Now.
Clearlysomethingmore was holding him back—something paralyzing—and hewouldspeak with her about it.
“Malcolm Penn-Leith! You cannot call me fierce and beautiful in one breath and then walk off in the next!” Viola followed him through the house. Such brazenness displayed a terrible lack of propriety, but she was beyond caring. “You aren’t the only one who gets to make decisions about us.”
Malcolm crossed through the scullery, out a door, and into a courtyard at the back of the house. Work sheds and a smaller barn lined the perimeter.
The rain soaked him to the skin almost instantly.
Viola followed him out, joining him in the courtyard, water drenching her.
“Go back inside, ye weeeejit.” His voice rose over the rain and wind. “You’ll catch your death in this weather.”
“You cannot run away from this!”
“Run away? From what?” he snapped, water already pouring down his face.
“From yourself. From us. From this!”
Viola Brodure, for the first time in forever, tamped down her doubts and fears and reached for what she wanted most.
She crossed the five steps between them.
Rose to the tips of her toes.
Grabbed the back of Malcolm’s head.
And pulled his mouth down to hers.
Viola had been kissed in the past—an overeager swain who had stolen a quick brush of her lips at a ball.
But that was precisely it—
Shehad beenkissed. Passive tense.
She had been the one receiving the action. It had not been her choice, her doing.
This, however.
This was her own claiming. Her own action.
Viola was not simply being kissed.
She was kissing.
Malcolm’s lips were soft and warm, his beard a tickle.
He responded without hesitation, his hands banding around her waist and half lifting her off the ground.
Viola arched into him, head tilted back, rain water cascading down her face.
“Viola,” he rasped, lips moving from her mouth to her jaw, lighting a trail of sparks in his wake. She angled her head, desperate for the feel of his touch.
He paused, dragging his nose along her throat, pressing murmured words to her skin.
“Nae,” he whispered in her ear. “This willnae do. Ye’re drenched tae the skin, lass.”
He set her down. Viola whimpered in protest, but Malcolm’s eyes burned with nearly unholy heat.
