Her pulse was too quick. She should have turned around, gone back to her room, pretended that impulse had never existed. But the longer she stood there, the more she imagined him on the other side of the door, utterly unaware of how much chaos he had left behind in her.
Before she could talk herself out of it, her hand was on the latch and the door opened with a low creak.
The room beyond was dim, lit only by the orange glow of the hearth. The scent of rain drifted in from the half-open window, mingled with something faintly smoky.
Aidan turned from the table where he’d been standing, a map still spread out before him. His shirt was open at the throat, sleeves rolled to the elbows, the lamplight catching on the dark hair at his temples.
“Catherine,” he said, surprise flickering across his face. “Is something wrong?”
She should have answered calmly. Instead, everything she had been holding in came tumbling to the surface.
“Ye could answer the bloody door, fer a start,” she snapped, closing it behind her a little too hard.
His brows drew together. “I didnae think?—”
“O’ course ye didnae.” Her words tumbled out before sense could stop them. “Ye never think, dae ye? Ye just appear—everywhere—and then look at me like—like?—”
He folded his arms, one brow lifting. “Like what?”
“Like I’m somethin’ ye cannae decide whether tae guard or destroy!”
The room went very still. The fire popped softly, throwing light against the wall.
Aidan’s voice came low. “Where is this comin’ from?”
Her throat felt tight. She wanted to sound calm, but the words came ragged. “From the fact that I havenae slept in two nights! From the fact that every time I close me eyes I see ye, standin’ there actin’ as though ye ken exactly what ye’re daein’ tae me!”
His expression changed—first confusion, then understanding, then something darker. “Tae ye?” he repeated quietly.
Catherine froze, realizing what she’d just said. “I mean—ye make everything complicated, that’s all. Ye—ye linger, ye look, ye—” She gestured helplessly, heat crawling up her neck. “And then ye pretend ye dinnae.”
He took one slow step toward her, and the air between them thickened. “Pretend?”
She backed up, her shoulder catching the edge of the door. “Aye. Ye act as though none o’ it means a thing. As though ye can touch me one moment and turn cold the next, as though ye can kiss me and then?—”
Her voice broke.
Aidan’s jaw tightened. “Ye think it meant naethin’?”
“I dinnae ken what it meant!” she blurted, and her breath came quick, almost a laugh of disbelief. “That’s the problem!”
He closed the distance then, slow but certain, until the heat of him pressed against the chill she hadn’t known she carried. The firelight caught in his eyes, and the sight of it stole every word she’d planned to say.
“Tell me tae stop,” he said quietly.
Her lips parted, but no sound came.
“Tell me, Catherine,” he said again, his voice rougher now. “If I’ve read it wrong, if I’m a fool, say the word.”
She couldn’t. Instead, she met his gaze and felt something inside her give way. The fury, the sleepless nights, the ache she’d tried to deny, all rushed together until there was nothing left but the want she had fought to hide.
He saw it, she knew he did. His breath hitched just once, and then his hand went up, fingers brushing her jaw. The touch was cautious at first, reverent, as though he were afraid she might vanish.
Catherine’s heart thundered. She hated that he could make her tremble like this, hated and wanted it in the same breath. “Ye drive me mad,” she whispered.
His thumb traced the corner of her mouth. “Aye,” he murmured. “I ken the feelin’.”
The space between them dissolved.
