Page 26 of Three Days to Be Ruined
“This one is.”
She traced his mouth with her tongue, tasting him, savoring his familiar flavor—warm, earthy, and spiced with desire. “I don’t think Boyd hates Beth. Perhaps there is hope for them. Boyd is lonely and a bachelor for too long.” Julia increased her tempo, grinding her hips faster. “And Miss Croft...she deserves some happiness.”
“Julia,” he exhaled, pleasure making his voice rough. “You sound as you do before blending wine and brandy to make port. As if you rule the laws of nature.”
Her laughter was breathless. “In matters of the heart, you are oblivious.” She slid her fingers over his shoulder and pressed herself closer to him.
“I’ll show just how much I know about such matters.” He lifted her in his arms and pushed her against the wall, his hips rolling in and out of her.
Julia laced her arms behind his neck, her mouth parting in bliss, and she forgot everything that was not her Englishman.
Pleasure burst from her core, spreading through her limbs. She bit his shoulder, muffling her cry, her whole body tightening as her climax rippled through her, anchoring her to him in a shared moment of exquisite release.
A while later, they were both in the marble bath, their legs entwined beneath the water, the warmth surrounding them like a comforting cocoon. Julia felt the rise and fall of Griffin’s chest against her spine, each steady beat of his heart a grounding rhythm that soothed her own.
His body tensed, his arms tightening around her. The shift was subtle, but she could sense his sudden unease, a ripple in the moment’s stillness.
“What is it?”
“I have a daughter now.” His voice was rougher than usual. “When I think of what I did to Beth, what I did to you then, and what some reckless buck might do to Clara, I want to punch my own face.”
A wave of tenderness swelled within her. He was a good man, this Englishman of hers. She reached her hand back, resting it over his, threading her fingers through his, letting him feel her reassurance.
“You never set up to hurt me or Beth,” she whispered, tilting her head to catch his gaze over her shoulder. “We should support her and Boyd in this. They seem clueless about this matter of love. Instead of interfering or making ridiculous plans, we should be their friends. That’s what we’ll do for our daughter when it’s time for her to marry.”
Griffin scoffed. “Clara will never marry. That’s been decided, Julia.”
She smiled, charmed by the gruff protectiveness in his voice, the way he could be so possessive and yet so endearing. Life with him was like the best vintages—layered and rich, revealing unexpected pockets of sweetness and hidden depths. She reached up, brushing a hand along his jaw, feeling the scratch of his stubble beneath her fingers. Leaning forward, she turned on the bath until their chests were level, her gaze meeting his.
“Your daughter Clara?” she murmured, a playful lightness in her voice. “That whirlwind with blue eyes and raven hair? I hope she chooses a Portuguese husband because an Englishman stands no chance against her.”
Chapter ten
"Even the proudest cask has cracks—some are simply better at hiding the leaks." The Rogue’s Guide to Refinement
Boyd tossed in bed like a trout flopping on dry land, cursing the lass who’d barricaded herself into his thoughts. His heart pounded, his legs twitched.Did I pass?she’d asked.You damn well passed, infuriating woman.He’d fought battles with less aggravation than resisting the memory of her kiss. Look at him, a bloody Sassenach, mooning over the chit because she tasted good.
The silence was thick and oily—a lousy bed companion. He strained his ears, longing to hear her murmur his name again. Her sigh when he caressed her spine. The way her breath hitched as his cheek brushed hers. Still, nothing. Just this blasted silence, pressing down on him like a burial shroud. He clutchedher handkerchief, trying to see her initials in the dark. It tore in his rough hands, as fragile as his restraint.
Growling, he flung the sheets back and sat up.Can’t stay in this tomb of a room another second.
The bitter night slapped his cheeks as he strode into the courtyard. Gravel crunched beneath his boots, the only sound breaking the stillness. Everything slept. All but him.
His legs carried him to the fountain, of all places. A mirthless laugh misted in the cold air, unheard by anyone but himself. Dropping onto the bench, he tugged his greatcoat tighter and took a swig of whiskey, glaring at the majestic bear poised mid-catch above the still pond. Even the water was silent. Wherever he went, he could not escape from the past.
Papa Bear stared at him, his stone cubs looking particularly sour, each one with that unmistakable look—disappointed, disgusted, disheartened. Boyd could almost hear their lifeless eyes judging him—a true Highlander would never stoop to scheming against a lass he fancies.
“I don’t fancy her,” he growled. The wind carried his words away. He groaned, raking his fingers through his hair. “Didn’t give a damn for that kiss. Didn’t make my heart thunder or stiffen me like a Lochaber caber. Her voice? Sweet as honey—grated my ears, it did. Hell, I’d burn half my vineyard to hear her purr my name now, whispering it, murmuring it, shouting and licking and purring the blasted thing. And I don’t even like my own name.”
The bear kept staring, as unimpressed as an English banker counting his profits. Entitled beast. Highland bears, he reckoned, wouldn’t be half so critical.
He pointed at its haughty snoot. “A Highlander knows the worth of revenge. It’s right up there with honor and blood. And that lass? She’s neither.”
“Quit looking at me like that. So what if she’s not to blame for her father’s deeds? High society doesn’t care about consequences, do they?” The words tasted as bitter as they sounded. “They’ll trample anyone to get what they want.”
Papa Bear didn’t budge, its eyes fathomless, judgmental, and dripping with silent disdain. Boyd swore he could see its carved brow lifting, as if it questioned his very worth.
Boyd’s hands curled into fists, his knuckles whitening. “Ye know nothin’, do ye? Standin’ there lookin’ down on me, a polished-up Lowlander beast.”
