Chapter Twenty

Rose had stopped believing in happy endings long before she’d crashed into MacAllister on that crowded street in front of the theater. Now, standing here with him so very near, she wanted him with a dangerous passion. Yearning for him might well lead to a broken heart. But devil take it, the temptation to rekindle her belief in happily-ever-after was so very strong.

Even if she did know better.

Why had fate led her back to MacAllister? This wasn’t a fairy tale. Harboring fantasies of love, true or otherwise, was a risk she wasn’t prepared to take.

She had to face the truth—the girl he’d left behind all those years ago no longer existed. Once she would have happily settled into a life of domesticity, contentedly playing the role of wife and mother, never considering what more she was capable of. But now, she knew. She was an independent woman, answering to no man, savoring the freedom to do what she pleased, when she pleased. She was a woman of enterprise. Since she’d taken over The Painted Lily, the business was more successful than ever, and its employees felt like family.

If she were truly as clever as she liked to think, she’d keep the barriers she’d erected firmly in place. After all, what good could come of opening her heart? She’d endured enough pain.

She sighed. Was it already too late? She’d never desired a man as she longed for MacAllister. Her hunger for him went far deeper than a desire for his caress and his kiss.

Pressing her palm to his chest, she felt the steady throb of his heart. He was strong and vital, a man of passion and honor, and she wanted him with a yearning that went bone deep.

She craved him, heart and soul.

She wanted him to need her, just as she needed him.

And in her heart, she knew the truth.

She loved MacAllister more with every breath she took, with every heartbeat.

All those years, all those nights, she’d dreamed of him.

Dreamed of this moment.

And now, she had a choice.

She could protect her heart.

Or she could choose love.

When time had passed—long after she’d returned to the life she’d left behind in America—she would treasure this night in his arms. After the bustling crowds had departed The Painted Lily and she’d retreated to the quiet of her beautiful, lonely home, she would cherish the feel of his touch against her skin, the sound of his husky voice playing in her thoughts, and the scents imprinted in her memory.

Closing her eyes, she rested her cheek against his broad chest. His clean, natural essence stirred her senses, and she smiled to herself.

She would take this chance.

For this man, she would surrender her heart.

“Ah, Rose, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice husky with desire. Lacing his fingers through her hair, he pressed soft kisses to the curve of her throat.

The intimacy of the moment washed over her, and suddenly, she felt rather shy. “Would you dim the light?”

“Of course,” he said, adjusting the lamp. “We won’t do anything you do not want to do.”

“I trust you, MacAllister.”

He smoothed her curls from her face. “You’re perfection. You’re even more beautiful than before.”

Her fingers grazed his unshaven cheek, reveling in the texture of the tiny nubs of new beard. “Will you kiss me again?”

Nodding solemnly, he framed her face in his hands. “I want you, Rose. More than the air I breathe.”

His mouth teased hers, soft as velvet, the taste of him intoxicating as fine whisky. Her arms coiled around the back of his neck. His muscles tensed against her touch, and he moaned against her mouth. Needing her. Wanting her. Just as desperately as she needed him.

“Darling Rose, I want to bed you.”

She brushed a tiny caress against his lips. “Oh yes.”

He kissed her again, a tender possession, stirring her heart as deeply as her desire. “I want to make love to you. Tell me what you want me to do.”

“I want you so desperately.” She caught a breath. “Please, undress me, darling.”

His brows lifted, and a sly smile curved his mouth at the corners. “A sweeter request I’ve never heard.”

His clever hands made short work of the tiny fastenings at the back of her dress. Peeling away the garment, he kissed her again, a quick, soft caress.

“So bloody lovely,” he said as he removed her corset cover. He stared down at her, his fingertips gliding over the lacy edge of her satin-trimmed corset.

The look of masculine appreciation as he stripped her corset from her body made her knees weak.

His fingers glided over her chemise, heating her skin despite the thin layer of cotton covering her. Darkened with passion, his eyes spoke of the hunger in his heart.

