He feathered one large, callused finger over her brow and down her cheek, ending at her chin and lifting her face to his. “It’s two people, Catherine,” he whispered, his mouth only inches from hers, “discovering a mutual and sacred trust.”
He finished his definition with the merest hint of his lips on hers, a kiss so tender and fleeting Catherine felt herself leaning up, yearning for more.
But it was over before she could decide if it had happened at all. She could only gasp when she was suddenly whisked off her feet, carried over to the stack of hay bales in the corner, and set down on the top bale with a lighthearted chuckle.
Robbie hopped up beside her, reached over and took her hand in his open palm, and used his thumb to caress her fingers.
“It never ceases to amaze me how such delicate hands can be so strong,” he said. “I’ve never fully appreciated how a woman’s lack of physical strength actually enhances her ability to thrive.”
Catherine also stared down at their hands, trying very hard not to let his simple touch make her heart race. “What do you mean?” she whispered.
“When I want something to happen, I have a tendency just to demand results,” he explained, using his thumb to draw a lazy circle on her palm. “And when that doesn’t work, I rely on my size and strength to get what I want. But you, Catherine,” he said, closing his fingers over hers. “You approach a problem quite differently.”
“H-how?”
He shifted his shoulders to face her more fully, still keeping her hand gently trapped in his. “Take tonight for instance. I would have taken Gunter by the scruff of his neck and given him a good taste of his own medicine.”
“You wouldn’t have hit him.”
“Nay,” he agreed, shaking his head. “But he sure as hell would have walked away with something to think about.” He lifted their hands and touched her knuckles to his lips.
“Yet you accomplished the same thing without violence. Instead of trying to pound some sense into the boy, you showed Gunter what aggressive behavior looks like from the other side. Same results but much more resounding.”
“I was just trying to stop him from hitting Cody again.”
“Aye. But where I would have used my strength to stop him, you used shame.”
“I don’t want to shame anyone,” she whispered.
“But is that not a stronger emotion, Catherine? Which lesson will stay with Gunter?
Seeing his action for what it is and being ashamed of himself, or merely being defeated by someone bigger than him? And that, little Cat,” he said, using his free hand to tap her nose, “is why women are stronger than men.”
Catherine balled her own free hand into a fist and fought the urge to rub her nose. “You’
re making me out to be something I’m not. I wasn’t being brave or smart or trying to teach Gunter a lesson. I just wanted to stop the fight.”
He nodded toward the stick leaning against the wall. “You could have found a weapon, a chair even, and stopped it just as quickly.”
“If words wouldn’t have worked, I probably would have,” she said, finally giving in and rubbing her nose.
“Aye,” he chuckled. “I don’t doubt you would have. Because, just like me, you also find a way to get what you want.”
He lifted her trapped hand and opened his, brought her palm to his lips, and kissed it, then closed her fingers over his kiss and let go.
“So, Catherine,” he said with a sigh, relaxing back against the wall, canting his head to stare at the far end of the barn. “We’ve decided that we trust each other; we agree that you are just as strong as I am, only in a different way; and we have six young people in the house who need our combined strengths to see that they become fine adults.” He looked at her. “What say we expand our little conspiracy, join your children with my boys, and see what we can do about growing them up?”
“But that’s what we are doing.”
“Nay. Tonight, when I set my hand on Nathan’s shoulder, that was the first time I’ve touched your son. And other than Nora taking my hand at school, I haven’t gone near her.”
She dropped her gaze to her lap. “Wh-What are you asking?”
He lifted her chin to look at him. “I’m asking for your permission to be part of their lives. To be an example of what a… a father should be. That a man is someone they should look to for shelter and security, not run from.”
“Don’t you already have enough on your plate with the boys, your family, and your… your… whatever you’re doing up on that mountain?” Catherine asked, waving toward TarStone.
“Nay. You can never overfill a plate when you’re sharing it with someone.”
“But why would you want to take on my children?”
“Because I want you.”
“No.”
“I’ve given you a stout stick.”
“I do not hit people!”
“But you will have to, little Cat,” he whispered, taking hold of her chin again and leaning close. “Because that’s the only way to get rid of me.”
“I’ll just leave,” she said, her words washing against him, only to echo back the regret in her voice.
“You’re done running, Catherine. You’ll take your stand here, with me, or you might as well dig a hole and crawl inside and pull it closed behind you.”
“You’re doing it again,” she said, scrambling around until she knelt facing him, determined to make him understand. “You’re seeing something that’s not there. I’m not the brave woman you keep saying I am. I have all I can do to get up every morning and face another uncertain day.”
“But ya still get up, lass.”
“I don’t want you to want me,” she whispered. “It will only hurt us both.”
“Too late,” he murmured, cupping her face. “When you found me on the mountain and chose to save my life rather than run, it was too late for both of us.”
Catherine thought about telling him that she hadn’t had any choice at all. She thought about going over and getting that stick and finally making him understand. And then she thought about how secure she had felt in his arms when he’d hugged her. How brave. And yeah, how strong.
So strong in fact, Catherine decided as she looked into his compelling gray eyes, that she could finally quit wondering what it would feel like to be kissed by Robbie MacBain and simply kiss him herself.
Mimicking his hold on her, she cupped the sides of his face and pulled his mouth down on hers. And it wasn’t a fleeting kiss she gave him, by God, but one that wouldn’t leave any doubt that it was happening.
Robbie made a noise—she couldn’t decide if he grunted or groaned—folded her into his arms, and leaned back against the wall. He canted his head and deepened the kiss—that she had started—by parting his lips over hers.
He tasted like very fine scotch, a perfect blend of heat and masculine appeal that set her mind spinning. There was nothing tentative about him this time, nothing fleeting or obscure.
Catherine opened her mouth, her growing urgency yearning for more, and melted against him, tasting, teasing his advancing tongue, welcoming the tremors racing through her. She also made a sound but recognized it as her own sense of wonder that she was not frightened but empowered by his response.
The muscles of his shoulders tightened under her hands, the tendons in his neck straining as he moved to taste her. Her breasts felt heavy, her nipples quickening from the blasting heat of his chest against hers.
Catherine rose to meet each new sensation and decided her libido was far from dead.
This towering giant of a man, with his maddening choice of a stick or a hug, only mocked her fears with his mouth, his taste, his all-consuming presence.
He broke the kiss, his lips forging a trail of quivering pleasure along her jaw, up her cheek, and across her temple. And then he covered her head with his hand and tucked her under his chin with a sigh so fierce the air rushed from her lungs.