Taken by Angeline Fortin (great books of all time TXT) 📗

simple that ate at him, James admitted, if only to himself.  Those smiles Scarlett cast upon his brother, that laughter and warmth.  Her constant natter streaming into his ears.

Scarlett was right.

It was ridiculous to be jealous of his brother, but even so James was.  He might have her passion but Rhys had her friendship.

Strange he had never desired such a thing from a woman, but now…

Aye, he begrudged them all.  He wanted the hours with her by his side.  Wanted her supple body straining against him once more.  Their passion was incredible but there was much more to his captive beyond her appetites, beyond the questions.  And there were many.

There was so much more.

What a conundrum she was.  Caring of his sisters, of people she’d never met.  Full of love to give yet she was afraid of it.  As if she didn’t trust in it being returned.  By him or anyone.

“And his company alone loosens yer tongue?  He kens everything aboot ye.”

To his chagrin, Scarlett nodded.  “It’s amazing really, talking to him is like being at the therapist’s office.”  The word was unfamiliar and she must have realized it, trying a different comparison. “It’s like being in a confessional, Laird.  He just drags it all out of me.”

Aye, he understood that one all too well even if he didn’t appreciate the honesty of her admission.  “And how does he do that?”

“He asks.”  James was surprised by her simple answer and Scarlett flushed with embarrassment.  “It’s stupid, I know.  For so long people have just assumed so much about me.  Rhys asks.  It opens a floodgate.  You could ask, too, if you wanted to.”

“I hae asked ye questions,” he reminded.  “Questions ye’ve refrained from answering.”

“Well, we don’t seem to have a whole lot of luck with long conversation, do we?” The words were as provocative as they were bitter.  She didn’t sound like she appreciated the fact any more than he did.

Still, a slow smile lifted the corner of his mouth.  “Nay, we don’t.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Yers, naturally.”  Amusement lightened his spirits at her mock outrage but when he spoke, his brogue was heavy with the feelings weighing upon him.  “’Tis indeed yer fault, lass, as I cannae be near ye wi’ out wanting ye, wanting to touch ye.  ‘Tis unbearable.”

“Is that why you eavesdrop on my conversations with Rhys?  I know you do.”

James only shrugged.  He had said more than he intended, but still she pressed him further.  “Or is it because you’re still trying to figure out whether I’m a spy or not? To find out if I lied to you?”

“Aye,” he said unapologetically, clearly surprising her with his direct answer.  Especially since it wasn’t the one she was expecting and dreading.  James lifted her chin, forcing her golden eyes to meet his gaze.  “But also to learn more aboot ye.  Scarlett Thomas.  I want to ken everything aboot ye.”

Only mildly appeased, Scarlett shrugged aloofly.  “You want to talk?  Fine.  Let’s talk then.  Tell me, do you read much, Laird?”

“When I am fortunate enough to borrow a book.  I recently read Le Morte d’Arthur by the Sassenach, Thomas Malory.”

Scarlett nodded.  It was the go-to source on Arthurian legend for almost all the years between his and hers. “Yes, I’ve read it.  I thought it was…”

James dragged her into his arms.  His lips covered hers cutting off her words.

“I dinnae want to talk, lass.  No’ now.”

“Good, neither do I.”

33

 

Laird made love to her more tenderly than he had before.  The urgency was still there to overwhelm her and Scarlett was still wary of the power he wielded over her, but something had shifted between them.

Scarlett cuddled against his broad chest with his powerful arms wrapped snuggly around her. Occasionally he would nuzzle the back of her neck or inhale her scent but while his hands might roam every now and then, they were finally talking.

“I don’t think I’ve had a real friend since I was in grade school.”

“I dinnae think I’ve e’er had one a’tall.”

“Yes, you have,” she said.  “You do.  For all his teasing, Rhys cares for you deeply as does Patrick.  I think you know that and you’re lucky to have them.”

Laird grunted noncommittally.  “Be ye feel ye had none?”

“No, as a child, they’d frown down at me for my parent’s scandals or want what they might gain by a slim connection them.  It was even worse when I became famous myself.  I couldn’t trust anyone’s motives.  Rhys has none beyond rousing your jealousy, I think.  He truly cares for me.  He gets me.”

“Gets ye?”

“He understands me but he doesn’t at all assume he knows me.”  Well, except for that one very flawed assumption.  “I hope you won’t feel the need to take that away from me.”

The tent was quiet for a long moment before Laird released a deep sigh.  “I willnae part ye, but I think I ken ye as well.”

In the biblical sense, maybe, Scarlett thought.  Or as friends with benefits.

“Why did ye no’ like being an actress?” he asked after a long moment of silence.

Scarlett tilted her head to look at him.  “How do you know I didn’t?”

“I told ye.  Rhys isnae the only one who understands ye,” he said softly.  “Come, tell me more about yer life on the stage.  Why did ye no’ enjoy it?”

“It wasn’t the acting itself I didn’t like.  It was the fame.  I never wanted it,” Scarlett admitted, catching her bottom lip between her teeth.  “Not like some people do.  I was actually an introvert growing up.  Do you know that word?”

After a pause, she felt him shake his head.  “Latin root?  Intro would be inward…?”

“Shy, awkward around people.  Happy with my own company,” she explained. “Plus, I was not very pretty growing up.  Thin and gangly.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Scarlett smiled.  “Aren’t you the one who called me a bag of bones?”

Laird’s lips brushed the top of her head.  “I ne’er meant it.  I wanted ye from the verra start.”

The dichotomy