Page 123 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
His words had gone into her cleanly. They had done more damage by being true than many of his lies had done by being false. She had wanted this for too long, and she had paid for wanting it. Now, he stood before her with the fear stripped out of his mouth at last, and she did not know where to put any of it.
“I daenae ken what to think.” The admission came out quieter than she had intended. It felt too bare between them.
Ciaran did not step closer. He seemed to understand that even now, one careless movement might drive her back into herself.
“Then think this,” he said. “If I could have spared ye the pain of loving me, I would have.”
Ava let out a short breath and rolled her eyes, though they burned. “Such sweet words.”
His mouth twitched, almost a smile, though there was no ease in it. “I am trying.”
“That is plain enough.”
She should have felt victorious for making him work. She did not. She felt tired and raw and acutely aware of every breath he took.
He had come all this way. He had brought her the map. He had said the thing she had begged the world to let be true, and still her hurt sat between them, alive and watchful.
Ciaran lowered himself to his knees.
The movement took her by surprise so completely that she forgot to breathe for one beat.
He looked up at her, big and scarred and proud everywhere else in his life, and gave her the one thing she had never had from him without strain—humility.
“I am yers to do with as ye please,” he murmured. “Just please, believe me.”
Ava’s throat tightened so hard it hurt.
He had spent their whole marriage deciding, withholding, commanding, retreating. She had spent it trying to read him from scraps and silences. Now he was here on his knees, in her Castle MacLeod, asking for belief like a man who knew he had no right to expect it and wanted it anyway.
That broke the last of her anger open.
She went down too, the hem of her skirt spreading around her knees on the floor, and cupped his face in both hands before she could talk herself out of it. His skin was warm, and his eyes closed at her touch for one second, and she felt that all the way in her heart.
Then she kissed him.
The first contact held weeks of pain in it. It held relief, too. He made a rough sound low in his throat and caught her waist, careful even in hunger.
Ava kissed him harder. She wanted no more half-measures. No more waiting for the next wound. She wanted him to feel exactly what it had cost her to stay away and exactly what it cost her to come back to him now. Slowly, he lifted her to her feet and walked her to the bed. They didn't stop until the back of her feet hit the frame.
His hands slid up her back slowly, asking as they moved. She answered by shifting closer on her knees and parting her lips under his. The fire popped once in the fireplace. Outside the door, the castle kept its distance.
Ciaran drew back only far enough to look at her. “Ava.”
“Aye.”
“Are ye sure?”
She traced the scar at his throat with one fingertip and then laid her hand flat over his heart. “I am sure.”
That was all he needed.
He kissed her again, slower this time, and the pace undid her more thoroughly than force would have. His hands were firmer now as they trailed over her back with a slowness that made her almost groan. She felt every press of his fingers through the fabric of her dress.
He found the laces at her back without rushing.
Ava held still while he worked them loose, her face pressed into the side of his neck, her breath coming in short bursts. The dress gave, and he pulled it down her shoulders, letting the cool air kiss her skin.
She closed her eyes.
