Love Everlastin' Book 3 (43 page)

Beth chuckled. "I will. May
I mention this to Laura?"

"Only if you think she'll
cross her fingers, too."

"I can pretty much guarantee
it," Beth said, breathless with excitement. Her eyes shone and her
carriage bespoke of renewed energy she hadn't felt for some time.
"It'll be nice to have something cheery to focus on."

On impulse, Winston walked
around the island and planted a kiss on Beth's cheek. She
straightened in surprise, her eyes wide, while Winston backed away,
heat surging up his face. "Spring fever," he said, grinning
uncontrollably then ran from the kitchen and through the dining
room.

Deliah's bedroom was on the
second floor, next to the tower passage. He paused at the door, the
hand about to rap frozen in midair as a shiver of nervousness
worked its way through his system. Although he didn't doubt her
love for him, or his for her, he couldn't help but remember the
devastation he'd read in her eyes when he'd left her in the
kitchen. How far could even a fay be pushed before they emotionally
shut down? Would she shun him to protect herself? Shun him to make
him experience the depths of sorrow she'd endured because of
him?

Suddenly he was terrified to
cross the threshold and face her. Terrified that in the short time
since they'd last spoken, she had hardened her heart against
him.

His palms clammy, Winston
turned the knob, opened the door, and boldly walked into the room.
He saw her immediately, kneeling in front of one of the open
windows, her arms folded on the windowsill and her chin resting
atop them. Quietly closing the door, he walked across the room. His
nerve endings crackled. He felt both hot and cold. Both elongated
windows were wide open and the hearth was cold. The room was chilly
but not uncomfortable, the air fresh and redolent of spring. Faint
floral scents teased his nostrils, scents he knew she somehow
exuded.

He stopped close to her,
standing off to her right. She was staring unseeingly across the
back of the property, lost in a realm of despair he could only
begin to imagine. She had unbraided her hair and it fell down her
back and pooled on the floor behind her like a carpet of satin. If
he lived with her a thousand years, he told himself he would never
tire of its sheen and length and texture. It wasn't within him to
ever see her as anything less than miraculous and beautiful and
enchanting. He'd come too close to letting her slip from his
life.

"Deliah," he rasped, his
hands knotted at his sides.

She turned her head and
looked up at him, but her dreamy expression told him she didn't
believe he was actually there. He waited an excruciatingly tense
moment then sank to his knees next to her. The glassiness in her
eyes began to wane and her eyebrows twitched as if trying to form a
frown. An entanglement of wariness and desperation crept across the
delicate structure of her features. Her shoulders shifted. Tensed.
He could hear her shallow breathing. Almost swear he could hear the
rapid palpitation of her heart.

A timorous smile appeared on
Winston's face as he reached out and tenderly touched her jawline.
She blinked and her facial muscles made a bid to smile, not quite
succeeding. He stroked the soft ridge with the backs of his
fingers. She closed her eyes and released a wistful sigh, its sound
circling his heart and sending a delightful chill through his
system.

"Do you have any idea just
how beautiful you are?" he asked in a soft yet husky
tone.

"Do ye?" she countered. A
genuine smile lit her eyes as she settled back on her heels, her
gaze searching his face as if to recommit every line and plane to
her memory. "I be surprised to see ye. Why are ye here?"

In response, Winston cupped
her nape and simultaneously leaned toward while drawing her closer.
He saw her eyelashes lower in a flutter of motion as he brushed his
mouth across her lips in a feathery kiss. Then she sighed, her
breath as soft and as sweet as spring itself. Winston was about to
ease back when she gripped the front of his shirt and pulled him
onto his knees and against her. Twisting around, she flung her arms
around his neck and kissed him passionately, her fingers
intermittently kneading his scalp and trenching through the thick
straight strands of his hair. They were both on their knees, flush
against each other, Winston's right arm bracing her lower back, his
left hand cupping the back of her head. A cool breeze swept through
the window and frolicked around them, but their fevered skin was
oblivious to its presence.

