“Do not cause it tonight.” She caught his gaze, determined to stare him down. “My reputation, my family’s future, too much is—”
“I’m nae an idiot, Miranda,” he cut in, without heat. “And whether ye believe me or nae, I mean to help ye.” He sat forward, planting both booted feet flat on the floor. “Have ye told him how ye and I met?”
“Just in general, that you’re Eloise’s brother.”
“That’ll do. If ye can avoid mentioning that I wager and that ye detest me, I’d appreciate it.”
Miranda frowned. “He already knows that you wager. Matthew, no doubt. And I don’t… Our acquaintance has demonstrated to me that I underappreciated several useful aspects of your character.”
That earned her another laugh. “Saint Andrew, ye’re a stubborn lass,” he muttered. “If Vale should ask what ye think of me, how will ye answer?”
“That it’s none of his affair.”
He cocked his head. “Can ye really tell him that? Or is that only what ye’d like to say?”
“Well, what would you say about me, then?” she countered, folding her arms. For heaven’s sake, she might not be able to push at Vale, but she could certainly stand her ground with Aden MacTaggert. He practically demanded that she either do so or flee. And she didn’t wish to flee.
“It’s nae his affair,” Aden said matter-of-factly. “And thatiswhat I would say to Vale.”
She looked down at the floor, then lifted her gaze to him again. “What would you say to me, then?”
Clever Miranda, never willing to let a chance to flay him go by without comment. What did it say about him, then, that he kept returning for more? Keeping his expression neutral, Aden stood. “I think ye’re clever, that ye see far more than ye’d ever speak about in polite company, that ye use yer manners and yer politeness to be a good friend or to be a shield, depending on who ye’re with. I think ye’re lovely, and elegant, and I want to hear ye laugh more.”
Miranda stood up, her movements a little too rushed to be graceful. “What else?” she whispered, closing the short distance between them.
He frowned, deciding he’d picked a poor time to decide he had a conscience. “I reckon I’m nae willing to say more when ye require my help. As we say in wagering circles, ye’ve got a weak hand, and ye reckon ye need me to win.”
“Do they actually say that in wagering circles?” Miranda asked, putting her palms flat against his chest and then sliding them up over his shoulders.
Saint Andrew and all the angels.“If they dunnae, they should. I like ye, lass. A fair amount. For now, that’ll have to do.”
“Well, I may like you a fair amount, myself,” she returned, and lifted up on her toes to touch her lips feather-light to his.
He’d wanted her to know that she wasn’t alone here, tonight. He’d meant to do that with words, though kissing and other, more carnal things were never out of his thoughts where Miranda Harris was concerned. Before she could back away he caught her hips and dragged her harder against him, catching her mouth in a deep, hot kiss.
Aye, he had the advantage in this relationship, and he knew her to be desperate to escape another man’s clutches. That should have meant that he couldn’t trust her mouth, her kisses, her gazes, her hands, or anything else about her. Because he was aware of all that, though, did kissing her back, wanting her, mean that he could be taking advantage of her? It was damned confusing, and he intensely disliked moral conundrums for that very reason.
Beneath his cynicism he trusted her, trusted that she kissed him now because she did like him, did… crave him in the same way he craved her. “Lass,” he murmured, pulling away a breath, “ye’re scattering my wits about on the floor.”
She nodded, her fingers digging into his shoulders. “I’m rather scattered, myself. You did say I might enjoy living a bit more freely, though.”
“I’m definitely enjoying that,” he commented.
With one last, swift kiss she stepped back out of his arms, and he let her go. It nearly broke him in two, but he let her back away until she’d put a stack of chairs between them. “I need to return to the party.”
“Aye. I’ll follow ye out shortly.” As soon as he apologized to his cock and explained that one of them needed to be patient.
“What are your intentions, Aden MacTaggert?” she asked abruptly.
They were brave words, but he noticed that she didn’t move from behind the chairs. “I intend to have ye,” he returned, because saying anything else would have been a lie. “Beyond that, I—”
“Stop there,” she interrupted. “It gives me something… secret to think about tonight. Something Captain Robert Vale can’t touch. Something that’s just mine.”
“It isnae just yers,” he countered, clenching his jaw to keep from saying some very flowery things that would leave him too embarrassed to ever allow her to set eyes on him again. “But ye hold it close, use it how ye like. Just ken that it’s nae some metaphor, Sassenach.”
He heard her slow breath. “I ken that, Highlander. Now come here and make certain you haven’t ruined my hair so I can go dance with that… bastard.”
Aden grinned, both because she wanted him to, and because he admired her courage. “Och, Miranda. Such language. Ye’ll make me faint.”
