She looked up fast. “Ye said that earlier.”
“Nay, ye daenae understand.” His voice lowered further. “Imissedye.”
She swallowed, keeping her eyes on him. There was no grin to hide his words or edge to soften his meaning. The words were plain and heavy, and she felt them land.
Her heart answered with a jump. She searched his eyes for the trick she used to expect, but she found none. The world shrankto heat, breath, and the simple fact of him standing where she could reach.
Where she couldtouch.
The set drew them through a loop that tightened every line. Their bodies closed the last of the distance. His thumb stroked her waist once, a small motion that said things she had told him he could not say with his hands. Heat rose under her skin, and she hoped no one else saw it. The guests were too busy reveling to pay close attention to them anyway.
He dipped his head, bringing his mouth to her ear. “I still daenae ken what I mean to do with ye,” he purred. “But if I daenae touch ye right now, I will lose me mind.”
Her lips parted. The urge to answer with something soft struck first. A wiser wish followed. She kept her eyes on his and breathed through both.
The drum lifted them to the edge of the last bar. She felt the beat in her ribs. She felt his hand on her back, a silent promise.
The final phrase swelled. The last note hung and fell. Around them, couples broke apart and clapped and stepped back. The space opened like a breath taken by the entire hall.
Kristen waited for Neil to release her hand. Maybe if he did, she would tell herself that she had only imagined him saying that. Only imagined the hot desire in his eyes.
He did not release her hand.
Her heart gave a wild, traitorous leap.
Dear Lord.
27
Neil did not let go of her hand. He nodded once to Lachlan and Davina, then walked her out of the hall. The din faded behind them while the torches threw small pools of light along the corridor. Her steps quickened to match his.
“Neil,” she breathed.
“Aye,” he said, not slowing his pace.
She saw the door a second before they reached it.
His study.
Her pulse quickened as he opened the door and pulled her inside. The lock settled with a quiet click, and for a moment, neither of them moved.
Kristen looked past the papers that lay in neat stacks on the desk and the door that led to the inner library. She could barely breathe.
“It was way too hot out there,” Neil groaned, pulling off his shirt.
Kristen remained by the door, her breath catching over and over again.
His skin glistened in the firelight, and his kilt hung low on his hips, revealing lines that disappeared beneath the tartan.
She tried to look away and failed. Even as the scars across his back and shoulders flashed in the light. Even as the bandages she had wrapped around his arm gleamed white.
He turned and came to her in two strides. She backed up until her shoulders hit the door, and he braced a hand beside her head.
“We should talk.” Her voice was calm, but her hands were not.
“We have done nothing but talk,” he said. “Talk and avoid and argue. We tell ourselves this is duty. It is nae.”
“Then what is it?” she asked.
