Sadness pulled at his features. Ian had a story of his own to tell. He’d been driven to do murder by a mixture of grief and anger. A crime of passion that clearly hadn’t eased his misery. Or was it guilt that troubled him? Someday, if she were here long enough, she might get it out of him. Given his shuttered expression, this wasn’t the night.
Perhaps she’d take his advice and work on Finn instead. If for no other reason than she, too, was far happier when pulled from dark thoughts. Finn was her own brand of light.
She parted ways with Ian and found her way to her door. When she opened it, Rab slipped inside and made himself comfortable on the bed with a wide yawn. There was no reason not to join him and get a good night’s sleep after two with little rest. Taking a moment to second guess herself, she closed the door and went to Finn’s. She knocked a trio of light raps. No answer. She considered knocking again. Soft as they were, though, her taps had resonated in the silence. He had to have heard them. She should respect his wish to be alone and walk away.
The door was unlocked when she turned the knob. Nudging it open, she peeked into the dimly lit room. He hadn’t lit a candle so there was only the light provided by the dwindling flames in the fireplace to illuminate the space.
It was enough.
He’d shed his coat. He glanced at her over his shoulder, his expression inscrutable, but made no comment upon her uninvited intrusion. She had no idea what he was thinking. It wasn’t what he’d been thinking about this time the previous night…or the night before that. Bloody hell, that wasn’t even what she’d been thinking about five seconds ago.
Reaching up, he grasped his shirt and pulled it over his head. Any thought of contrition and vengeance fled her mind with every valley and rise of his rippled abs that were revealed. Her hands knew the terrain of his body. Seeing it sculpted into sharp shadows and mouth-watering highlights set her fingers twitching and ignited a fire of longing deep in her belly.
She swallowed. Hard. Pure magnificence.
His biceps bulged and pecs contracted as he bunched the shirt into a ball. He rotated at the waist to toss it aside, shadows crafting hollows of his hip bones and the well-defined vee that disappeared into the waistband of his trousers.
A little shudder shimmied down her spine and settled into her knees. One look at him — one nearly obscured by the poor lighting — and she was weak with lust. “Howdoye people get on without proper lighting?”
“I thought ye said ye were no’ afraid of the dark?”
“I’m no’ afraid of it, I would simply appreciate less of it.” Less dark and more light to better see him. Though her fingers itched to caress every inch of him, she also wanted the chance to look upon him like the work of art he was. Bernini would weep, she was sure of it.
In the shadows, he reached for the button at the fall of his breeks and her feet rooted her to the floor, decision made. She waited…waited…
“Ye huvnae a maidenly bone in yer body, do ye?”
She tore her eyes away from his hands to meet his gaze, imagining a hint of aggravation there. He wanted her to blush and look away. To act as a lady of this time was expected to act. Aila spent her days blending in here. It took concentrated effort to toe the line. She wasn’t going to do that with him. In this one thing, if nothing else, there would be honesty. “I told ye, I’m no’ ashamed of wanting ye.”
To her satisfaction, the shadowy outline of muscle shifted and flexed at the admission. His infamous frown reappeared more fiercely than before, as if he were as far from pleased by his body’s reaction as she was thrilled by it. “Who are ye, Mistress Marshall?”
“Ye ken ye only call me that when ye’re displeased?”
“Dinnae evade my questions.”
“That was one question,” she pointed out. Then sighed under the weight of his unwavering glower. Stepping into the room, she closed the door behind her. In her recent ponderings, she had imagined what his room would look like. What it would say about the man and his life. For the most part, it was lost to inky obscurity, not that she managed to tear her eyes away from him to look around. “Ye ken who I am, Finn.”
“I dinnae ken a thing. What is yer purpose here?”
Aila had a question of her own. How could he expect a logical response when he played havoc on her ability to summon a rational thought?
“The only one I can think of right now is ye.” Normally such an admission would cost her a measure of her dignity. Now, it felt right. She wanted him to know the truth. As much of it as she was able to reveal.
A muscle jumped in his cheek. His hands fisted at his sides. She could only hope it was to restrain himself from reaching out to her as she took one step, then another toward him. Not anger.
“Nay, that’s no’ whole truth,” she told him. “I have another purpose at present. I want to touch ye. Hold ye.” She inched forward, close enough to tease the light sprinkling of hair on his chest with her fingertips. He shuddered, a rash of goose bumps rippling over his chest and catching the faint light. “Did ye get like this from lifting stones all day?”
“Aye, and from swinging a claymore.”
That prompted a shiver of her own. “I want to make love with ye, Finn.”
Aila bit her lip. God, she’d never used that phrase before.Make love. She’d had sex, shagged, and fucked. Never had she felt comfortable with the more intimate phrase.
She wasn’t entirely certain she was now.
A groan rumbled deep beneath her fingers. It was enough to recall her focus to the moment. Finn bent his head to kiss her. Light, searching. Only that. The moment was achingly tender. That didn’t stop her heart from sprinting like a colt out of the gate. Blood rushed through her and sent her head spinning. As did the heat of his skin when she flattened her hand and ran her palm down his chest and along his ribs. He must have taken the caress for invitation, touching her at last. He circled her waist then slid up to cup her breasts. Even through the thick shirt, his hands were hot. Her nipples hardened, but she wanted more.
And he knew it.
