Lovers' Lies (18 page)

He took her mouth as if she’d offered herself up for his enjoyment. In a way, she supposed she had.

This was so different, so overwhelming.

To her, it was as if the hard urgency that had consumed them before was replaced by a deeper, more devastating possession.

Keir claimed her, possessed her, as if he was determined to imprint himself on her mind, her body, her senses.

Victoria gloried in his possession.

She was his for the taking. And he quite simply took. Lost in sensation, she absorbed his touch and opened her senses, let them reach out and connect in a way words never could.
 

He held back, let the urgency build.

She grew hot, her skin fevered and her kisses more demanding. Stretched out on top of him, she kissed him wildly. She squirmed. His heated, silk-encased flesh pressed deeper and deeper with each stroke.

Restless and wanting more she lifted her head. "Keir."

He caught her behind her thighs and brought her knees forward as he drove into her.
 

"My God," she choked out as he held her impaled.
 

"Lean forward."

She obeyed the husky order and he caught her nipple between his teeth and tugged gently. A scream escaped.

His hand moved between them and he rubbed her sweet spot. Her breath escaped in a high keening moan.
 
His hand quickened in pace with his hard thrusts.

Quivers shuddered through her in rolling waves.
 

Another choked cry escaped. Her head flopped backwards and Keir found the other straining peak and suckled hard.

Sensation built on sensation.

She writhed and moaned as he drove her higher, his powerful thrusts turned her into a molten mass of quivering need.

Dimly aware of harsh choked cries echoing around the room as he pounded into her with such force she wasn't sure where he ended and she began. Response rippled through her in outward spirals as they both strained to reach the shining pinnacle so tantalizing close.

A wrenching scream escaped at the same moment she heard Kier's guttural shout.

She slumped, draped across him, burned by his passion to a scorched cinder, unable to move as much as an eyelash.

Keir stirred first, running a hand up and down her spine. "You okay down there?"

"I'm totally wasted."

His chuckle reverberated through her body and very gently he turned them both, until they lay face to face, but still remained intimately joined, one large hand splayed across her bare back.
 

An enervating weakness, all pervading, robbed her of strength.

She nuzzled her face in the hair on his chest, then exhausted, dropped into the dreamless void of sleep.

Chapter Twelve

I
t was dark when Victoria woke.
 

A heavy weight across her chest restricted her breathing. She struggled, disorientated. Deep, even breathing near her ear brought her to instant awareness.

She was in Keir’s bed.

Very carefully, she extended a hand and switched on the bedside lamp.

He murmured in his sleep.

She held her breath, but his breathing settled back into a regular cadence. Afraid to move, she studied his sleeping face.

Sable hair lay disheveled against his wide brow. Thick, dark lashes formed dusky half crescents on his bronze skin.

Sleep softened the hard planes of his face, relaxed the uncompromising jut of his chin. Stubble darkened his jaw and lent him a vulnerability he lacked when awake.

With searing clarity, she remembered the splendor of the night. It was gone, and now she was forced to confront the issue of Connor.

If she’d known it before, making love with Keir reinforced the knowledge.

She had to tell him about his son, as soon as he woke. There could be no more prevarication, or evasion. She had to lay the truth out there for him to pick over.

And knowing it was imperative filled her with sinking desperation.

She needed time, time to sort through the tangled jumble of emotions twisting her innards in knots.

She wriggled free of Keir's arm.
 

He murmured in his sleep and she froze. Moving an inch at a time, she slid out of bed and pulled on his pajama top. Silently, she gathered her clothes and unlocked the door.

The click of the lock made her heart raced. She glanced fearfully over her shoulder, but Keir never stirred.

Heart crashing against her ribs in panicked thuds, she reached the safety of her room.

Inside, she turned the key in the lock.

For long moments she slumped against the closed door, until the thunder of her heartbeats calmed and strength returned to her limbs. And then she walked into the ensuite bathroom, scooped her long hair up under a shower cap and stepped under cascading hot water, and washed away the musk of sex.

But no matter how hard she scrubbed, Keir's possession was branded on her body. Everywhere he'd touched smarted as if he'd touched her with a burning brand.

Her mind raced, like a mouse on a wheel.

How would Keir react to her revelations? Would he be angry? For sure, she realized with grim humor.

And by going to his bed last night Victoria knew she'd upped the stakes, made telling him that much more difficult.

He was already suspicious of her reasons for visiting Darkhaven. Now, her actions could only make him suspect her motives even more.

"Damn, damn and double damn," she muttered under her breath as she snapped off the water.

Once again she’d allowed impetuosity to overrun good sense.

Are you like every other woman and color the truth to suit the situation? Do you deal in lies, half-truths and deception?

Guilt piled on guilt.

Victoria slumped back against the wall of the shower and closed her eyes, knowing she was guilty on all counts.

While she hadn't flat out lied to Keir, she'd lied by omission. And now she had nowhere to hide, nowhere left to run.

She opened her eyes and stared at her reflection in the huge mirrors that adorned one entire wall of the bathroom.

And was sure her guilt was branded on her, clear for everyone to see.

What on earth had driven her to try and supplant Davina in his life? What did it matter that Keir was engaged to a woman she disliked.

