as she held up a black string of fabric.

"Doc is a fucking wanker." Lorne eyed the piece of silk and his wife. "I'm not putting that on. Not even for ye."

"No?" Stopping her inspection of the thong he'd long ago forgotten, she glanced his way. Her goldenrod eyes twinkled…and challenged. "Are you sure?"

Lust battled with Ross pride. And also the realization that Ceri had dared to put on lace and silk for him. "All right. Hand them over."

“We’ll be a pair, won’t we?” Ceri glided to his side and held the garments out. A smile lit her face when he took them from her hands.

But it wasn’t a smile he’d seen before. She’d smiled a winsome smile when they’d been married in the center of Castle Ross’s grand hall. She’d given him a jaunty smile when her shop and restaurant opened to huge success. When Elis had graduated from Oxford and gotten a job at Gaes, she’d given them both a tearful smile.

None of those smiles was like this one.

This one owned her sexuality. Owned her right to be pretty. Owned her right to his body.

“I can’t think,” he muttered as he stared at her. Her smile and her lace-covered body.

“You’re not supposed to think in this situation, Lorne.”

Lornnne
.

Then she was there. Right in front of him. The familiar scent of heather swirled in his nose while the unfamiliar feel of lace brushed on his palms.

She gave him a husky laugh. “Go ahead and touch anywhere you’d like. I bought this for you.”

“I. Ah.”

She laughed again before glancing at him.

His heart dipped and dived and flew. Because he knew he could handle what he saw in her eyes. The trembling need. The hopeful fear. The look of a fragile spirit willing to finally take another chance.

It came to him then. The right thing to say.

“Thank ye
a ghràidh,
” he said, his heart in his words. “Thank ye for this gift, and the gift of yourself.”

Ceri Olwen Ross’ smile went radiant, letting him know he’d said the right thing.

The truth.