Gabriella’s cheeksburned at the implication, but she couldn’t protest without causing a scene.
“That will do perfectly,”Hector said, rising from his chair. His hand found the small of her back as he guided her toward the stairs. “Send up a bottle of yer best whisky and some of those honey cakes.”
“Right away, Me Laird!”
As they climbedup the narrow staircase, Gabriella’s heart hammered against her ribs. The wine had left her feeling warm and reckless, but now reality was crashing back. She would be alone with Hector for an entire night, in a room designed for lovers.
“Nervous, lass?”he murmured near her ear as they reached the landing.
“Should I be?”she countered, surprised by her boldness.
His low chucklesent shivers down her spine. “That depends entirely on ye.”
The chamber was indeed luxurious.A massive four-poster bed dominated the space, hung with rich burgundy curtains. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across polished wooden floors. Rose petals were scattered across the coverlet, and candles flickered on every surface.
The door closedbehind them with a soft click that seemed to echo through Gabriella’s entire body. They were alone.Truly alone. And suddenly, the careful boundaries of their arrangement felt as fragile as morning mist.
Hector moved to the window,ostensibly checking the storm, but she could see the tension in his shoulders, the deliberate control in his movements.
“The bed islarge enough that we can maintain propriety,” he said without turning around, though his voice carried an edge that suggested propriety was the last thing on his mind.
Lightning flashed again,illuminating his profile, and Gabriella realized with startling clarity that she no longer wanted propriety. The wine, the intimate dinner, the way he’d looked at her—it had awakened something in her that she’d never known existed.
Something that whisperedshe was tired of being afraid, tired of holding back, tired of denying the attraction that blazed between them like wildfire.
The storm raged outside,but inside this candlelit chamber, a different kind of tempest was about to break.
Gabriella was acutelyaware of every breath, every heartbeat, every flicker of candlelight across Hector’s broad shoulders. Without really understanding why, she knew she was ready for a deeper experience with him.
With trembling fingers,she began unlacing the bodice of her dress until she finally managed to loosen it enough to slip her arms free.
Hector remained at the window,his hands braced against the frame, the tension in his body palpable. She could see his reflection in the glass—the hard line of his jaw, the storm brewing in his eyes that had nothing to do with the weather outside.
When he turned around,she watched his entire body go still. His eyes swept over her form, taking in the way her thin chemise barely covered her body, and she saw something dark and hungry flash across his features.
The careful controlhe had always maintained seemed to crack, his jaw tensing as his gaze lingered on the curves barely concealed by the gossamer fabric.
Heat floodedher face as she realized how she must look—the firelight making the linen nearly transparent, the garment reaching only mid-thigh. She crossed her arms over her chest in a bid to conceal her breasts.
“I thought…”she trailed off, her voice slightly breathless under the intensity of his stare. She gestured toward the pile of fabric near her feet. “I didnae… I mean I wanted to…”
But Hector was not listeningto her attempts to explain. His eyes had gone dark, predatory, and he began moving toward her with slow, deliberate steps that made her pulse quicken.
There wassomething different about him now—the careful gentleman replaced by something more primal, more dangerous.
“I warned ye,”he said, his voice rough with barely contained desire. Each word sent shivers down her spine as he stalked closer. “I told ye what would happen if ye came to me like this again.”
Her breath caughtin her throat as he approached, but she found she couldn’t—wouldn’t—back away. Every nerve in her body was alive, anticipating his touch, craving it despite the voice in her head telling her she should be frightened.
“Hector…”she whispered, his name escaping her lips before she could stop it.
Then,he was there, his large hands cupping her face with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the fierce hunger burning in his eyes. His thumbs traced her cheekbones as he tilted her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze, and she felt herself drowning in the storm she saw there.
“Too late for modesty now, lass,”he growled, and then his mouth crashed into hers.
The kiss stolethe breath from her lungs—raw, desperate, nothing like the careful restraint he’d shown before.
This wasthree days of pent-up desire finally unleashed, and she could taste his hunger, his need, his complete loss of the control that usually defined him.
