He wanted to tell her everything—about Bryn and his thugs, about the threats and violence that seemed to shadow his life—but he couldn’t. Not only because he did not want to scare her, but because he knew he couldn’t bear the look of fear and disappointment that would surely cross her face.
“It’s nothing for ye to worry yerself over,” he repeated, forcing a smile onto his face. “I’m fine.”
She didn’t seem convinced. Her brows furrowed in concern and she stepped closer until they were just an arm’s length apart. Warmth radiated from her, a warmth that made every inch of him ache to close the distance. He could smell the sweet, clean scent of her that even the wood smoke from the fire couldn’t mask.
She reached out, her small hand hesitating before it finally landed on his arm—it was a simple touch, an innocent one, but to Oskar it felt like a spark running through his veins.
He stepped back as if he’d been stung. “I...um...I have to go fetch more firewood.”
He pushed past her, more roughly than he intended, and as he did so, his shoulder caught hers. She stumbled, her hip hit the corner of the bench, and she fell backwards with a cry.
Oskar darted forward and caught her before she could hit the ground, his arms sliding around her waist and pulling her back to her feet.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didnae mean to...”
He trailed off.
Her face was inches from his, her hands resting on his shoulders. She was so close he could feel her breath on his cheek.
All his thoughts seemed to stop and he moved without conscious thought, his hand lifting, his fingertips brushing against her cheek. The softness of her skin sent a jolt through him.
His hand fell from her cheek to rest on the curve of her waist, pulling her closer. His heart pounded in his chest so fiercely he was sure she could hear it.
What are you doing?A voice shouted in the back of his mind but he ignored it. He couldn’t have stopped now if he wanted to.
He bent his head and kissed her.
Her lips were as soft as he had imagined, her taste sweet. A second later, her arms wrapped around his neck, and she kissed him back hungrily. Oskar felt himself falling into an abyss, lost in the feel of her body against his.
His hand slipped further down her waist, one hand pulling her into him as the other tangled itself in her silky hair, drawing a low moan from her. Desire roared through him, hot and searing, and his groin tightened painfully. He felt the chill of the stone wall against his back and realized that she had pushed him up against it.
He gasped into her mouth, reveling in her surprising strength. Her fingers traced a blazing path down his jawline, over his throat, igniting every nerve they touched.
But then, jarring him from the present, a vision of Bryn’s sneering face flashed into his mind. The memory of their brawl, of hard fists and harsh words, the dark satisfaction in Bryn’s eyes when Oskar had attacked. He saw again his own bloodied knuckles, felt the raw sting of scraped skin.
A pretty thing, from what I hear. I wonder if she’d still look so pretty after a night with me and my lads. What’s the matter? Dinna like being reminded of what ye really are?
It was like a bucket of icy water thrown over him. Wrenching himself away from Lily, he stumbled aside, breaking their heated touch.
Lily looked shocked at his sudden retreat, her dark eyes wide and confused. Her lips were still slightly parted, flushed from their shared intimacy.
“Oskar?”
The word was soft, a query borne of surprise and confusion. The room was silent for a moment, the only sound the crackling of the fire in the hearth and their own heavy breaths.
“I...I’m sorry, Lily.” His voice was rough with emotion.
She took a step back, her expression falling. “What’s wrong?”
He couldn’t explain it to her. He couldn’t explain that he couldn’t let her get close. That if he did, and his enemies found out, they would use her against him. That they would hurt her to get to him.
Lily’s confusion seemed to deepen. “Oskar...?”
“I’m sorry, Lily. I canna do this.” His voice was a harsh bark as he moved away, the intensity of his refusal echoing in the quiet room. The look on Lily’s face was a mix of confusion and hurt. He hated himself for being the reason behind it.
“There is a bedroom upstairs,” he said. “Help yerself.”
He all but fled through the door into the kitchen, leaving Lily alone in the room. Staggering over to a cupboard, he opened it and pulled out a flask of whisky.
