Moonglow (35 page)

Weak as a pup, he fell limp against her, his breath ruffling her curls. “Daisy,” he said hoarsely. Every inch of him felt battered. It hit him with a jolt that not once had he thought of failing her. It hadn’t even occurred to him that he would. Satisfaction and peace made his heart light as he closed his eyes and gathered her in his arms and turned onto his side. “Daisy,” he said again. It was all he could say. And in that moment, it was everything.

T
hey lay in a languid tangle of limbs, so intertwined that she wasn’t sure where she ended and he began. One of his strong arms snaked under her neck and around her shoulders to hold her close, as if she might try to get away. Their breath moved in a gentle panting cadence that spoke of physical exhaustion, their lips brushing together with each inhale.

Idly his big hand cupped her breast, his clever fingers toying with her nipple, lightly playing over the stiff tip and setting her insides to clench once again, despite the liquid-warm contentment that made her want to melt into the bed. She arched into his touch, her thighs tightening against his in reflex, and he growled low in his throat. Their lips melded, gently, lightly, a flicker of wet, warm tongues that sent another impossible flood of heat through her.

“I think I may have come close to dying just then.” Even as he spoke, he tweaked her nipple as if he couldn’t stop himself from touching her.

Nor could she. Her hand smoothed up over the strong slab of muscle that flanked his spine and was gratified to feel him shiver, too. “I think I did die,” she said.

Their lips touched as if drawn together like magnets. A sip, a taste before he pulled back slightly, his devilish eyes studying her face, and his expression careful. “You’ll be wanting to go back now? To your sister?”

Her heart stilled. Somehow she found her voice. “Panda is with Poppy.” She licked her tender lips. “Do you want me to go?”

They were so close that her ribs compressed with each sharp rise of his chest. Her hand flattened against his shoulder blade, holding him still, holding him, for she suddenly saw the vulnerability hiding beneath his pride. He did not know the power he had over her.

The hand at her breast stilled, but held her, warm and possessive. “Do you want to go?”

“You cannot answer a question with a question,” she hedged.

His brows drew together in a fierce scowl, but it was need that burned bright in his eyes. His hand slid down her ribs and settled on her hip. The long length of his cock rose up between them, heated steel that pulsed against her belly in an insistent tattoo. “I…” His fingers bit into her flesh. “Stay. Stay with me.”

“I don’t want to go,” she admitted in a rush as his hand moved to her bottom, hauling her so close that she lost her breath, and his mouth found hers. His kiss was fierce, tender, and filled with yearning as he rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him. Every inch of her felt sore, heavy, and aching from their play, her breasts, limbs, sex, even her ass, God help her, and yet when her wet folds slid over his cock her insides tightened in anticipation.

“Then ride me, Daisy-girl.” His voice was rough with sex and utterly seductive. “Do what you will, and I’ll follow.”

Emotion caught hard and fast in her throat. Beneath her palm, his heart pounded. Just as hers did. He’d given the power back to her. He’d given her control, and all she wanted to do now was cherish him, adore him with her touch. His eyes closed just before she placed a soft kiss on one eyelid and then the other. Trembling, she traced a path of kisses along his jaw and down the strong column of his neck. He was better than caramels, richer and saltier. She reveled in his taste as she licked and sucked the tender skin at the base of his throat and nibbled the hard line of his collarbone.

He turned his head toward her, seeking her mouth. Their tongues twined, their kiss open-mouthed and so hot she thought she might faint. Strong hands gripped her hips, guiding her. Moving as through water, she lifted up and found the wide tip of his cock. Their eyes met, and she paused, her nipples skimming over his hard chest with every labored breath she took.

“It was you I needed. No one else but you,” she whispered and then pushed down, impaling herself onto that wonderful, thick, long cock.

Ian groaned, his strong body bowing as if he’d been shocked. His brilliant blue eyes blazed up at her. She flowed over him, letting herself go free. The long, rangy muscles along his torso and arms bunched and trembled as she worked him, his eyes never leaving hers. “You’ll stay.” It was a husky rasp, as much a plea as a demand, and Daisy’s heart turned over in her chest. “Every. Night.”

Her hand tunneled into the cool silk of his hair and grabbed hold. Ian’s nostrils flared as she clenched her
inner walls, squeezing his thick length that pulsed inside of her.

“Every night, Ian,” she countered, unwilling to let him look away.

The desperate fight left his eyes to be replaced with something that looked like joy. Grinning like a boy, he tumbled her over, pouncing with playful fervor. “Glad we have that settled,” he said as she laughed breathlessly. His grin widened and, without warning, he flipped her onto her stomach, intent on a different play. Her hair fell around her face, and she heard the sound of his sudden, ragged intake of breath. Everything in her froze. Her back was to him.

His growl cut into her. “What the fuck?”

Humiliation washed over her in a wave of sour sickness, and she scrambled to get up, get away. But he was too fast for her. His hand lashed out, snatching up her wrist, his powerful thighs pinning her hips, holding her facedown on the bed.

“What the hell is this?”

That position, that exposure. She could not bear it. Rage surged like hot fire, and she bucked.

“No,” she screamed. “Do not!” Her legs thrashed against the bed, tangling in the sheets. With one arm she swung out, sending a glancing blow off his jaw. “You will not touch me.”

“Daisy!” Hands clasped her arms. She reared, her head smashing against his nose. “Oof! Christ. Daisy, stop.”