His large, warm hands spanned her waist, and he pulled in a low breath. “You don’t need that infernal thing.”

“My modiste would not agree,” she said lightly.

“You’re beautiful, Rose. Simply perfect.”

A demanding pulse thrummed between her legs, edging her to the brink of desire. An unfamiliar boldness stirred within her. Was it his touch that emboldened her? Or the tender hunger in his eyes?

“Now, my darling MacAllister, I’d expected you to be quite wicked tonight. I trust you will not disappoint.”

“If it is wickedness you desire, I will not disappoint, my beauty.”

With that, he caught the hem of her gauzy lawn shift in his hands and peeled it over her head.

Baring her to his eyes, he drank her in with a ravenous gaze. She pulled in a low breath, calming her rampaging pulse. It seemed natural to be here with him. Growing more daring, she reached for him.

“Now, MacAllister, I want to see you.”

“Do you now?” he teased.

“Very much, darling.”

“I cannot deny you.” He smiled as he tugged his shirt over his head. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

The gaslight cast an ethereal glow over his skin. Her mouth went dry.

Magnificent. The word echoed in her thoughts.

Simply magnificent.

His body was lean-muscled, without an ounce of superfluous flesh. Slowly, she reached for him, skimming her fingertips over the breadth of his shoulders, feeling the sinews of his shoulders and arms, delighting in the restrained strength beneath her touch. A feathering of dark hair accented the contours of his powerful chest. As a younger man, he’d boasted a strapping physique. Now, his body was more chiseled than ever, the planes and angles like living steel beneath her touch. God above, the very sight of him kindled a hunger more intense than any she’d ever felt.

“MacAllister, I want you to make love to me.”

She felt no shame. No false modesty. Only the knowledge in her heart that being with him was right, as natural as taking a breath.

Passion flared in his eyes. He enfolded her in his embrace, kissing her breathless.

And then, she was in his arms. He carried her to the bed, placing her gently upon the center. As she lay there, watching his every move in the glow of the gaslight, he shed his trousers and came to her.

Lying by her side, he gathered her in his arms. So very close, now. Skin to skin. Heart to heart.

Murmuring words of love, he anointed her body. Kiss upon kiss. Passionate caresses that made her toes curl. With infinite patience, he kindled her desire to flame, until she arched against him, needing his touch with a desperation she wasn’t afraid to show.

Needing his love.

Needing him.

Delighting in the textures of his body, so very different from hers, she explored him. Solid, powerful muscle and bone. Crisp hair fanned lightly over his chest. The velvet texture and hardness of his erect shaft.

When she was thoroughly, utterly mad for him, he prowled over her.

“Tell me you want me, my sweet Rose.” His sweet breath was warm against her lips.

“More than anything, I want this—I want you.”

Claiming her mouth in a kiss that spoke of dreams long denied, he smoothed her dampened hair away from her face.

She canted her hips, eager for him. Slowly, gently, he filled her. Taking his time to please her. Stirring her raw, elemental need. Each movement edged her nearer and nearer to the cusp of fulfillment.

“My sweet, sweet Rose.” His voice was a raw, desperate rasp. “Don’t deny your pleasure, my love.”

His gravel-edged words stirred her passion to a mad, feverish pitch, and she heard herself moan against his mouth.

“Come for me, love,” he coaxed. “Give me your pleasure.”

His husky plea undid her.

With a little gasp, she tumbled over the edge of the precipice. Pure bliss engulfed her.

He kissed her, again and again, muffling her soft cries of delight.

Later, they lay sated and content, drinking in the pleasure to be found in each other’s arms.

“I want you in my bed, darling,” he whispered against her ear. “Every night. Every morning.”

With a drowsy sigh, she curled up against him, savoring his wicked, passionate words. She could not get enough of him. She wanted him until the end of her days, even if it wasn’t fated to happen.

“Sleep well, my love.” His voice was soft as silk. “I want to hold you until dawn.”