She broke off and turned her face away, her hands flying to cover her cheeks and the tears that fell.
Bowen stared at her in shock, and then anger assailed him. She flinched when she looked back and saw his reaction and immediately she tried to rise from his lap.
He caught her, holding her fiercely to him. He wrapped both of his arms around her and buried his face in her hair.
God, he was furious. Furious that she’d taken so much on her shoulders, that she bore so much weight. Guilt. Shame. And none of it did she deserve.
He was furious with himself for spending so much time being angry at her. And he was livid that Graeme had denounced the match between him and Genevieve because of all she’d supposedly done to Eveline.
There was nothing more he wanted to do than to march back to his chamber, confront Graeme, and tell him the whole sordid truth, but he’d not leave Genevieve to shoulder her grief alone.
He would show her this night how it could be with a man who loved her.
“I am not angry with you, lass,” he said, his words muffled by her hair. “I’m shamed at how much time I spent being angry with you before.”
“I was willing,” she whispered. “I played the whore he made me that night. And the next. Oh God, I hated myself. ’Tis only then I contemplated the sin of suicide. Not before, when he raped me. When he had others hold me down and witness my humiliation. Not even when he let others h-hurt me. But then. Oh God, ’tis a sin to even admit this, but I was so broken by what I’d done that I wanted to throw myself from the tower.”
“Oh, my love,” Bowen whispered in a tortured voice.
He rocked back and forth, holding her in his arms as her tears wet his chest. He kissed her hair, her temple, then pulled her away long enough to kiss her cheeks, her nose, and her lips as he sought to comfort her.
She fused her lips to his hungrily, the heat and salt from her tears on his tongue. She clutched at his neck, holding him fiercely as she returned his kiss.
“If I should never be with another man again, I would want you to be the last,” she whispered. “Show me, Bowen. Show me what it’s like. Take away the memory of Ian.”
“You’ll not ever have to beg me for anything, my love. If you ask me for the moon, I’ll fetch it for you.”
Her eyes softened and the tears stopped as she stared back at him, her forehead pressed to his.
“Show me,” she whispered again.
He rose from the chair, bearing her with him as he hefted her into his arms. He carried her to the bed and laid her gently atop the mattress.
Not wanting to ruin a single moment of what was to come, he leaned down, planting his palms on either side of her shoulders as he stared intently into her eyes.
“I’ll be gentle, lass. I’ll go slowly and woo you as sweetly as a lass ever deserved. But if I go too fast, if I do anything to frighten you, if you want me to stop for no other reason than you’re afraid, you must tell me. I’d never do anything to hurt you. I’d cut off my right arm before ever making you suffer pain.”
She smiled up at him, her eyes glowing like twin emeralds.
“I trust you, Bowen. Only you. Love me now. Make me forget all that is in the past.”
He lowered his body to hers, his mouth pressing warmly to hers. “Aye, lass. Tonight all I want you to think on is the present.”
Chapter 32
Genevieve absorbed Bowen’s kiss hungrily. Such sweetness she’d never known. Never had a man been so tender and patient with her. Her heart was filled with such an ache that she was nearly overcome.
She knew not what her future would hold, but for tonight she wanted only this. To be in Bowen’s arms. To know, just for a moment, what it felt like to be cherished and … loved.
She could pretend the past had never happened. That her face was unmarked and that sins hadn’t been committed. That Bowen was her love—her only love—and that he was the first to ever touch her.
Instinctively, she pressed the scarred cheek into the mattress so that his lips danced across the unmarred flesh of her other cheek. But he wouldn’t allow her to do so.
Gently, he turned her so that the scar was bared to him, and pressed tiny kisses over the rough line, leaving no part of the mark untouched.
“I would be content to do naught more than kiss you for the entire night,” he murmured.
“And I you,” she whispered back.
His hands delved into her hair. He ran his fingers through the long tresses, stroking and smoothing them from her face and forehead.
“Sit up, lass, so that I may attend you.”
Her body trembled as she did his bidding. He positioned her on the edge of the bed and he began to slowly divest her of the shift she wore. His gaze held hers all the while, as if he were looking for any sign that she was unwilling or frightened.
’Twas true she was nervous. She didn’t want to disappoint him. But she was not afraid. Not of him. Never of him.
She held her breath when he tugged the shift over her head and she slid her arms around her body, covering her breasts, as she was suddenly bare before him.
“Do not hide such loveliness from me,” he chided gently.
He carefully pulled her arms away from her body. She was shocked to discover that his hands trembled against her. It was as though he was every bit as nervous as she.
Her heart clutched. She found it endearing that he was so sweet and gentle, and that he seemed unsure of himself.
She loosened her hold on herself and allowed him to pull her arms away so that he could view her nudity. The immediate look of satisfaction in his eyes bolstered her flagging courage.
She was no stranger to lust. Ian had looked upon her like a man determined not only to possess her but to own her, to insert himself into every part of her mind, body, and soul.
But the way Bowen gazed upon her was different. She soaked it up, holding it close and savoring every look, every touch.
“I would undress you as well,” she said huskily, but she hesitated, because she didn’t want to seem overbold.
He took her hands and guided them to his tunic, to the lacings securing the neck.
“Nothing would bring me more pleasure than to have your hands upon me.”
Clumsily, she worked at the laces and then allowed her hands to glide down his muscled arms and to his taut abdomen, where she gathered the material and began to push upward.
He helped her tug it over his head, and her gaze settled on the stitched scar curving across his chest. As he had done with hers, she leaned forward and kissed every inch of the mark, her lips lingering over the puckered flesh.
His heart thundered against her mouth and his breath escaped his mouth in a long hiss.