Desire as hot as lava rose
behind Winston's chest, rose until he thought his brain would erupt
from his skull. He broke the kiss, untangled her arms from about
his neck and sat back hard on his butt on the floor. His vision was
blurred for a moment. When it cleared, he saw her watching him with
grim expectancy and knew she believed he was going to run from her
again. Shaking his head a bit dazedly, he lifted a hand toward
her.

"Deliah, I need a bath and a
shave."

"Why?"

An abrupt laugh coughed from
him. "Because I reek, and ma stubble is irritating your skin. I can
see chafed areas around yer mouth."

"I dinna care. Ye could
sprout a forest on yer face, Winston, and I wouldna care a
wit."

Breathing heavily, Winston
forced himself onto his feet, his gaze never straying from the
foreboding shadowing her eyes. Once he was steady on his feet, he
drew in a fortifying breath and squared his shoulders.

"I do care a wit, lass. I'll
be damned if I make love to you smelling like a brewery. I won't be
long, I promise." She lowered her eyes, then her head, and he
prompted, "Deliah?"

Her head remained
dipped.

In a bid to rally his waning
courage, Winston glanced about the room, vaguely appreciating its
green and beige tones and the heavy, dark stained furniture with
its elaborate cherub carvings. Embroidered floral drapes and sheers
covered the windows, and a matching quilt covered the bed. The
Persian rug centered on the hardwood floor was forest green, gold,
and black. The room was the perfect setting for her. Cherubs and
flowers. Springtime and winged wonders.

"I've decided to return to
work soon," he said matter-of-factly, staring down at her bent
head. "It'll mean I'll be traveling at times, and no' always home
wi' ma wife. I'm a difficult enough mon to love, and ma work won't
make it any easier. Tracking serial killers tends to darken ma
mood. I usually suffer aftermath depressions when I've been in the
field, and I'm no' fit to be around anyone. Hopefully, knowing I
have a loving, caring wife waiting for me will alter tha'
cycle."

He released a gush of breath
and went on, "I guess I'm telling you this because I don't want you
to commit to marriage withou' knowing wha' to expect given the
worst case scenario. I'm thirty-six years old and I've gone this
long withou' a social life, no' to mention one o' anything remotely
intimate. When I marry, it'll be for life. She has to be very sure
I'm wha' she wants. Tha' I'm worth the trouble to love on a long
term basis. I can be a brooding, chauvinistic, miserable, intense
jerk at times, and tend to isolate maself when I've a lot on ma
mind. I'm no' good at voicing ma feelings because, quite frankly, I
didn't know I had any until recently.

"All in all, I can't think
o' a good reason why any womon would tolerate someone like me, let
alone commit to marriage. But I won't settle for anything
less."

Nervous because she refused
to look at him, and wound up because the more he talked, the more
he realized what a pathetic prize he was for any woman, he forged
on.

"I expect the womon I marry
to remain at home. It’s a mon's place to provide, and tha' I can. I
speak ma mind and don't have the temperament to put up wi' a
quarrelsome womon, so in tha', I expect her to obey ma wishes. I
like properly cooked food and prefer to read the news in solitude.
And I believe a mon should be privy to make love to his wife
anywhere and anytime the mood strikes him."

Winston bobbed his head in
closure and abruptly headed for the door. He opened it and looked
back at her. She hadn't moved, and her hair curtained her
profile.

"Deliah, if your door is
locked when I return, I'll have your answer. If it isn't, I'll warn
you now, there will be no turning back."

For what seemed a long time
after he had closed the door behind him, Deliah remained
motionless. His every word echoed hollowly through her mind,
confusing her all the more as seconds became minutes.

She hadn't slept all night
and told herself she was so muddled because of that. But then it
dawned on her that everything he'd said hadn't made sense,
because....

