Highland Warrior (Campbell Trilogy #1)(100)
Everything was still so damn simple with her—it had been that way from the first. She never probed below the surface. “Of course you do.” He released her and took a step back. This was getting nowhere. He wondered whether they would ever be able to breach the barrier between them. He wanted to think that love would be enough but had begun to fear that it wasn’t. “You said you didn’t want me to treat you like a child, Caitrina. You wanted to see the real world in all its vivid complexity, where decisions aren’t always so clear-cut and where loyalty can be divided. Well, this is it. I know you don’t understand right now, but I’m doing this for you.”
She shook her head, her chin quivering. “For me? You’re wrong if you are trying to convince yourself that you are doing this for anything other than yourself and your precious duty to your cousin. No wonder you have been so alone. Nothing can come between you. I’ll never understand how you can do this and claim to love me.”
He clenched his jaw, fighting to stay calm, but it was a lost battle. “One has nothing to do with the other.”
“Of course it does. You are choosing your duty to your cousin above your love for me.”
“Dear God, what do you want from me?” he asked roughly.
“All of you.” Her eyes locked on his. “What if I asked you to choose between us? Would you choose me, Jamie?”
He gave her a long, penetrating stare, furious with her game. “Aren’t you choosing your outlaw brother above me? What if I gave you the same choice: your brother or me?”
As he’d expected, his ultimatum was met with silence. It was an impossible choice for either of them. Life—and love—was not that simple.
And if she couldn’t understand that, to hell with it. He’d hoped that it wouldn’t come to this. That she would not ask something of him that he could not give her. That she would love him enough to trust him to do what was right for her brothers. He was done asking for her to believe in him, and he wasn’t sure where that left them.
He felt stretched as taut as a bowstring, ready to fire. Not trusting himself to stay another minute longer, he said, “It seems, then, my lady wife, we are at an impasse.” After giving her one long glance, he turned on his heel and headed for the door.
Chapter 22
Caitrina’s pulse raced with a sudden burst of panic. He was going to leave her. Desperation rose up inside her. She needed to do something to stop him.
“Jamie!”
He stopped before the door but did not turn around, his back stiff with resolve.
Feeling suddenly helpless, Caitrina twisted her hands in her skirts before she caught herself. She wasn’t helpless. She hadn’t survived the past few months to let everything fall apart now. She wouldn’t let it come to this. She didn’t want to lose Jamie any more than she wanted to lose her brothers. Surely they could find some common ground?
“Please,” she said. “Don’t go. Not like this.”
Slowly he turned around to face her. “I’m tired of fighting with you, Caitrina. Leave it be, before we both say something we wish we hadn’t.”
She walked toward him, coming to a stop only when she stood right before him—close enough to feel the heat blasting from him like a firestorm waiting to envelop her in his sensual hold. Her body crackled with awareness as it always did when she stood this close to him, craving the balm of his touch. She wanted to run her hands all over his broad chest, to feel the warm velvet of his skin over the hard, chiseled muscle.
He was imprinted on her mind and body, and every instinct clamored to reclaim the intimacy, to seek refuge in the deep connection that could not be denied.
“I don’t want to argue with you either.” I want you to hold me. I want you to tell me everything is going to be all right. She leaned closer to him, drowning her senses in his sultry masculine scent. Lifting up on her toes, she slid her arms around his neck. “It doesn’t have to be like this.”
He stood stiffly before her, but she could feel his body react to her touch. Passion, restraint, and smoldering anger sizzled between them.
“It doesn’t?”
She shook her head. “I love you, and if you love me—”
“I do, God damn it,” he growled. “If only you knew how much.”
Every muscle in his powerful body tensed with restraint, and she could tell that he was holding himself by a very thin thread. His nostrils flared when her mouth moved to inches below his. She hated when he was like this: the cold, ruthless warrior. The man who didn’t need anyone.
She wanted him to need her as desperately as she needed him.
She wanted to slide her mouth along the hard flex of his stubbled jaw until it softened with desire. To drag her hand over the rigid bands of muscle on his stomach until she reached the thick column of his manhood and make him groan with need of her. Instead, she smoothed her hand over the soft wool of his breacan feile at his shoulder, noticing how the muted blues and grays of the plaid complemented his eyes. Her gaze was drawn once again to the Campbell chieftain pin he used to secure it—the boar’s head a sharp reminder of all that stood between them.
Why did it have to be so complicated?
Maybe it didn’t. Maybe in his arms everything would become clear—he would see that nothing should come between them. Maybe if he knew how much she loved him . . .