As he so succinctly asked, what business was it of hers?

Unhappy and depressed, she dressed in comfortable jeans, a chambray shirt and the warm mohair sweater Daphne had knitted for her last winter.
 

Grim and determined, she packed her suitcase. No argument Logan put forward could persuade her to stay at this house one minute longer than necessary.

As soon as she cornered Logan, she was going home.

God! Had I called a taxi last night, I wouldn't be in this mess now.

She crept down the stairs, acutely aware of the sleeping occupants. Night-lights made it easy to locate the kitchen, still warm despite the early hour, the only sound, the ticking of the big wall clock.

A quick search and she located the tea makings, and brewed a mug. With the tea in her hand she sought refuge in the library.

The full Easter moon provided more than enough light for her to find her way to one of the leather chairs flanking the wide windows and wait for dawn.
 

Thinking was too painful.

Soon it would be daybreak.
 

And daybreak would bring with it a backlash of anger that would reverberate throughout this entire family.
 

As would her son’s existence.

She wished she could hold back the day but inexorably the eastern sky lightened and the shadows in the room faded.

The door opened.

Startled, Victoria sank deeper into the chair, hoping to escape notice.

Caine strode into the room, crossing towards the big oak desk that stood in the corner of the room. He stopped, startled, as he saw her sitting there, small and motionless.

"Victoria, what is it?" he demanded in rough concern. He sat on the arm of the chair, his hand gentle on her shoulder.

Until then she didn’t realize she was weeping, soft silent tears. She spread her hands in a helpless gesture, and the hard mouth tightened to a grim line.

"What has Keir done to you, child?" Anger made his voice brittle.

His words provoked an unexpected reaction.

She stood up, scrubbing at her tears as she glared at Caine.

"Why blame Keir? Too often he’s been blamed for events and happenings that were never his fault," she said vehemently springing to the defense of a man who had no defenders, even within his own family.

The hard words echoed in the grim silence.
 

"You understand it all," he conceded flatly. "You can’t blame me more than I blame myself."

That's just it. I don’t understand
.
 

Uncomfortably aware of him, she managed not to squirm under his intense scrutiny. He glanced at his watch.

"Do you ride?"

The question had her glancing at him in surprise. "Yes."

"Why not come for a gallop with me? You’ll feel better for some fresh air."

"Would I ever." She stood, not about to pass up the opportunity. "It's been an age since I've been riding."

And the more distance between her and this house, the less likely the risk of a confrontation with Muriel or Davina.

And this was all the impetus she needed.

She matched Caine's brisk pace as they walked to the stables, the crisp pre-dawn air cleared the dull cloud of pain behind her eyes.

Stable boys were already busy. Horses were being saddled and exercised. One lad jumped to obey Caine’s order to saddle Gypsy for her.

She breathed in deeply.

The pungent smell of horseflesh, hay and sawdust was sharp on the cold air. The familiar smell of the stables brought so many memories crashing back.

Her eyes lit up as a stable boy approached, leading a dark brown mare with one white hock and a white blaze on its face.

"She’s so lovely." She ran a knowledgeable hand over the horse’s glossy forequarters.

The mare tossed its head and whinnied, nudging at her shoulder.

"Frisky are you?" She let the mare sniff at her hand.

"Can you manage, miss?" The boy's polite enquiry lightened her mood.

"For sure." The horse pranced beside her as she led it from the stable, its high gait and tossing head expressing its eagerness.

The mare nudged her shoulder again and Victoria laughed, gathered up the reins and, with practiced ease, swung up in the saddle.

Caine nodded his approval. "She’s fresh but I’m sure you’ll handle her."

He led the way, and she concentrated her attention on the unfamiliar mount. As they rode past a bank of shrubs, a bird flew out with a shriek and whirring of wings, and Gypsy sidestepped.

She easily controlled the flighty mare, leaning down stroking her neck and soothing her with gentle words.

"You ride well," Caine commented watching her.

"I should do." With the familiar feel of horseflesh beneath her, it was easy to push all her troubles to the back of her mind. She smiled at Caine. "I competed in hack and hunter classes for years. My Dad has a couple of race horses."

"Where does he have his stables?"

"Hamilton North." She laughed softly. "Nowhere near the size operation you have here."

Caine skillfully drew her out, asking questions about her father and his horses. Nodding thoughtfully as she gave him a more complete picture of her background.
 

They rode at a steady pace until he let them both through into a long sand race where he let his big black gelding have its head.
 

Victoria dug her heels into the mare’s side and followed suit. They galloped through the morning fog, wind rushing past her face, exhilaration filling her heart and soul.

When they reached the summit of a small hill, Caine reined in his mount.

"Just what the doctor ordered," she said, smoothing a hand over the mare's neck.
 

The horses blew steam wreaths in the cold air.

Victoria turned to watch the sun rise above the hills of Whitehall and touch the treetops with gold.

"You certainly look more cheerful."

Caine dismounted, tying his horse to a hitching rail set beneath a spreading chestnut tree. Victoria followed suit. They walked toward a stile in the railing fence. Beyond in a fenced off area was a trig.