Lifting and turning her face
toward the window, she closed her eyes as a breeze caressed her
skin. She forced herself to clear her mind and breathe in deeply,
as if to cleanse herself completely of the darker emotions she had
experienced since her escape from the root. When she was calm and
in control, she thought back on every conversation she'd had with
Winston. He had always perplexed her, even long ago when he was a
boy, and she had encountered his mind in the fourth dimension. She
hadn't known then that he would one day come to Baird House. That
he would one day free her. That he would one day bring into her
life equal portions of happiness and sorrow, pleasure and
pain.

When she recalled his speech
of minutes ago, she found herself again bewildered. Why would he
speak of what he expected of a wife, to her? Hadn't she promised
him she would never prevent him from finding the woman who would
give him the love and family he deserved? Hadn't she only asked
that she be allowed to love him, be his lover, until the time came
when he had to leave her?

Getting to her feet, she
walked around the room, her thoughts far removed from her actions,
from her location. After a time, she stared at the crystal
doorknob, frowning.

Why would she lock the door?
Even if she did, what possible answer could that
signify?

"All in all, I can't think
o' a good reason why any womon would tolerate someone like me, let
alone commit to marriage."

"Weel," she huffed, her
hands on her hips, "how did you expect me to respond, when I be no'
a womon, but a female fay. Damn ye, Winston Ian Connery, wha' were
ye tryin’ to tell me? Tha' ye already found a womon ye want to
marry? When, pray tell? Between the time ye kissed me in the
kitchen and ye kissed me here?

"Och, you pestin’ mon! Why
do I let ye confuse me like this?"

"I speak ma mind and don't
have the temperament to put up wi' a quarrelsome womon."

"Ha! A quarrelsome womon be
exactly wha' ye need! And privy to make love anywhere and at any
time a mon's right, is it?" She shook furiously, her graceful hands
balled at her sides. "Weel, twould be a kindness were men designed
to make love durin’ the tides o' a womon's needs. Twould have been
mair'n once ye would have been in ma bed, I guarantee!"

She walked to the foot of
the bed and gripped the decorative molding along its surface.
"Deliah, ye were better off afore ye left the root. Time to stop
thinkin’ wi' yer heart!"

A mischievous grin turned up
the corners of her mouth and she arched an eyebrow. "Ye worry abou'
chafin’ ma face, but no' ma heart. Winston, ye have ma ire up and I
dinna like the direction o' ma thoughts, for I can see ye as a
nubby toad upon ma palm, croakin’ yer croaks and puffin’ up yer wee
chest. And would I be cruel enough, Winston Ian Connery, to lay ye
upon one o' these fine pillows and make ye listen to me nag ye from
dusk till dawn? Aye. I think I could."

She folded her arms against
her middle and grinned scoffingly. "Better yet, why no' three toads
upon ma pillow?"

Her anger deflated so
unexpectedly, tears welled up in her eyes and her chin
quivered.

"Damn ye, Winston. I
wish—"

At the sound of the door
opening, she spun around. At the same instant she saw Winston at
the threshold, her world went topsy-turvy. For a terrifying moment,
she felt herself falling...then clinging to solidity as the
whirling inside her head waned.

"What's wrong, Deliah?" she
heard Winston ask, the concern in his tone resparking her anger.
"Are you dizzy? Do you need to lie down?"

A fey tingling sensation
swept through her but she nonetheless found the strength to push
him back and walk several paces in the direction of the windows.
She felt oddly numb and disoriented, but her anger gave her roots
by which to anchor and stabilize herself.

"Deliah?"

Turning with controlled
slowness, she fought to present a calm facade, but knew by his
probing gaze that he suspected she was upset.

"The door was
unlocked."

She thought the statement as
confusing as everything else about the man, and said irritably,
"So?"

He frowned. "Do you want me
to leave?"

It was on the tip of her
tongue to tell him to run before she did turn him into a nubby
toad, but she looked him over and found herself quieting again. He
was barefoot. Beltless dark slacks. A white shirt, of which the
cuffs were unbuttoned and the front left open, revealing his
muscular chest and midsection. He was clean shaven, his wet hair
combed back, and his eyes greener than usual.