“No,” he growled back and then pretended to bite her face and neck and tickled her with his beard and kisses until her peals of giggles rang through the house. Best sound in the goddamn world.
Movie forgotten, Thane hugged Lewis and kissed him on the head. “Be good.” Not that his son was anything but. Lew was his wee serious angel and Eilidh his charming wee devil.
“They’ll be fine,” Arro assured him as Mac took the kids into the kitchen to get started on the baking.
“It’s good of Mac to do this. I’ll thank him later.”
“It’s not a hardship for him,” Arro said defensively.
Thane nodded. “I know. He loves the kids.”
She smirked. “Right.”
“Eh?”
“Nothing.” She pulled him into her arms and gave him a squeeze. “Go. Enjoy your free night. Have a whisky with Lachlan or something.”
As Thane got into his car a few seconds later and drove back toward Caelmore, he was agitated but knew leaving the children with Arro was the right thing for them. They had to keep acting normal, or they would think there was still something to be worried about.
A distraction, he mused. He needed a distraction.
And he knew exactly what kind of distraction that was.
For the first time since their affair started, Thane and Regan had the house to themselves. They could be loud. And he planned on giving Regan many, many reasons to be very loud indeed.
Letting his mind wander to the woman in his life, to the frustrations of having to curb his instinct to reach for her throughout the day, to the worries that they had less than two months left before her visa was up, Thane became focused on one thing: making tonight a night she’d never forget.
An almost savage possessiveness gripped him.
“Hey.” Regan turned to him from the dining table when he strode into the house. “I’m just setting the table—” Her next words were swallowed in his kiss.
She tasted of chocolate. Sometimes he saw her sneak a piece before dinner but never in front of Eilidh and Lewis. She wanted to be a good example. Always thinking about them, loving them, protecting them. Him too. And in less than eight weeks, she’d be gone. And he would feel her loss more deeply than he could admit to himself most days.
Throwing the painful inevitability of the future out of his mind, Thane kissed her harder and Regan whimpered, her tongue stroking his in return.
And Thane was lost.
His kiss turned hungry as desperation came over him, and he pressed his body down the length of hers. He gripped her ass, urging her closer, his arousal straining against her belly. His hand slid down the back of her thigh, and he hiked up one leg against his hip so he could be where he needed to be, snugly between her legs.
Fuck, he loved her little dresses, but he hated the goddamn tights she wore with them.
“Thane,” she panted, breaking the kiss. Her head fell back and her eyes fluttered with the sensation of him thrusting against her. Her cheeks were flushed as she moaned and dug her hands into his shoulders. She flexed her hips against his, and his nerve endings caught fire.
He needed inside her. Now.
Knowing how wildly she responded to him when he was rough, Thane stepped back but only to spin her around and bend her over his kitchen table. Lust was a haze across his mind as she cried out. He gripped her nape and pressed her down into the table while his other hand pushed up her dress and ripped at her tights.
She pushed against him as if to get up.
“Stay down,” he panted as he unzipped himself.
Regan trembled beneath him, whimpering. She pushed up again, and he assumed she was arching into him, ready to take him.
Remembering how hotly she reacted to him holding her wrists down in bed, he pressed her back down and shoved his way between her legs.
“No!” she suddenly cried out, pushing forcefully against him. “No!” This time the word broke on a sob.
Her panic was the equivalent of ten buckets of ice over his head and body. Thane released but gently reached for her, her sobs scoring through him. He felt like he had razor blades in his throat as he choked out an anxious, “Mo leannan.”
But Regan shoved at his hands, crying, her face red and streaked with tears.
Thane retreated completely. Regan pushed off the table and ran past him upstairs.
Chest heaving as he attempted to catch his breath, pulse racing, Thane tried to figure out what the hell had gone wrong so quickly. He’d been rough with her before—she’d told him she loved it when he lost control. He’d taken her on her hands and knees many times … he’d even held her down.
Thane looked at the table.
Always in bed.
They’d never had sex anywhere but in bed.
Fear churned in his gut.
He’d triggered her.
And someone was going to fucking die if it was for the reason he feared it might be.
REGAN
Panic clawed at my throat, and I couldn’t catch my breath. The memory had hit like a lightning bolt as soon as Thane pushed me onto the table and told me to stay down. Then the terror was all I felt. It didn’t matter that it was Thane and that I loved him and knew he’d never hurt me. All I could remember was that night in Ho Chi Minh City a year ago. A night I’d buried so deep inside, I’d forgotten about it.
Sobbing in the guest-room bathroom, I couldn’t get a handle on the violent heaving of my chest, and while no more tears fell, I couldn’t catch my breath. The more I panicked about it, the worse it got. Oh my God, I was going to die.
I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die. Tears blurred my vision.
“Regan, breathe.” Suddenly Thane was on his knees before me. “You’re hyperventilating, mo leannan. Cup your hands.”
I heaved for breath, staring at him, unfocused, confused.
He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Like this. Try to concentrate on breathing slowly into your hands. Look at me.”
Hands shaking, I watched him as he took slow breaths in and out. A calm filtered through the chaos in my head, and I mimicked him. Eventually my breathing calmed, and the terror dissipated.
But the reality remained.
All that I’d buried, deep, deep within … it wasn’t buried anymore. And there was no escaping it because I could tell looking into Thane’s sad, worried eyes that he knew. Exhausted, I crawled toward him and rested my head on his chest.
His arms came around me as he sighed with relief.
He then lifted me off the bathroom floor. Looping my arms around his neck, I let him carry me into the bedroom.
“Okay?” he asked before settling us on it.
Tormented that he felt he had to ask, I sucked back more tears and nodded.
He laid back against the pillows and pulled me into his arms, and I snuggled into his chest. “I’m sorry.” His words were rough with emotion. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
I shook my head as I met his eyes. “Don’t. You did nothing differently from what we’ve done before.”
Thane’s eyes narrowed. “It was the table, wasn’t it?”
I flinched as an image hit, my face pressed to the sideboard in that hotel room in Vietnam. Focusing on Thane’s eyes, I admitted, “Yes.”
Distress ravaged his features and he choked out, “Did someone rape you, Regan?”