She would not be held down again. She would not. A body fell upon her.
No!

“Daisy-girl,” his voice crooned. “Calm yourself, lass.”

Not
his
voice. But Ian’s. Ian’s voice. Something in her stilled. Ian’s body on top of her. Not pressing but holding, his strong arms a cocoon.

“That’s it, luv.” Lips brushed against her hot cheek. “It’s me. Only me.” He kissed the corner of her eye, and she realized that tears leaked from them. “It’s all right. You’re safe.”

The fight left her on a sob.

Ian’s strong body trembled, and she knew it was from rage held in tight check. Rage at seeing the network of red slashes along her lower back. One moment of relaxing her guard and he had seen. He rested his head next to hers on the bed, close enough for her to see his expression. Daisy closed her eyes against it.

“Ah, my sweet, lass,” he said brokenly. “What did that bastard do to you?”

Shame was a hot tar coating her insides, clogging her throat. “I can’t.”

His hand smoothed down her forearm. “You can. Haven’t you realized yet? I am yours, whether you will it or no.”

She sobbed again but took a quelling breath, squeezing her eyes shut to stop the tears running down. “He found out I wasn’t a virgin,” she said at last.

Dark memories filled her mind. The disgust she’d felt in having to bed Craigmore on their wedding night. The sick feeling of him on top of her. Craigmore’s ugly face twisted into something hideous and profane as he raised his hand high and smacked her.

She licked her lips. “There was a riding crop.”

Ah, the pain. She could remember it still. The way he’d ripped her gown from her, somehow pinning her down as he unleashed his fury upon her back. It had taken a week to heal. And the scars stayed. A red crisscross to forever mar her lower back. She supposed she ought to be thankful they weren’t raised.

“Did he…” His breath caught. “Did he—”

“No.” She opened her eyes to find him looking at her with compassion. It hurt almost as much as the telling. “He’d already had me, hadn’t he?” A bitter laugh left her. “He never touched me again. He called me the worst sort of filth. ‘A whore whose foul cunt was poison to a man’s sword.’ ”

“Filthy, fucking bastard,” Ian hissed, his teeth clenching.

Her lips twisted. “That he was. But, in truth, he only said what society believes.”

“No—”

“Yes,” she said. “A true lady remains a virgin for her husband. She doesn’t go off bedding the stable lad. Or the tailor’s son.” She lowered her lids. “He might have been the vessel, but I was the source of my shame.”

Ian’s forehead fell lightly against hers. “Christ, that bastard twisted your mind.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he kissed it gently. “That rotten piece of filth hurt you because he was a coward and a bloody hypocrite.”

Daisy swallowed hard. “I thought I was over it. But then you saw my back, and…” She closed her eyes. “I feel such shame. For letting him do that to me. For giving him cause to do it in the first place.”

“Daisy-girl.”

“And nothing can change it,” she hurried on. “I’ll always carry these marks. The ugliness of it.
I
will always be ugly because of it.”

He moved then, his hand brushing away the mass of her hair cascading down her back.

“No,” she said, twisting to move her back from view. “Don’t…”

“Yes.” His lips found a mark and pressed there. “You
are the most beautiful woman…” He kissed his way along a red path. “… I have ever laid eyes upon.”

“Ridiculous—”

He raised his head to spear her with a glance. “Ever.”

A warm hand cupped her bottom and gave it a squeeze. “Ah, Daisy-girl, when you look at me with those eyes, even if they’re scowling at me from over your shoulder as they are now…” He smiled. “You light me up.”

She clung to the soft bedding. She could not take his kindness, didn’t know how. She wanted to run away, but he wouldn’t let her. Firm but gentle hands held her as soft kisses assaulted her senses. He slid over her, his body a weight that anchored. So often she felt as if she might float away in the darkest part of the night and not a soul would be there to see her go.

“Ian.” Tears clogged her throat. She wanted to say so much more, but didn’t know how to say the words—she’d never said them to anyone.

He traced the groove of her spine with his lips as if he could erase old hurts. “I wouldn’t take away a single scar for all the world, if it meant changing the woman you are today. I—”

She spun round and silenced him with a kiss. He kissed her back, soft yet fierce kisses that punctuated his former words. Her throat ached as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “It might never fully go away, Ian.” She searched his face for any sign of wariness. “These old fears. As much as I try to change, I might fall back into darkness now and then.”

Gently, he threaded his hand through her curls, spreading them about her. “We are all imperfect creatures, love. I don’t want perfect. I just want you.”

Pressed against his lean body and wrapped within the
security of his arms, Daisy felt that lost part of her self finally return and slip into place. She might have wept in gratitude. “Foolish man… Lovely, foolish…” But he was her fool, and so she kissed him and then smoothed a lock of his hair back from his brow and studied his face, the sharp angles and sweeping planes that held both strength and vulnerability. “I could love you, you know.”

A look of bemusement clouded his eyes, as if he wanted to believe her but couldn’t, and Daisy’s heart squeezed in response. She saw him reach for the careless expression he often wore, but he failed, and his voice came out rough when he spoke. “I could love you, too.”

S
ometime in the night, Ian awoke with a suddenness that had him lurching upward. Panting as though he’d run miles, he stared unseeing in the darkness. His heart pounded painfully within his chest, and for a moment, he couldn’t place where he was. Beside him, a feminine form stirred and a soft hand smoothed his bare thigh. Something in him eased. Daisy.