And yet she found herself struggling to breathe, already imagining his touch on her.
Stop it! He’s nae goin’ to touch ye again, and ye should be glad of it!
No amount of stern internal lectures could cool her desire, however. It was almost embarrassing.
Ryder took the first step. And it was simply that—a first step. He didn’t lunge forward to sweep her into his arms, kiss her desperately, or even heave a lustful, yearning sigh.
He just stepped forward, tilting his head to one side.
“The flowers in yer hair look nice. Whose idea was that?”
“Sophie’s,” Megan managed, licking her suddenly dry lips. She wanted a cup of water, but could not seem to drag her gaze away from his to look for a drink.
How has this happened to me? It’s like catchin’ the plague. Or swoonin’, perhaps. One minute ye are fine, the next ye are sprawled out on the floor, nae sure how ye got there.
Ridiculous.
“Well, it’s a fine idea,” he acknowledged. “Ye might as well know that the lassies’ uncle, Laird MacAdair, will be here tonight. I’d be grateful if ye could speak to him. He’ll expect it. Daenae let him think that the betrothal is anythin’ other than a genuine one.”
She nodded. “I’ll do me best.”
Is that all he came here to say?
Ryder took another step forward, his gaze skimming down her frame again.
“Ye wore the dress, I see,” he commented. “The one I told ye nae to wear.”
She lifted her chin. “Aye. I did.”
CHAPTER 22
The dress looked even morebreathtaking than when he’d seen it before. Or perhaps it was just becauseshewas wearing it.
Yes, that seemed more likely.
Ryder swallowed, trying to control his arousal. Desire pulsed through him like a second heartbeat, and desire wasnota thing he wanted to be feeling just before an important political meeting.
He had to control himself.
Clearing his throat, Ryder turned away, striding over to the window. He tucked his hands behind his back, peering out at the gray landscape.
“It’s a nice dress.”
After a moment, he heard her approach, each footstep toward him echoing deep in his chest.
“Thank ye,” she murmured, directly behind him.
If I daenae look at her, I willnae risk losin’ control,he reminded himself. His body, however, moved of its own accord. He turned slowly, his eyes meeting hers, and a shiver raced down his spine.
“It’s nae the dress that’s beautiful, ye ken,” he managed, the words fighting up his throat, demanding to be heard. “It’s ye.”
Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening. He lifted his hand almost hesitantly and brushed a stray tendril of hair away from her cheek. It tangled in the petals of a small yellow flower tucked just above her ear. He smiled, gently running his fingertip over the flower.
“Ye have been avoidin’ me,” he murmured, letting his hand drop to his side. “Daenae try to deny it.”
She tilted up her chin. “I wasnae goin’ to.”
He chuckled. “Cheeky as always, I see. I like how straightforward ye are. A wee word of advice, though. When ye meet Laird MacAdair, daenae be too witty. He doesnae appreciate witty women.”
