“I did not think ye cared for such things,” she murmured.
“I do not,” he said, sharper than he intended.
Her shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly.
He exhaled slowly. “But others do.”
Silence stretched.
Ariella’s fingers curled around her cup, knuckles pale. She still would not look at him.
Maxwell remembered last night again. Her blush. Her trembling breath. The way she ran from him with her hand pressed to her lips.
Ah. That is why she is nae looking at me.
He cleared his throat. “Ariella.”
She kept staring at the table as if it were the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen.
“Ariella,” he said again.
She finally turned her head his way. “For pointing it out,” she hissed under her breath. “Now ye have made it worse.”
“Made what worse?”
Her blush had spread down to the edge of her collarbone now, warm and soft against her skin.
She pressed her lips together. “Ye ken what.”
He did not know what.
She tried again. “It is because of last night.”
His stomach tightened.
“Last night,” he repeated carefully.
“Aye,” she said in a tiny voice. “Ye kissed me.”
Heat punched through him so hard he had to grip the edge of the table.
“I did,” he said.
“And now,” she muttered, “I cannot look at ye straight without remembering — without thinking — without —”
She made a flustered gesture, losing the thread of her own words.
He stared at her, stunned.
Then, without meaning to, his hand lifted, and his fingers brushed her cheek.
She jolted, breath catching, eyes widening. “Maxwell,” she whispered.
He knew that he should pull away.
But he did not.
“I want to feel the warmth,” he murmured before he could stop himself. “Of that blush.”