“Do you have any idea how much I’ve dreamed of this?” he asked. “Your mouth on me, the sweetness of your kiss and caress. ’Tis more than I could possibly have ever wished for.”
She ducked her head shyly, her cheeks heating at his fervent words.
He reached to cup her jaw, rubbing his thumb over her cheekbone as he gazed tenderly at her. “Ah, lass, your shyness is so endearing.”
She rubbed her face into his palm, aching for more of his caress. Then he slowly rose, standing before her so that she had access to his leggings.
The ridge of his arousal was readily visible, and she swallowed nervously as she began to divest him of the last of his clothing. Finally his hands covered hers and he assisted her in pushing them down his legs, and he stepped free.
He was a magnificent sight standing before her. All male, hard, muscled, the ultimate warrior. Scars crisscrossed his body, some old and fading, some, like the one on his chest, much newer.
’Twas evident that this was a man who’d fought in many a battle. He bore the marks of the most seasoned warrior, a testament to his strength and training.
From the dark hair at the juncture of his thighs, his erection jutted upward, thick and heavy. She’d learned to fear such a sight, because she knew it meant only pain and humiliation for her.
But this was a testament to his arousal and his need of her. Her. A scarred lass with nothing to offer him, her virtue long ago taken against her will.
It was hard not to shrink away in shame all over again, for she was not worthy of this man or of his regard.
Bowen eased down onto the bed again, taking in the instant change in her demeanor. He stroked her hair, allowing his hand to run the length of her tresses as he stared at her in question.
“Why that look? As though you would turn from me in shame?”
Her eyes were haunted. Sadness clung to them, drenching the pools with a wealth of unspoken emotion.
“Once I would have been worthy of you,” Genevieve said in an anguished voice. “I was innocent and untouched. My parents were of noble birth, and I was fostered in the king’s court. I attended the queen herself.” She looked up, her face filled with sorrow and the knowledge of all that had been forced upon her. “Now I am no more than the lowliest whore. Certainly not fit for a warrior bearing the Montgomery name and kin to one of the mightiest lairds in all of Scotland.”
Rage filled him. He was awash in it until it flamed his senses and burned through his veins. “Not worthy?” he said, his voice gruff and unyielding. “ ’Tis I who say who is worthy, and there was never a woman more worthy of my regard than you.”
A look of wonder slowly lit her face. Her eyes widened and then lightened. She stared at him as if he’d just single-handedly defeated an entire army on her behalf.
“Oh Bowen,” she breathed.
He slid his arms underneath her legs and lifted and rotated so he could position her on the bed. He laid her out like a feast—and, indeed, she was. A feast for the eyes and the senses. He could hardly contain himself, so great was his need to touch her.
With trembling hands, he stroked up her soft belly, just above where the dark patch of hair shielded her most feminine flesh. It beckoned to him, and the urge to delve his fingers into her sweetness was strong, but he didn’t want to rush. If it killed him, he was going to be exceedingly patient. And it very well might.
He caressed the satiny skin over her rib cage, and then up the valley of her breasts, as he gazed at the perfection of the plump mounds. Perfect, pink-tipped breasts. Her nipples were enticingly round and erect, inviting his mouth to suckle.
When he cupped one of the dainty globes in his palm, she went still, not even a breath escaping her lips. Her nipples puckered to rigid points, and tiny chill bumps broke out and raced across her chest.
“You are beautiful, Genevieve,” he said hoarsely. “There is not a lass more beautiful.”
For a moment, he thought he’d spoken wrongly. That he’d gone too far and that, in his effort to make her feel beautiful and womanly, he’d come across as insincere.
But then she looked at him and her eyes glowed with vibrant light. She looked … content. It was a look she hadn’t worn until now, and he couldn’t blame her. She’d had little to be happy about.
“You make me feel beautiful,” she said, her lips trembling with emotion.
Her words hit him right in the chest, and he went weak all the way to his feet. He leaned over and brushed his mouth across hers, sipping at the nectar of her lips. “ ’Tis glad I am of that, lass, for ’tis the truth that you are more beautiful to me than a thousand Highland sunsets.”
He nibbled his way down her jaw to her ear, and then spent several long moments eliciting soft moans from her as he teased the delicate lobe. He licked and nipped until she fidgeted restlessly underneath his seeking hands.
He plucked her nipples to fullness, toying with them with his fingers. His mouth watered with the need to run his tongue over the tips. After leaving her ear, he made a line of bites down her neck to her shoulder. He grazed his teeth over the sensitive skin in the curve of her neck until she shivered beneath his mouth.
And then, finally, he allowed himself to slide his mouth downward. He left a hot, damp trail over her flesh, until at last he reached the lushness of her breasts.
He licked the tips of her nipples, and she gasped, arching her back. Her hands flew to his hair, her fingers dragging over his scalp as she pulled him closer, demanding more.
He toyed with her nipples, licking and teasing, and then he sucked a velvet tip into his mouth and tugged strongly as he suckled at her breast.
“ ’Tis heaven,” she sighed.
Her fingers loosened and she stroked his hair, caressing the long strands until he closed his eyes in pleasure.
Her touch was wondrous. He would be content to have her hands upon him all the days of his life.
“Aye, ’tis heaven,” he agreed.
But he knew being inside her would be beyond heaven. The anticipation was killing him. He couldn’t wait to slide into her velvety softness. He only prayed he wouldn’t spend himself the moment he dived into her sweet heat.
He continued his downward path, pressing tender kisses to her belly, and then he positioned himself over her, his arms pressed to the outsides of her thighs as he kissed his way to the wispy, dark hair between her legs.
Her eyes went wide and she lifted her head, a protest forming on her lips when he parted her thighs and pressed a kiss to the soft curls.
