"Alpin," she whispered.
"Aye?"
"I dinnae ken how I would get through this without ye.Ye understand me."
His thumb stroked her cheekbone. "I cannae promise ye everything will be fine. I cannae promise we'll find yer sister quickly or that she'll be unharmed when we dae, but I can promise ye willnae face any of it alone."
Mhairi's eyes filled with tears again, but these were different, gentler, tinged with something that felt almost like hope.
"I dinnae ken what I did tae deserve ye," she said.
"Ye survived." He leaned in slowly and pressed his forehead to hers. "Ye're remarkable, Mhairi Munro. And I'm honored that ye trust me enough tae let me see ye like this."
The book slid forgotten to the floor as Mhairi shifted in her chair, turning more fully toward him. Their faces were so close she could feel his breath against her lips.
The air was thick with the scent of old wood and the faint metallic tang of ink, a quiet, scholarly perfume that did nothing to mask the heat building between them.
She shifted closer to Alpin, her breath shallow, her fingers trembling as they traced the hard lines of his arms.
His muscles flexed beneath her touch, the corded strength of him evident even through the fine linen of his tunic. She could feel the warmth of his skin radiating through the fabric, the steady thrum of his pulse beneath her fingertips.
His hands found her waist, his grip firm yet gentle, as if he was afraid she might vanish if he held her too tightly.
"Ye're tremblin'," he murmured, his voice rough, his breath warm against her temple.
His thumbs stroked slow circles over her hips, grounding her, even as his touch set her alight.
"I ken," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
His hands slid upward, tracing the curve of her ribs, his fingers splaying wide as he cupped her breasts through the thin fabric of her bodice.
She gasped, her back arching instinctively, pressing herself into his touch.
His thumbs found her nipples, already hard and aching, and he rolled them between his fingers, teasing them to stiff peaks. A soft, needy sound escaped her lips, and his mouth crashed down on hers before she could even finish the breath.
The kiss was deep, desperate, their tongues tangling as if they were both starving.
His lips were firm, demanding, but there was a tenderness there too, a reverence that made her heart clench.
She kissed him back just as fiercely, her hands fisting in the fabric of his tunic, pulling him closer, as if she could merge their bodies right here, right now.
The taste of him—wine and something darkly sweet, like spiced honey—filled her senses, and she moaned into his mouth, her body already throbbing with need.
Alpin broke the kiss only to trail his lips down the column of her throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just below her ear.
She shuddered, her head falling back to give him better access, her fingers tangling in his dark hair.
"Alpin—" His name was a plea on her lips, a prayer and a demand all at once.
"I've got ye," he growled against her skin, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her.
His hands slid down to her skirt, gathering the fabric in his fists before slowly, deliberately, lifting it.
The cool air of the library kissed her bare thighs, and she bit her lip to stifle another moan. She was exposed, vulnerable, butthe way he was looking at her, like she was the only thing in the world worth worshipping, chased away any hint of shame.
His fingers found the damp heat between her legs, and she whimpered, her hips jerking forward of their own accord. He didn't touch her where she ached the most, not yet.
Instead, he traced slow, maddening circles around her clit, his touch feather-light, barely there.
