If he felt the same.
Aila wished she had the nerve to confess her love. The oft-rejected coward in her wouldn’t permit it. Nor could she summon the courage to turn the tables and find out if she were alone in the uncertain maelstrom of emotion. If his answer wereno, it would devastate her.
On the other hand, if the answerwereno, he could walk away unscathed without the burden of her broken heart to weigh on him.
What a pessimist she was. Were the failures of her past relationships so traumatic that she couldn’t even contemplate a scenario where he returned her feelings? Guesses and assumptions aside, Aila needed to know how Finn felt about her. Everything hinged upon him.
Gah, look at her! In a heartbeat, she’d done the one thing she’d sworn she would never do.
She’d put every ounce of power into the hands of a man.
“Finn…”
“Wheesht,” he murmured against her lips.
Resolve warred with desire. It would be so simple to set her worries aside and lose herself in him.
For perhaps the last time.
An ache of despair tightened her chest. It would be unbearable if these were indeed her final minutes with him. She’d regret not making the most of them. Last time she’d left without a proper farewell. Aila wasn’t going to miss that opportunity again.
Finn jerked at the knot in his cravat, pulling away from her to unwind the long length.
“So many layers,” she teased. “I can never figure out how ye can stand that thing.”
Before she could blink, he threw it aside, shucked his jacket and waistcoat, and yanked his shirt over his head. His bare chest shone like bronze even in the meager sunlight streaming in the window. So much had been lost to the darkness. “Oh, my days, ye’re so beautiful.” Light played over his thickly muscled chest and created deep valleys of his rippled abs that made her mouth water. “Have I ever mentioned how much I would love to see ye in a kilt?”
“Wearing of the tartan is outlawed.”
“Too bad.” Her lips twitched. “No’ that it would stay on ye for long.”
A wicked grin softened Finn’s chiseled features. “Isn’t it the point of a kilt that ye dinnae have to take it off?”
Unable to help herself, Aila ran a hand over the bulging muscles of his chest, relished the tickle of the light smattering of hair against her palm. “The whole point? Really?”
“Aye,” he whispered in a roguish brogue. “It would be if I ever get the chance to wear one again.”
“Oh, ye will.” The teasing response was a cold splash of water to her growing desire.
Squirming out of his arms, Aila climbed off the bed. She couldn’t give herself over to his persuasive kiss before the truth was out. That, too, would be unbearable.
“Finn, we have to talk.”
“After.”
“First,” she insisted, dancing out of his reach. “I’m serious. Please.”
With a groan, Finn turned to sit on the floor once more, his back resting against the side of the bed. “’Tis a far more pleasant thing to think about than any that occupy my mind.”
His frown held no irritation, only anxiety. She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d subconsciously initiated that kiss in hopes of delaying the remainder of their conversation. A way to give himself time to process the sparse information she’d already revealed with her body and story about Kyle. As if on some level, he knew how bad it would be.
She was reluctant to prove him right. Pacing a circle around the room, she took a moment to absorb the elements of him. The shaving kit neatly laid out on the washstand next to the basin and pitcher. The pile of books on the floor next the chair near the fireplace. The buckled shoes in militant lines beneath the clothes neatly hung on hooks in the wardrobe. On a table near the window, plans for the castle were spread out. The corners kept from curling by paperweights in each corner. The one on top was a drawing of the exterior elevation. Though one not precisely the same as the castle in her time.
“There should be another floor.”
There really should. Finn offered a grunt in response.
Off to the side, there was another set of sketches. “What are these?”
