Something about her tone, her expression, made him question what she really meant. He had no doubt she felt remorse. But for some odd reason, he didn’t feel it had anything to do with him. Mila regretted something. But what?
“Ye are the most mysterious woman I have ever met.”
Her sad smile made his heart clench. “Ye have no idea, sir.”
The need to gently brush her hair back from her cheek overpowered him. His fingertips grazed the softness of her skin as he slipped the silky strands behind her ear. She didn’t flinch or slap him, just watched him with her fathomless gaze that had gone as dark and all-consuming as the night.
With his fingers still in her hair, he leaned in and brushed a kiss across her mouth. Her supple lips were even sweeter than he had imagined. He kissed her again, allowing himself to tarry longer, giving the kiss more urgency. When she hesitantly opened her mouth to his, he eased her deeper into his arms. He longed to crush her to his chest but held fast against the impatient urge. Instead, he gentled her into a closer embrace, holding her as tightly as he dared.
Saints preserve him, he needed her. But after what she’d just told him, to seduce her now would be the wrong thing to do. Both his heart and gut knew it. But his cock? Not so much.
As much as he hated to, he ended the kiss and lifted his head. But he didn’t end the embrace. He kept her curves pressed against the length of him, savoring the sensation and wishing no clothing existed between them.
She settled a hand on his cheek and held his gaze. “I dinna ken if this is wise or not.”
He allowed himself a smile. “I have never been accused of possessing wisdom.”
She didn’t smile back. Just looked sad, with the faintest frown creasing her brow. She stared off into nothingness. “Ye know nothing about me.”
“I know enough.” He trailed his fingertips up her long, graceful throat, then cradled her face in his palm. With the slightest shake of his head, he lowered his voice to a more intimate whisper. “But I will do nothing ye dinna wish me to do. Nor do I want ye feeling forced into anything. My protection does not hinge on ye coming to my bed. All I ask from ye is honesty and loyalty.”
“Ye are such a good man.” She uttered the words like a sigh, and their quietness touched him like a lover’s caress. A genuine smile played across her lips this time. “I have needed a good man for a verra long time.” But then her smile faded, and she dropped her gaze. With a slight shake of her head, she eased out of his arms. “I canna do this. Not yet.”
“I understand.” And he did. He didn’t like it, but he understood. Drawing on all the control he possessed, he graced her with a kindly dip of his head. “I leave ye to yer rest, m’lady. Till morning reunites us, aye?”
“Aye,” she whispered.
He turned and left, unable to bear another moment without touching her. A heavy exhale escaped him as soon as he stepped into the hallway and closed the door behind him. Perhaps it was best that the lass had stopped them. If she wielded this much power over him with nothing more than a look and kiss, what might happen if she gifted him with even more?
He increased his speed and charged into his solar. Thank the old gods, whisky waited for him here.
He filled a glass and started toward his bedchamber, then stopped halfway. After the hearty sip he sorely needed, he backtracked to the cabinet and fetched the bottle. Whisky would warm his bed this night. He hadn’t drunk himself to sleep in a long while. He was due.
After placing the bottle and glass on the bedside table, he stripped off his coat, ripped away his belt, and shed his kilt. He took another long, healthy swallow of drink before kicking off his boots and ripping away his neckcloth. He rewarded himself for not losing his balance by pouring another glass while unbuttoning his waistcoat. His shirt quickly joined the pile on the floor. Naked except for the whisky in his hand, he moved to the window and shoved it open wider. The coolness of the breeze across his heated flesh made him ache worse. It reminded him of how she had looked in that thin shift while staring out the window. The soft material had outlined everything from her nipples down to the dimples of her arse. Perhaps that was an exaggeration, but he felt sure those dimples were there, eagerly waiting for his touch.
“Bloody hell, I need more whisky.”
He returned to the bedside, poured another overflowing glass, and lowered himself to the bed. Atop the covers, leaning back against the headboard, he downed the fiery nectar as fast as he could swallow it. He aimed the empty glass at the table and missed. It hit the floor with a quiet thud. He shrugged. “Glad I got that Turkish carpet,” he informed the canopy overhead.
As he slid farther down into the pillows, he eyed the bottle. It was well within reach, even though the glass was not. He blew out a disgusted snort, snatched hold of it, and brought it to his lips. Why the hell shouldn’t he drink from the bottle? Was he not chieftain? After a hearty swig, he propped it on his thigh and stared at the door adjoining his room with hers. One narrow wall between him and certain bliss. Bloody shame, that was. He took another long, deep drink.
Eyes still on the door, he slowly lowered the bottle. He blinked hard then squinted at it through the dimness of the room. The whisky must be toying with him. Then the latch clicked again and the door slowly swung open. Mila stood framed in the doorway, carrying a candle. Chemise untied. Neckline hanging open. One side of it slipped off, revealing her bare shoulder.
He blinked hard again, then raised the bottle in front of the candle burning at his bedside. The level of the liquid wasn’t all that low. The vision couldn’t be from the whisky. Perhaps it was a dream.
“I hope ye have some left,” she said softly. “I would like some too.” She crossed the room and set her candle next to his. “May I join ye?”
“Be this a dream?” He held out a hand. “Not that I mind, ye understand.”
“This is not a dream.” She ran her fingertips across his palm, sending an explosion of sensations through him.
“Are ye certain, lass?” He was still sober enough to worry about what she would think when it was all said and done. “Because once we start…”
She bent to retrieve his glass from the floor, giving him a clear view into her open neckline. “I am positive.” She filled her glass and drank it all before pouring herself another. “’Tis fine whisky.” She handed the bottle back to him, gathered her shift up above her knees, and climbed into the bed. Her gaze dropped as she slowly stroked a finger up his thigh. “I couldna sleep. Not after that kiss.” She smoothed her hand across his stomach then up his chest. After a brief pause, she held out her glass and whispered, “More.”
“More indeed.” He filled her glass, took a long, hard pull on the bottle, then set it on the table. When he turned back to her, she held out the empty cup. “More, m’lady?” He reached for the bottle.
She shook her head. “No. Please set the glass on the table. For later, aye?”
