Aila glanced back over her shoulder, hopeful that she didn’t appear as crestfallen as she felt. “Leaving, as ye ordered.”
As decency demanded.
The perma-furrow on Finn’s brow became more of a trench. “I’m fair certain I heard ye say earlier that ye’d have nae man telling ye what to do.”
“Naearseof a man,” she clarified, inwardly cursing herself as her blood warmed once more as he cocked his head to study her.
He took a step in her direction while she silently pleaded for him to keep his distance. “That might be the first time someonedinnaeinclude me as one of them. An arse,” he explained as she stared mutely. “Ye’re doing as I asked, ergo I maun no’ be an arse of a man. Ye’d be one of the few no’ to think so.”
Aila blinked. Gah, was he making a joke? She wouldn’t have thought it possible. As there was not so much as a twinkle in his eye, she wasn’t entirely sure that was the case. “Och, ye’re mistaking my words. I ken yer an arse. If there is someone who disnae believes it, it is no’ I.”
He took another step forward and a hot flush rose from the low neckline of her dress as her heartbeat accelerated.
“There are some who dinnae think of me as such.” Another step and a keening of protest passed her lips. He mistook it as denial. “Is it so hard to believe?”
“Aye, it is.” She circled a hand around her face. “Hence my genuine astonishment.”
“Is that what that expression is? Astonishment?”
The question was thick with innuendo. As his expression hadn’t changed a whit, Aila couldn’t determine if it was intended or not. If he accurately identified her desire.
Stepping to the side, she put Rab and Effie between them. A buffer zone to her sanity. A reminder that she could look but not touch. “It has been so entertaining speaking with ye, but I must be on my way.”
Finn offered no protest this time as she walked away, though his gaze followed her with a tingle between her shoulder blades. Effie let out a pitiful sob when the shepherd reluctantly followed Aila around the side of the old keep. Once out of sight, she’d peeked around the corner to see him lift the girl in his arms and console her.
He was an unpleasant, irritable man. She wanted to despise him for making her feel so undone and rattled. It was difficult to do so in that moment. Bloody hell, she’d thought he couldn’t get any more appealing. Any man could be handsome as the devil and build muscle enough to torment a woman, but there was something infinitely sexy about a man who loved his child like that.
* * *
Even so, it wasn’t Finn’s parenting skills that tagged along as she returned to the castle. It was him and the unprecedented effect he had on her that lingered. She found Elliot in the servants’ hall scratching in a journal. Against his wishes, the cook invited her to leave Rab below with the promise of snacks and water. The dog seemed happy enough so Aila let him be, too preoccupied to argue.
Or to converse with the young clerk as he led her to her room. The quiver in her knees as she scaled the stairs to the third floor had nothing to do with the climb. Nor did the ragged breaths and pounding heart that plagued her upon her arrival at her door have anything to do with the exercise. Elliot handed her a key with the admonishment to use it for her own safety. Poor lad, he had no idea that Aila was more in danger from herself than any other right now.
Letting herself in, she closed the door and flung her cloak on the bed. While spartan, the room wasn’t what she pictured as servants’ quarters. The bed posts were carved with delicate leaves, the coverings silk and fine linen. A thick rug covered most of the floor and a wing chair upholstered in velvet sat before the fireplace. Aila took it in at a glance as she crossed the room. Through the far window, she saw the construction site beyond and knew if she were to look out, she would be able to see him below. Her feet carried her in that direction of their own accord before she swung about with a curse and dropped onto the bed. She lay back against the pillow and stared up at the pleated canopy.
She’d be far better off if she didn’t allow herself to dwell on Finn Keeley further. Not the lust that suffused her or the regret that she couldn’t explore it. Yet all she saw when she stared up at the embroidered medallion at the center of the canopy above her was Finn’s mercurial hazel eyes.
She wasn’t a romantic by any means. She’d never fantasized about being swept off her feet by a man and carried off to a happily ever after. Not like Brontë, who’d always dreamed of white knights and fairy tales. And to be honest, romance itself had very little to do with what Aila was feeling, yet she did feel swept away. Consumed. Helpless against the attraction that simmered with a low hum of desire when she looked at Finn.
Thought of him.
Pictured him.
The walk had done nothing to diminish the extraordinary impact he’d had on her. She couldn’t remember the last time a man had gotten her so hot and bothered or left her aching with unrequited lust. An emphaticneverin achieving it with a single look, without laying a finger on her first. One look from Finn had the effect of an hour’s worth of foreplay and left her literally throbbing for him. Aila ran her hands up her stomach and ribs and covered her breasts with her hands with a yearning exhale. She closed her eyes, but he was still there.
Why him? He was aggravating, infuriating, maddening…probably a dozen other-ings. More than she could enumerate. Likedevastating.Overwhelming. Even when cross. How would that translate to passion? What would he be like in good humor? What sort of body was hidden beneath those many layers? Jacket, waistcoat, linen shirt…even that cravat wound tight and tied right up to his chin couldn’t disguise the thickness of his chest or account for the breadth of his shoulders. His stockings hugged muscular calves and his thighs strained against his breeches. Finn Keeley exuded a heretofore unimaginable degree of magnetism, masculinity. Every part of her wanted to unwrap him and explore the possibilities.
There was no treading on another woman’s territory, though. If Donell had wanted her to have that sort of fun, why hadn’t he thrown her in the path of an unattached man? Aila couldn’t become the thing that ruined an otherwise happy relationship. That acknowledgment did nothing to ease the fire simmering within her.
With another sigh, this one more regretful, she kneaded her breasts before releasing them. Her hand slipped down her sides, over her hips…and, unable to deny the need, between her thighs where a hot, pulsing desire lingered contrarily. Even through layers of fabric, that single touch amplified the hunger, her heart pounding against her ribs. Panting breaths caught in her tight throat. Gathering up her skirts, she closed her eyes and pictured Finn there, imagined him naked. His eyes dark with wanting as they had been earlier. Her fingers grazed over her panties, already warm and damp, then dipped beneath. A low moan escaped her as she touched herself, pleasure coiling hard and fast in her belly. A few seconds later she cried out an almost painful release.
With a groan, she rolled on to her side, breathing hard as the sweet throbbing of her orgasm continued. Gah, it had been too long. And face it, sex with Kyle had never been so hot. They hadn’t had a pump in months prior to their breakup, and in the long months since, she’d denied herself any of the personally provided pleasures that she’d used to fill the long weeks away from her while working on the oil rig. Three weeks out. Two weeks in. For almost two years.
Then they’d broken up, the reasons many. Among them had been her dissatisfaction with Kyle. Dissatisfaction that burgeoned with every intimate detail Brontë shared about her historic hottie. When she’d finally met Tris and seen the couple together, Aila knew she couldn’t continue to live such a farce. Tris was attentive and affectionate. Considerate of Brontë’s wants and wishes. And, according to her friend, unbelievably talented in bed. In short, Tris MacKintosh had been everything Kyle was not.
Tris. Aila’s thoughts slowed.MacKintosh.
Chapter 7
