Page 65 of The Beast's Bride
Nothing she said seemed to make any difference. The man before her was a stranger, so different to the husband of the past weeks who had made her laugh, and looked upon her with soft eyes. She should have let things be.
I’ve ruined everything. Her throat tightened, and tears pricked her eyes.
“I’ll leave ye then,” she whispered. “Goodnight, Taran.”
She’d just started to turn when her husband moved. One moment he was standing at the bench, the saddle before him, and the next he dropped the cloth, took Rhona by the shoulders, and pushed her back against the far wall.
The movement was so sudden that Rhona gasped. His grip on her shoulders was firm, his fingertips digging in. When she raised her chin to meet his gaze, her belly twisted.
His pale-blue gaze glittered. His skin had drawn tight over his features, distorting the two thick scars that slashed across his face. He looked furious.
Taran leaned into her, his mouth twisting. “Take a good look at these scars, Rhona … do ye think any woman would want to kiss a man with a face like mine?”
Shock fluttered through Rhona; she’d never realized he held so much anger inside him.
“Taran,” she gasped his name in a plea. She’d never been afraid of him before, but fear coiled within her now. “I don’t—”
“Doye?” The question was a growl.
Rhona stared up at him, her gaze never wavering. “I don’t understand,” she whispered.
His mouth thinned. “Ye demanded to know what was wrong with me, why I’ve never kissed ye,” he growled. “Why don’t ye ask yerself if I’ve ever kissedanyone?”
Rhona stilled, realization dawning. She’d thought him experienced; the way he’d pleasured her on their wedding night had made her believe he’d lain with a number of others.
“I thought ye had bedded other women?” she whispered.
He stared down at her. A nerve feathered in his jaw. “Bedded, aye. Kissed, no.”
The tension drained out of Rhona’s body at these words. It was as if the fog had rolled back, and for the first time she could see. Suddenly, everything was clear.
“Taran,” she breathed. Rhona reached up, her fingertips tracing the deepest of the scars, the one that slashed vertically from his brow to jaw. He flinched under her touch but didn’t move away. She traced the length of the scar before running her fingers along the one that slashed across his opposite cheek.
Then, she stood on tiptoe and stretched up to him, placing her lips upon the worst of the two scars.
His hands tightened on her shoulders, and she felt his body tremble against her. “Rhona … no.”
She ignored him. Instead, she trailed her lips along the ridge of flesh. “Yer scars are part of ye,” she whispered. “I used to notice them, but after we wed, that changed.” She drew back slightly so that their breaths mingled. “Since then, when I look at ye, all I see is the face of the man I love.”
Rhona reached up to her shoulder and took one of his hands, drawing it down so that the palm lay flat over the top of her left breast. “Feel my heart,” she said huskily. “Feel how it races. I’m telling the truth.”
She watched his throat bob. His eyes had changed; they were no longer shadowed. Instead, they now gleamed.
Tenderness rose within Rhona. Taran MacKinnon wore his scars like armor, yet there were deeper ones inside him, ones that time had never healed. She’d ensure they never hurt him again.
She leaned toward him, her mouth pressing against his.
Truthfully, apart from a fumbling attempt by one of her suitors, Rhona had never been kissed. She had no idea what she was doing, but she felt compelled to take the initiative—to prove to him that her words were true.
Rhona moved her lips over his. She felt the rasp of stubble against her cheek, and a frisson of excitement made her stifle a gasp. She liked this. Tentatively, she traced the seam of his lips with the tip of her tongue.
Taran breathed a soft groan. His lips parted under hers, and his hands came up, cupping her face. His tongue slid into her mouth, exploring, tasting.
Rhona moaned and sagged against him. She felt as if she was drowning; Taran filled her senses, her world. The taste of him set her blood alight, and the kiss grew hungry.
When Taran gently bit her lower lip, she whimpered.
Breathing hard, Taran pulled away. His gaze fused with hers, never wavering. Trapped in his arms, Rhona stared up at him. “Kiss me again,” she whispered. “Please.”
