She waived the proffered bread away and held up her own chunk from beside her plate. “No, thanks. I’ve got plenty.” She thoughtfully pinched at the crust and dropped the pieces into her bowl. How much could she tell him? They had only just met. Better play it safe—at least for now. “My sisters and I were born here in Scotland, but we grew up in the United States—in Kentucky.”
“Kentucky,” he said slowly as though savoring the feel of the word on his tongue. “Are ye glad to be back in yer homeland? Do ye feel as though this place is where ye belong?” He leaned closer with rapt interest.
What was it in his eyes that made her feel as though her answer was of the utmost importance to him? It wasn’t polite interest reflected in his face. It was a wistful look . . . a look filled with something akin to intense longing. She took a long slow sip of her wine, then lowered her glass back to the table. The subtle warmth of the Rhenish surged through her like a soothing caress. “I was just telling Eliza the other day how I felt more at home in Edinburgh than I ever had in Kentucky.”
It seemed like his entire body relaxed, even his smile seemed more natural. “Aye. The soul of a Scot is never at rest unless his feet are well settled on his homeland.”
“Aye.” She lifted her glass in a toast. “Here’s to keepin’ our wee feet firmly planted on the soil of our blood.” Perhaps she’d had a bit too much alcohol. Lilia always told her she butchered a brogue worse than a Glaswegian whenever she’d had too much to drink.
“And our hearts anchored where they are meant to be.” All hilarity left Ronan as he solemnly touched his wineglass to hers. Still keeping his glass pressed against hers, he leaned forward and barely brushed his mouth across hers.
She eased in a shaking breath. How easy would it be to just lean in and lose herself to him, drown herself in all he offered, give herself over to all he hinted they could become? “Who are you?” she whispered, searching his gaze as she savored the wine flavoring his mouth.
“The one who has looked for ye since the moment I first drew breath.” He set his glass on the table and gently scooped her into his lap. His hand trembled as he brushed the backs of his fingers along her jawline with a touch as tender as a whisper. “I never thought to find ye, lass. I had nearly lost hope.”
Mairi carefully set her glass on the table, curled her arms about his neck, and nibbled urgent kisses along his bottom lip. He groaned and pulled her tighter against him, lacing his fingers into her hair as he hungrily opened her mouth with his.
Her senses whirled; an ever-increasing ache sparked through her body. She needed him. So badly.Somewhere deep inside, her practical side struggledwith logic and all theshouldn’ts.She grudgingly broke the connection and eased her way out of his lap, trembling as she slid back into her own chair. “Whew.” She fanned herself. “You’ll have to forgive me. I think the alcohol has loosened the laces of my morals.” Inwardly, she cringed at her lame choice of words.
Ronan straightened in his chair, his face darkening as he refilled his glass with wine, then just as quickly downed a deep draw from it. “Forgive me.” He scowled down at the table and rolled the stem of the glass between his fingers. “I would never have ye think I sought to take advantage of ye in any situation.”
Her heart hitched. She leaned forward and covered his hand with hers. “I wasn’t accusing you. I just . . .” She just what? Wanted to know him a little bit better before she stripped him naked and rode him like a Highland warhorse? She emptied her glass and crossed her legs, bobbing one foot up and down. Maybe the heat of the alcohol would somehow override theotherheat he had kindled in her core. Doubtful.She clamped her thighs tighter together and squirmed in the chair.
He didn’t respond. He sat staring down at his half-empty glass, gently sloshing the ruby liquid with a solemn expression.
Well, wasn’t this a lovely mess? She had shut down all conversation.She reached past the bottle of Rhenish and snatched up the port, refilling her glass with the liquid ammo. She had never been a social butterfly. The ability to make pleasant idle chatter had always escaped her. Lilia must’ve hogged that precious DNA strand while they were forming in the womb because she had the ability to talk nonstop about absolutely nothing and keep her audience completely enraptured while she did it. She wished she was more like Lilia.
Mairi silently toasted that thought and took a deep draw from her glass. The heady warm sweetness of the port blossomed through her, bolstering her sagging confidence up to try-againlevel. With her glass cupped between her hands, she settled back more comfortably in the chair. “So, tell me . . .” she took another sip of confidence and drowned a nervous giggle before it escaped. “What brought you here? I don’t think you ever said.”
He pushed up from his chair, strode across the room to the crystal decanters, and filled a short squat glass to the rim with a sparkling amber liquid. “I thank ye for the fine meal. I believe I’ll top it off nicely with a wee dram, if ye dinna mind.”
“You need liquid courage too, huh?” Mairi pressed her fingers across her lips. Oh dear. Had she really said that out loud?She waved a hand back and forth as though trying to erase the words. “I didn’t mean . . . what I meant was . . .”
“Aye. I ken yer meaning well enough.” He chuckled and raised his glass to her. “Here’s to liquid courage for the both of us.”
This time, the nervous giggle bubbled past the deep swallow of port and nearly pushed the alcohol out her nose. She thumped the glass to the table, coughing and fanning herself against the fiery heat cutting off her air.
Ronan rushed forward, held her arms up over her head with one hand, and thumped her hard between her shoulder blades. “Spit it free, lass. Cough and spit it free.”
She yanked her wrists free, wheezed in a deep breath, then exploded into another paroxysm of coughing. He massaged her back as she sagged forward.
Apparently, she was going to be the first person in history to drown in a glass of port. Could this evening possibly get any worse? Well . . . yes, it could. If she kept coughing like this, puking would be imminent. Wouldn’t that impress this fine Highland specimen currently thumping the shit out of her back? She stepped aside and held up a hand. “I’m fine,” she said. Holding on to the edge of the table, she attempted to stand. The room spun at a nauseating angle. She teetered a few stumbling steps to one side.
Oh holy shit.She plopped back down in the chair, folded her arms on the edge of the table, and rested her head on them. Too much alcohol. Too little food. Too well sloshed with coughing. She sucked in a deep breath, shivering against the sickly cold sweat flashing across her. Gingerly, she turned her head to one side. Peeping over her arm, she gauged the distance to the bathroom, praying she wouldn’t have to make the trip.
The slight weight of his hand rubbed back and forth across her shoulders. “Are ye unwell, lass? Shall I fetch Mistress Eliza?”
“Please don’t shake me.” Mairi swallowed hard against the warning sign of a cotton-dry mouth. If that spot behind her jaw started feeling like she’d just sucked on a lemon, she’d have to dive for the bathroom and pray she could slam the door closed as she slid to the porcelain home plate and started retching. Why couldn’t she be a normal person when it came to overindulging in alcohol? Why couldn’t she just enjoy a fun little buzz then pass out and sleep it off?
“It appears the soup hasna set well with ye.”
Yeah. You go ahead and think it’s the soup.She ran her dry tongue across her lips, then pressed them tightly together. She pulled in slow deep breaths through her nose then blew them out her mouth.I will not puke.Maybe if she chanted it like a mantra, it would be so. She sucked in another deep breath and slowly shuddered it out.
He gently brushed his fingers across her arm. “I’ll fetch Mistress Eliza. Hold tight, lass.”
She didn’t move, just kept deep breathing. If she could just hold on until he left the room . . .
Her hopes grew as the thud of his footsteps faded. The latch clicked. The hinges of the door creaked. Then a nauseating waft of rose-scented air washed across her. “Oh. Hell. No.” She launched toward the bathroom. Halfway across the glossy tiled floor, she slid to her knees and skidded the rest of the way to the toilet. Huggling the welcomed coolness of the porcelain bowl, she divested herself of everything she’d ever thought about putting in her stomach that evening.
