Page 64 of This Haunted Heart

“I want you all to myself,” he explained. “But is it too dark under here?”

I shook my head. “It’s perfect.”

Gaslight turned the white sheets an amber color, and his weight on top of me made me feel even braver than usual. I reached over his shoulder to stroke the linen, remembering how we’d hidden like this when we were young to muffle the sounds of our laughter.

Then he kissed me, and his kisses felt like renewal, like a hard rain after a long drought. His lips were hot and giving. His tongue teased mine. He rubbed his growing erection against the cradle of my thighs. I lifted my hips to meet his careful thrusts over the thin clothing that separated us. Soon we were both panting.

“Keep looking at me,” he rasped as he shucked his underclothes.

I felt captured by him; I couldn’t turn away from him even if I wanted to. Pushing up the hem of my chemise, he entered me slowly, stretching me inch by inch. Overcome by the intensity of his attention and that delicious feeling of fullness, my gaze slid shut.

“Rynn, show me your eyes,” he purred.

My lashes fluttered back open. A whimper slipped past my lips when he was fully seated. The intimacy of his gaze holding mine had muscles in my belly quivering. The pulse in my thighs jumped.

Slow and deep, he made love to me. He smelled like the almond lotion he’d rubbed tenderly into my skin. His hair was silk between my fingers. I wrapped my legs around his waist and enjoyed the rock of our bodies as his hips met mine.

“Can you come for me, sweetheart?” he asked.

I laced my arms around his neck and tugged him down so I could kiss him. His stubble tickled my chin.

“I don’t think I can tonight, but I don’t want to stop,” I said against his lips, then I peppered his jaw in small kisses. He tipped his head back, and I loved on his throat and the curve of his shoulder, holding him to me. I stroked my hands over his chest and down his arms. My fingers dug into the muscles of his back, brushing over his scars.

With one of his big hands, he cupped my side and helped me find a rhythm I liked best. I ground against him until my hips were bucking with a mind of their own. My release felt far away. I was too emotional, too close to tears for a climax, but I enjoyed every instant of having him inside me. He felt so good. So familiar and warm. He felt like exactly what I needed.

His pace grew more urgent. “Rynn,” he warned me.

“Spend on my stomach,” I told him.

Lochlan pulled out of me and found his release with a gasp and a passionate grimace. It was an image that I would hold in memory behind lock and key. Forever I’d cherish the closeness of that moment under the amber sheets, bodies entwined, his heart in his eyes, no sadness to be seen.

He used a corner of linen to wipe clean my belly and between my legs. With his thumb, he dried a tear on my cheek I hadn’t realized had slipped free. He offered to fill me with his fingers, but I was content. I’d gotten exactly what I wanted, and now I just needed to be close to him.

We climbed out from under the bedding to lounge amongst the pillows. Tucked against his side, we spent most of the night swapping silly stories and fond memories. I fell asleep with nothing in my heart but laughter.

Chapter 16

Lochlan Finley

Rynn was late coming down to join me for breakfast, so I went looking for her.

Perhaps she wasn’t late so much as I was feeling increasingly eager to have her near me again.

I found her in her bedroom, peering out the window. She wore a tea gown in a bright violet shade—her favorite color. A vast improvement on the morning gowns in jet and dingy grays I’d grown accustomed to seeing her in.

“Are you hungry?” I asked her.

She held a wooden comb in her hand, and she used it to gesture down below her, through the window. “I was watching the chopping block there,” she said. “The wood was cutting itself in half, and then the geese showed up.”

“Geese?” I joined her by the window seat. Sureenough, a massive flock of snow geese littered the grounds. The great birds crowded under the weeping willow trees and filled the water gardens. They landed on the sandstone statues of rearing lions, littering them with white feathers. I chuckled.

“I’ve never seen so many at once,” she said, picking through her curls carefully with the comb.

“Hulda,” I said.

“Are we naming the geese?” she teased, separating her tresses into thirds to braid it. “I’m partial to Daisy.”

“It’s a warning to me from Hulda,” I explained. “She’s a weaver woman. Their leader, I think. She wouldn’t approve of how I dragged you into the house the other night. All your screaming must have caught her notice.”

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