He looked every inch the infuriating, handsome Laird, and she hated how aware she was of him. Of the breadth of those shoulders that carried quiet authority.
She hated even more that her body remembered the feel of his arm around her waist, the press of his fingers against her sex.
She didn’t want to be tempted. Trapped by him would be an even more evil choice.
Quickly, she yanked her wrist free. The contact broke, but that awareness remained.
“Why did ye follow me out?” she asked, forcing her voice to remain steady. “Are ye here to tease me? To lecture me about being possessed?” Her chin lifted. “Because I’m nae in the mood, me Laird. Let’s just forget what happened.”
Sorcha thought that would be the end of it. She turned, ready to step away. But then he snatched her wristagain.This time, even tighter.
She turned back to him with a sharp breath, her heart racing.
What was wrong with him? Why, of all mornings, in broad daylight, when half the castle was present for breakfast, was he being so daring?
He said nothing, only stepping closer.
The space between them shrank inch by inch until she could feel the heat of him. By now, her breathing was ragged.
She was trapped—exactly what she had tried hard to avoid. His hand released hers and rose instead to her cheek. A small gasp escaped her lips.
He brushed back a loose strand of her hair, his knuckles grazing her skin tenderly. She couldn’t help the shiver that ran through her.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low and quiet. “I was worried last night.”
Her lashes fluttered, and her heart skipped a beat.
Worried? William MacLean had been worried? Even after the way he had looked at her, as though she was nothing but a problem? Even after the anger?
His finger lingered on her cheek, stroking her skin in a way that made her knees weak. Heat pooled low in her belly, flaring with every tender stroke.
Sorcha wasstruggling, but she knew she had to say something. When she finally spoke, her voice came out breathy.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Ye had nothing to worry about.”
The moment the words left her lips, she knew they were wrong.
William’s brow furrowed, his expression darkening even further. It was as though he accepted her words as nothing but pure lies. As though there was nothing comforting in her answer. If anything, it disturbed him.
His eyes searched her face intently, as if he wanted to read whatever secret was hidden beneath her skin. To know what she was hiding from him… or from herself. She swallowed hard.
Her gaze flickered away, and that was when she spotted Avery and Rhea. They stood inside by a window, pretending very badly not to stare.
Sorcha’s face burned. Caelan was nowhere in sight, and she had no idea why that brought her relief, but it did.
Her attention snapped back to William when his fingers tilted her chin gently, returning her gaze to his.
His lips parted. “I followed ye,” he said slowly, “to apologize.”
His hand dropped from her face.
The loss of his touch was almost startling, inviting cold where heat had been.
Apologize?
Sorcha was stunned. Two times in a row, William spoke words she had never heard before.
He nodded, reading her expression.
