His brave, fierce lass.
He had to meet her courage with his own.
“Nae.” The sound came out hoarse. “I would love nothing more than tae kiss ye. Ye were made for kisses, Viola Brodure.”
Relief washed her face. She took three eager steps toward him.
He stopped her with an outstretched hand.
“But, lass, there is simply too much between us. Ethan . . .”
Viola flinched at the sound of his brother’s name.
“What about Ethan?” she asked. “I am hardly a thing to be fought over, like hounds with a bone.”
“I ken that.”
“I do not wish a future with Ethan.”
Malcolm’s every muscle froze at her admission.
Not only that she definitively did not wish a relationship with his brother.
But because every minuscule gap of space in her words implied that she was open to the possibility of a true romance with him—Malcolm.
Why?!
Of all the men in Great Britain and beyond, why would Viola Brodure set her lovely sights on him?
Yes, he knew they were becoming good friends.
Yes, he found her beautiful, inside and out.
But to think of that attraction being returned in full measure . . .
“Actually, I lied,” he continued. “I dinnae see. I dinnae ken why ye would like tae . . .”
Tae kiss me.
He couldn’t finish the sentence.
For the first time in forever, Malcolm felt the telltale warmth of a searing blush.
Viola cocked her head at him, as if he had said something impossibly adorable. “Are you truly asking mewhyI want to kiss you?”
Malcolm nodded, ears crimson red and burning.
Viola was tornbetween collapsing into hysterics of laughter or climbing Malcolm Penn-Leith’s muscled body like a tree and forcing his gorgeous mouth to hers.
Unfortunately, neither option was appropriate for a gently bred lady.
More’s the pity.
Had he truly asked why she wanted to kiss him?!
Did the man have a mirror? One that would show not only his physical appearance but his soul as well?
He was . . . well . . . simply put . . .
