She laughed, low and breathless. “And found me instead. That must have been a disappointment.”
His mouth twitched. “I wouldnae call ye a disappointment, lass.”
He hadn’t meant for the word to sound that low and rough, threaded with heat, but her breath caught as if she’d felt it.
“Dinnae call me lass.”
He raised a brow. “Ye prefer Catherine, then?”
“I prefer silence.”
“Then perhaps ye shouldnae provoke conversation.”
Her glare should have burned him. It only made him want to step closer. “Ye’re insufferable.”
“I’ve been told.”
That drew an involuntary sound from him, half chuckle, half groan. He dragged a hand down his face, a vain attempt to steady himself. “Ye’ll nae let go, will ye?”
“Nae while I’ve breath left.”
The corner of his mouth lifted before he could stop it. “Then God help us both.”
For a long moment they simply stared, locked there in the charged quiet. Rosie shifted behind her, straw rustling, but neither of them moved. He could feel her pulse in the air, could feel his own matching it, louder than reason.
“Go back tae bed, lass,” he said softly. “It’s late.”
Her lips parted, not with obedience but defiance. “Ye’ve a strange way o’ congratulatin’ a woman fer survivin’ a day that nearly killed her.”
He exhaled, slow, his voice dropping low. “Ye think so?”
“I think ye’ve a heart carved o’ stone.”
“Better stone than fire.”
The words escaped before he could stop them, and the moment they did, he saw how she heard them. Her breath hitched, her lashes lowered, and for a heartbeat the air between them turned molten.
“I dinnae understand ye,” she whispered.
“Ye’re nae meant tae.” He meant to sound dismissive, but it came out softer than he liked, frayed at the edges by something he couldn’t hold back. He could see it in her face too—the confusion, the pull, the same restless energy that lived under his own skin when she was near.
Her pulse stumbled. He saw it in the hollow of her throat, the rise and fall that betrayed her composure. He shouldn’t have noticed. He shouldn’t have wanted to.
“I’ll nae apologize fer speakin’ me mind,” she said finally, chin lifting in that proud way that both maddened and moved him.
“I’d expect naethin’ less.”
“Good. Then ye ken I mean it when I say ye’re the most exasperatin’ man I’ve ever met.”
His mouth curved despite himself. “I’ll take that as praise.”
“It wasnae meant as such.”
“Then I’ll take it anyway.”
The sight of her standing there, cheeks flushed, eyes alight with fury and something dangerously close to wanting was more than he’d bargained for. She spun toward the door, and he let her go, though every part of him felt the loss as she stepped away.
“G’night,” she muttered.
