Dawns Everlastin' (former title: Dusk Before Dawn) Book 2 (13 page)

Ripples upon ripples of
pleasure vied to sway him from dwelling on anything but the lovely
woman making love with him. Mindlessness was to be expected.
Absolute, instinctual need to quell his drive for a climax, normal.
But looking at her, perspiration glistening on her expression of
bliss, he had to wonder what had doused the friction between them.
Her body moved up and down in perfect, tormenting rhythm, stroking
him within the wondrous cavity of her perfect body. His muscles
grew tauter by the second in response to her. The haze of passion
thickened over his brain.

Groaning with a violent
shudder, he planted his hands at her waistline to slow her
strokes.

"Laura," he growled
thickly.

Despite his grip, she
increased her movements, grinding his shaft deep within
her.

Roan was forced to utilize
the extent of his willpower to keep from exploding inside her.
Veins rose and mapped his broad neck with the strain to hold back.
A pulse throbbed at his temples. He clenched and bared his teeth.
The skin across his face grew tauter by the second. She watched him
through glazed, bright eyes, studied his face in a manner that
betrayed her delight in his readiness.

A cold sliver lanced his
brain, startling him. From deep within his subconscious, a voice
hissed that she was controlling him again. The idea sickened him,
until she released a guttural groan, and the muscles surrounding
his shaft, began to pulsate. Instantaneously, he climaxed, caught
up in the most powerful throes he'd ever experienced. At that
moment Laura was his world, his universe, the bestower of the most
exquisite pleasure life offered.

At the height of their
soaring, he kissed her almost fiercely, clutching her against him
within the band of his muscular arms. When the last shudder began
to wane in their bodies, he wondered if he would ever feel so alive
again.

Then—

Nuzzling a cheek to the side
of his broad neck, Laura whispered, "Lachlan, I love
you."

Liquid ice passed beneath
his skin. Rage swelled within his skull. Immobile with shock, he
questioned the validity of what he'd heard. Denials stormed the
barriers of his reasoning. Laura Bennett had been under the
illusion that she'd been making love with Lachlan?

The idea nauseated him.
Barely able to contain his contempt for what he believed to be a
master manipulation, he gripped Laura's upper arms and held her
away from him. The soft, sensual afterglow in her eyes yanked on
his heartstrings. He wanted her again. He wanted to touch and kiss
every inch of her, taste her, inhale her, lose himself in the dark,
moist cavity between her thighs.

Lose himself to utter
passion and oblivion.

Unexpected pain gripped
every part of him.

He should have known she
never would have fallen for him.

Laura smiled tiredly.
Although dimly aware that something was troubling him, she was
uncharacteristically absorbed in her contentment. She languidly
traced a finger along his lower lip, staring into his eyes, yet not
grasping their betrayal of his withdrawal.

"Who am I?"

His solemn tone elicited a
laugh from her. "Who are you? You, silly."

"Ma name."

"Roan...." She frowned and
smiled at the same time. "Roan."

"Last name?"

"Roan—"

"Ma last name!"

His anger took her
aback.

"Baird! What's wrong with
you?"

His chest rising and falling
on labored breaths, Roan clamped down on his outrage. He urged her
off his lap. Springing to his feet, he stared down at her as though
she'd sprouted horns and had used them to rip him open from heart
to groin.

"Get ou'," he growled,
pointing toward the door.

Laura couldn't move for
several seconds. Then, her movements sluggish, she went to where
her nightgown lay in a heap on the floor, and slipped it on.
Despite the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks, she squared
her shoulders and forced herself to look him in the eye. She
refused to try to second guess his mood change. Their lovemaking
had been incredible, and yet he was acting as though she'd hurt him
in some way.

"Get ou', Laura," he said,
his tone thickly laced with a threat to physically remove her, if
necessary.

"What's wrong?" she
choked.

"Us!"

The heat of her skin
threatened to consume her. Anger-filled words crescendoed in her
head, but she couldn't bring herself to voice them.

Instead, she softly told
him, "Try not to lose any sleep over this. I know I won't." Then,
with as much dignity as she could muster, she left his room, almost
silently closing the door behind her.

Roan clenched his hands by
his sides. Tears he fought back seemed to fill his throat. The room
felt colder than ever before, turning his skin to ice. After
several minutes, he lifted his eyes heavenward and allowed a choked
sound to escape his control.

"Damn you, Lannie," he
rasped, shutting his eyes tightly. "Did we amuse you, you
swine!"

His movements savage, he
stalked to the bed and began to tear away the covers, dumping them
onto the floor. Guttural sounds passed his clenched teeth. He
wanted to shout his outrage at someone—anyone—before it split him
in two. And in part, he wanted to blame Laura, but he was rational
enough to realize that she'd also been a pawn.

"Roan."

He whirled in the direction
of the voice. Reflexively, he balled his hands at his sides.
Breathing heavily through his nostrils, he furiously glared at the
mistress of the house.

Beth Staples took three
steps closer, her demeanor calm, although her expression betrayed
her trepidation. She wore the long-sleeved gown Lachlan hated, the
one she'd found in the attic in an old trunk. "I'm responsible,
Roan."

"No."

"I am." She took another
step in his direction. "I thought I was helping—"

A tortured laugh burst from
him.

"Lachlan's not aware that I
interfered." She gave a feeble shrug. "It got out of hand. I'm
sorry."

"Sorry?" He quickly closed
the distance, planting himself intimidatingly in front of her.
"Sorry for wha'?"

"Please put something
on."

