Would his lips feel soft or firm like the rest of him?
She inched closer until there was only a sliver of air between their lips, until all she could inhale was his unique scent.
She fought the urge to press her lips against his. She had never hungered for something this much. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to be kissed by this infuriating man, even though it was wrong.William leaned in further, and their lips almost brushed. But then he stepped back with a groan, turning away from her to run a hand through his hair.
Sorcha almost begged him to take her in his arms and soothe the ache in her core, when he strode out of the study, leaving her alone.
6
She is just a woman.
That was what William told himself for the umpteenth time as he tossed and turned in bed, hoping sleep would come and distract him from the thoughts of a certain minx that had made herself a thorn in his side.
It didn’t help that every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face, how she had looked earlier that night, her pale skin flushed, her lips parted, her eyes reflecting his hunger.
She was dangerous; he had known it the moment he had met her. No woman in her right mind would have agreed to marry his beast of an uncle, especially with the rumors circulating about him.
When William had learned that his uncle had married a young lass, he had assumed that she was either stupid, conniving, or recklessly bold to think she might escape his uncle’s cruelty.
He didn’t know when it had started, but he had pictured her as an ugly lass who had married his uncle as a last resort. He had not expected that his uncle’s widow was a ravishing redhead who had a personality as bright and fiery as her hair.
Even this evening, he had struggled with the urge to bury his hands in her hair and devour her lips. But she was his uncle’s widow, and no matter how much he detested the man, it went against his honor to ravish her when she had once belonged to him.
Under normal circumstances, he would have found her unattractive in those ugly dresses. But no color, no matter how boring, could dull the vibrancy of her hair and the freckles that invited him for a taste.
The woman was a witch. He had never met anyone so capable of stirring his anger and then lust in the space of a few minutes. She made him feel uncontrollable, wild, and untamed. She had accused him of being abeast.
Ha! She had no idea how much restraint it had taken him to refrain from devouring her whole. He could show her just how beastly he could be when he spread her hair across?—
A thud at the corner had him immediately on high alert. Someone else was in his room. Just how distracted had he been that he had not realized it until now?
Sliding his fingers under his pillow, he grabbed the hilt of hissgian-dubhand waited for the intruder to strike while pretending to still be asleep.
The intruder did not disappoint. In the next moment, he approached the bed.
William rolled to the opposite end of the bed, right when a broadsword landed where his head had been. He jumped off the bed and snatched his sword from the floor.
“Who sent ye?” he asked.
The intruder remained in the shadows.
From what little William could see, the man was about the same height as him and had muscular arms.
Even he had to admit that this assassin was a worthy opponent. Whoever had chosen him for this mission had been quite diligent.
William leapt over the bed and swung his sword. The assassin, however, was well-trained.
For the first time in years, William feared for his life. The man turned everything around him into a weapon: the curtains, the bedsheets, the bedside table. He even managed to nick William a few times on his arm and upper thigh.
While the injuries were not fatal, they slowed William down. Soon, he was on his knees, and the assassin was bringing his sword down on his head, trying to find the opening he needed to kill him.
William could feel his strength failing him, but he couldn’t give in, not when giving in meant his death.
Suddenly, the man’s eyes widened in shock, before he crumbled to the floor with a loud thud. Standing behind him was Myles, who immediately wiped his bloodied sword on the dead man’s clothes.
“Thank ye,” William said, accepting the hand Myles offered to help him up.
“Ye are verra welcome,” Myles said, eyeing the man on the floor. “Who is our friend?”
