Page 24 of Return to Clan Sinclair
“You think she would move to Drumvagen?”
“I do, but the decision must be hers.”
She wouldn’t pressure Ceana, unlike her Irish relatives.
Cuddling closer to her husband, she was thankful, in this relationship at least, there was no confusion as to emotions. She adored Macrath and knew he felt the same about her.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful if Ceana would fall in love again? Once, she herself had felt the same way, never thinking love would come to her again. She’d needed a certain measure of fearlessness, a courage she’d never thought to possess, but she’d won Macrath in the end.
The question was: did Ceana want to fall in love? Or was her heart buried with Peter?
Ceana stood at the window of her sitting room, staring out over black moonless sky. From here you couldn’t tell there was an ocean only a short distance away. The darkness, the blackness, was absolute.
Not unlike her life these past three years.
She wanted to be kissed again. She wanted to be loved. Without thinking, without passing judgment, without even allowing herself to wonder about what she was doing, she opened her door and stood there, listening to the sounds of night at Drumvagen.
The wind whistled around the house but there were no drafts in the corridor. Macrath had built a solid home for his clan. A dozen feet away was the door to another guest suite. A dozen feet, that’s all.
She held the wrapper tight against her body, turned and closed her door, then measured the steps she took down the corridor. The faint light from the wall sconce at the end of the hall illuminated the carving on the door as well as the brass handle.
Softly, she rapped on the door, giving herself a test. If he didn’t answer at the faint sound, she would turn, retreat to her room, and counsel herself against any further foolishness.
The door opened so suddenly she wondered if he’d been waiting for her.
He didn’t say a word, merely extended his hand, palm up. She swallowed, placed her hand atop his and allowed him to draw her inside. He reached behind her to close the door, the latch a snick of sound in the silence.
He didn’t say a word, either welcoming or condemning, only drew her farther into the sitting room. The lit lamp on the table beside the settee was the only illumination, but it seemed as bright as a summer sun.
In the middle of the room, he faced her.
He was still dressed in a white shirt and black trousers, but her mind held the picture of what he’d looked like naked. Unless he sent her away or her own conscience banished her from the room, she would see him naked again.
She’d be able to touch him.
Her hands were at her sides, her wrapper held fast by a single button at her neck. Her nightwear was black as well, her mourning attire complete. Even at night she was not supposed to forget she was a widow.
He bent his head, his attention focused on the single button. When it was undone, he slipped the garment off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.
“I’ve never known any woman as beautiful in black as you, Ceana.”
She closed her eyes.
Don’t let him question me. Don’t let him ask me why I’m here. Don’t let him make me say the words.
He bent his head, placed an almost chaste kiss at her temple. Her blood raced.
She couldn’t breathe.
Her nightgown was nearly sheer, not nearly as proper as her cotton gowns. An instant later it didn’t matter because it, too, was on the floor.
She kept her eyes closed, allowing him to look his fill. After all, it was only fair. She pressed her palms against her upper thighs, forcing herself to breathe deeply.
“You’re beautiful.”
She opened her eyes. His face was bronzed with color, his eyes fixed on her breasts. His hands stroked from her shoulders down her arms to cup both her breasts. His thumbs smoothed over her nipples, making them erect.
She bit her lip, managed to restrain herself from pressing his hands against her breasts. They’d always been sensitive and he seemed to know it, taking his time stroking and teasing her.