Her request baffled him,
until he looked down and realized his state of undress. Snatching
up the sheet from the floor, he impatiently wrapped it around his
hips and returned to her. "Now, lass, suppose you explain to me
wha' the bloody hell you thought you were doin'?"

It took Beth several
attempts to speak before the words finally came out. "I thought if
I just lowered your barriers a little...you would find each
other."

"Lowered our barriers?" he
muttered. His clenched fists rested warringly on his hips. "Messed
wi' our minds, you mean!"

"No. Roan...." Beth deeply
sighed and ran a hand through her shoulder-length riotous hair. "It
was a whim. I wasn't even sure I could pull it off, but I felt
strongly enough about it to give it a try."

"Abou' wha'?" he shouted,
veins mapping his temples and neck.

"You and Laura."

"Wha' abou' us?"

She searched the anguish
deeply carved in his face. A strong sense of betrayal emanated from
him, washing through her with the effect of a bitter-cold
wind.

She went to the hearth and
stared into the flames for a time.

"You probably don’t know
this, Roan, but Baird House intensifies our emotions. You and Laura
bickering, her slapping you....
" She faced
him. Well, it takes a while before one learns to resist the
impulses."

"So...it’s the bloody house
makin’ us crazy?"

Beth nodded. "The two of you
aren't meant to be ships passing in the night. Haven't you
wondered...even a little bit...what brought her here, to this
house, to us—to you?"

A scoffing laugh was his
first response. "Ye're daft."

"Think about it."

"I don't need to bloody
think abou' it! It was an accident!"

She shook her head.
"Everything happens for a reason."

"Ah." He bobbed his head
mockingly. "The hereafter blessed you wi' omniscience,
aye?"

"No."

"No?" His eyes grew hard and
fierce again. "Did Laura and I perform adequately for you?" He
slapped a palm to his chest. "Were we entertainin'?"

"Dammit, Roan, I wasn't
watching or listening!"

"No? Ye're here, aren't
you?"

"Because
I...
sensed
...you
blaming Lachlan."

To hide his burgeoning
emotions, he turned his back to her. "We make love and,
'Lachlan,
I love you',
she says. I ask her ma name. Roan
Baird
, she tells me."

"I can't offer you a
technical explanation for what happened, but when I touched her in
the hall, I must have unknowingly left her with a part of myself.
Her memory retained my love for Lachlan."

Roan's head came around, his
eyes condemningly dissecting her. "You touched me in the hall, too,
didn't you?"

"Yes. A little
bit."

"A
little
bit?" His mouth compressed in
a scornful line. "Miraculously, I pulled ou' o' a drunk. Then, lo
and behold, I'm all over Laura Bennett like a mon in heat. A
little
bit, Beth? Don't
insult ma intelligence!"

"I didn't brainwash either
of—"

"Hold yer gab!" he hissed,
turning to face her. "Dinna fash yersel wi' a lie claimin' ye're
atweel no responsible for Laura and me gettin' gey thick
thegither!"

Beth's expression went
blank, then, "I can't defend myself when you lash out in a foreign
language," she said, folding her arms against her chest.

In frustration, Roan gave a
yank at the hair atop his head. "How did those words come ou’ o’ ma
mouth?" Then slower, in as near to English as he could at the
moment, he reiterated, "I said, shut yer mouth, and don't trouble
yerself wi' a lie claimin' ye're by no means responsible for Laura
and me gettin' verra friendly wi' each ither."

"Thank you. That's a little
clearer...I think."

"I would expect this kind o'
betrayal from Lannie, but no' you."

His words caused her to
wince. "The attraction was there, Roan. I only...gave it a little
nudge."

Leaning to, Roan leered into
her face, "Stay ou' o' ma personal business! I don't need a bloody
ghost managin' ma love-life!"

Beth haughtily arched a
brow. "What you need is a kick in the ass, my friend."

Rearing back, Roan also
crossed his arms over his chest, letting the sheet fall to the
floor.

A scolding look flashed in
her eyes. "I know all about loneliness, Roan. And I've also
experienced the same social withdrawal you've been going through
since the death of your son and wife."

"You don't know a bloody
thing abou' me, lady."

"I know you go through each
day like a zombie." Her eyebrow arched again. "You're a good man,
Roan. If someone needs help, you're there, but you never let anyone
reciprocate."

"It’s
ma
life."

"Such as it
is...
aye?"
she
drawled, meeting his heated gaze with steeled determination. "When
my mother took ill, Roan, I panicked. I felt trapped. And when she
died, I thought the guilt of wishing her dead would crush me.
Ironically, I didn't begin to live until I came to this house and
met Lachlan."

"Spare me."

"Listen to some damn good
advice."

Her calm yet authoritative
voice wilted his defensiveness.

"For some people, Roan,
there simply isn't a significant other. I thought I belonged in
that category until I met Lachlan. Granted, our life together isn't
remotely normal—being dead probably has a lot to do with that—but
we love each other. And love is precious. Too precious to ignore. I
see before me a man capable of unlimited compassion; a man with so
much love in his heart, it hurts him to keep it bottled up. So why
does he, Roan? Are you afraid of failing in a relationship again?
Is that it?"

Testily retrieving the sheet
and tucking it around his hips, he walked to a window across the
room. He stared into the snow-packed night, blind to the wonderland
scene. Weariness weighted his heart. He'd always been a private
person, a man who found his own company preferable to that of
others. Alone, he didn't have to play a role. He didn't have to
pretend that he was content with his lot in life.

"Ask yourself what greater
force delivered Laura and the boys into your hands, Roan," said
Beth, from close behind him.

He focused on her reflection
in the window pane.

"Ask yourself what a man of
your heart and passion has to offer them."