Page 45 of Promised to the Ruthless Laird
It made her feel exposed, reduced to something fragile, when she had spent her entire life learning how to be anything but. She clenched her jaw, frustration and regret twisting in her gut.
Why had she told him? What did it matter what he thought? He could believe whatever he liked, she owed him nothing. And yet, despite every instinct screaming at her to bury it all once more, a small part of her had wanted him to hear her. To be understood, just once.
He rose from his chair and moved toward her, hesitating only a moment before settling beside her on the bed. His arm came around her shoulders, drawing her in.
His scent filled her senses. It should’ve angered her, it should have made her recoil after all he’d said to her. But instead, she found comfort in it, in him, despite the ache he had caused in her heart.
“I shouldnae have been so harsh,” he murmured. “I didnae ken.”
She swallowed hard, willing herself to keep control, but the warmth of his arm around her, the steady rise and fall of his chest — it broke something inside her.
Her voice was small when she finally spoke. “I dinnae ken how I ended up wi’ the Triad. It’s all I’ve ever kent.” She paused to breathe, then continued. “They always have missions rescuin' stolen bairns, bringin’ them in. I suppose I was just one o’ them.”
Finley stiffened beside her, as if a realization had struck him like a hammer. His grip on her shoulder tightened. “They take in stolen bairns...” he echoed, his voice hoarse.
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
A long silence fell over them, then, as though neither knew how to bridge the distance left between them.
But Finley was the first to move. His arms encircled her fully now, drawing her against his chest. “I'm sorry, lass,” he murmured. “I'm so sorry.”
The apology undid her. She pressed her face against his tunic, her tears soaking into the fabric as she trembled. Finley held her tighter, his hand moving to the back of her head, his touch gentle now, nothing like the anger from before.
When the tears finally slowed, Finley pulled back just enough to lift her chin with his fingers. His eyes searched hers, full of something unreadable, something softer.
Then, slowly, he dipped his head and kissed her.
The touch was light, hesitant, as if he feared she might pull away. But she didn’t. She kissed him back, her hands sliding up to rest against his jaw. His thumb brushed away the dampness from her cheek, fingers slipping into her hair as he deepened the kiss, slow and unhurried, as though trying to mend what had been broken between them.
Edin clung to him, her fingers sliding up the nape of his neck, tangling in his hair as if anchoring herself to the moment. Finley’s hands were firm on her waist, his grip possessive as he pulled her closer, pressing her against him as though he needed her warmth to breathe. The kiss deepened, shifting from slow and searching to something that burned between them.
A shiver ran through her as she shifted, sliding one leg over his, until she was straddling him, her knees bracketing his thighs. The new position sent a thrill through her, made her all too aware of the way his body tensed beneath her, the way his breath hitched against her lips.
His hands roamed, tracing the curve of her back, pressing her closer until she could feel the rapid beat of his heart against her own.
Then he reached up, threading his fingers through her hair before tugging, tilting her head back to expose the delicate skin of her throat. His lips found the spot just beneath her earlobe, his breath hot as he kissed his way down, dragging his lips lightly along the sensitive skin.
She gasped, a shudder rolling through her as he reached her collarbone, nipping gently before licking the spot with his tongue.
A moan escaped her, unbidden, as heat curled low in her belly. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, gripping him tightly as his mouth traced lower, each kiss, each stroke of his tongue sending fire licking through her veins.
His hands moved to her dress, and before she could think, he dipped his head and caught the fabric between his teeth, pulling it down just slightly, teasing, before his hands followed, dragging the material lower.
The cool air sent a fresh wave of sensation over her heated skin, but it was nothing compared to the way his lips felt hot against her skin, his tongue tracing slow, deliberate circles over her.
Her breath came in short, uneven gasps as he reached her breasts, his tongue flicking over her nipple before his lips closed around it, drawing her deeper into a haze of pleasure.
He moved slowly, torturously, tracing patterns with his tongue, each motion making her pulse pound harder, making her body arch into him instinctively.
“Finley…” Her voice was barely more than a breath, lost somewhere between a plea and a moan.
His response was wordless — a low sound of satisfaction as he wrapped his arms around her thighs, gripping her tightly. And then, in one swift motion, he lifted her, her legs tightening around his waist as he carried her with ease.
A startled gasp left her lips, but it melted into a laugh—one cut short when he turned, lowering her onto the other side of the bed with a kind of reverence she hadn’t expected.
His weight pressed over her, his hands making quick work of the last of her clothing, sliding it down her body, leaving her bare beneath him.
For a moment, he simply looked at her, his eyes dark, hungry. The way he took her in made her shiver, anticipation curling in her stomach.
