“Angry?” he repeated. “Why should I be angry? Because you let me kiss you, and then let me believe I’d committed a grave sin, or because you gave me your word you would stay out of this?”
She stiffened, pursing her mouth the way she did when she found something distasteful. In other words, when someone pointed out something she didn’t want to hear. “I didn’t say that. I said I would leave the fighting to the men—which I have.”
It took everything he had not to put his hands on her. No woman had ever riled his temper so easily. Hell, he hadn’t even known he had a temper. The muscles in his arms flexed at his side, shaking with the effort not to touch her. Not to take her by the arms and haul her up against him, where he was damned sure she would have to listen to him. “Don’t try that shite with me, Janet. You know bloody well what I meant!”
Not heeding the warning of his crass language, she gave a careless shrug of her shoulders and batted those big sea-blue eyes at him innocently. “Do I?”
He wasn’t aware that he’d moved until she gasped and took a step back—right into a tree. He loomed over her, a flurry of dangerous emotions firing inside him. Anger, frustration, and something that went far deeper. Something extreme and uncontrollable. Something wild. Something that roused every primitive and base instinct left over from his barbarian ancestors. Something that made him want to push her up against that tree, rip her clothes off, wrap one of her legs around his hips—what the hell was there about a woman wrapping her legs around him?—and ravish her until she vowed never to put herself in danger again. He could almost feel her shuddering against him. Feel the softness of her breasts crushed against his chest. Feel the heat of her. The taste of her.
God, he wanted her, and restraint hurt. He was hot and hard, and pounding with need.
How did she do this to him? How could she strip him bare in a matter of minutes? Make him as out of control as…
As his father.
A sudden chill penetrated the heat.
Rather than be intimidated—as any lass in her right mindshouldbe—the lass only looked more outraged. Stretching to her full height, a good foot shorter than he, she stood toe-to-toe with him and dotted her tiny finger into his chest to emphasize her words. “You have no right to order me to do anything. What I do is none of your business.”
Whether it was her words or the thought of his father, he didn’t know. But as quickly as the anger had stoked inside him, it was doused. Ewen was nothing like his father.Nothing.
His father had been rash and undisciplined, wild and irresponsible. He had no concept of duty and loyalty.
Ewen knew exactly where his duty lay, and it wasn’t in laying with her.
He stepped back. “You’re right.”
He should thank her for reminding him. He wasn’t going to have this conversation because it didn’t matter.Shedidn’t matter. Janet of Mar was not for him.
It didn’t matter that no other woman had ever affected him like this. It didn’t matter that he took one look at her and felt every inch, every bone, every ounce of blood in his body heat with desire so fierce and raw that it took his breath away. It didn’t matter that she made him angry. It didn’t matter that she was the first woman he could talk to without having to worry about whether he’d said something wrong.
Hell, it didn’t even matter that helikedher. So what? Marriage wasn’t based on likes and dislikes. It was based on duty, and people did their duty and ignored their personal desires every day.
Civilized men—responsible men—didn’t simply take a woman because they wanted her. His father might have done that, but he wasn’t his damned father. He didn’t get impassioned about anything, damn it. And sure as hell not about a woman.
Except her.
He swore. It was only a few days. He could handle a few days of almost anything—including being aroused to the point of pain.
His physical discomfort was almost worth the expression on her face. His sudden retreat had discombobulated her.
She blinked up at him. “I am?”
He nodded. “Aye. It’s not any of my business. But you’d think after what happened with your sister at the bridge, you would be more cautious.” She flinched, and Ewen sensed that his barb had struck deeper than he’d intended. But maybe it would make her think. “Now, if you are ready, we should go.” And with that, he turned on his heel and left before the hurt in her eyes made him do something stupid.
Stung by the reminder of her sister, Janet watched him walk away. What had just happened? One minute he was looking at her as if he didn’t know whether to throttle her or kiss her (she was rather hoping for the latter), and the next he was walking away as if he didn’t care one whit about her.
Perhaps he didn’t.
The realization stabbed. Why was he acting like this, so cold and indifferent? Good heavens, he’d seemed more attracted to her when he’d thought she was a nun!
Something had changed between them, and it wasn’t just a veil. She’d thought…
What? That he felt something for her? That there had been some kind of special connection between them? Had her own feelings made her see something that wasn’t there?
It wasn’t often that Janet felt unsure of herself, but it was becoming an all-too-frequent occurrence around Ewen Lamont. How a rough, uncouth soldier with limited communication skills (which sounded better than “spares words but not feelings”) and abysmal manners could leave her so unbalanced and confused defied comprehension. She’d come across a thousand men like him (although admittedly not many who were built like a stone wall and handsome enough to make her knees weak).
She didn’t know what she wanted from him. He wasn’t right for her—she knew that. He was too opinionated, too rigid, too much like her patronizing “lasses-can’t-do-that” brothers and father. But she couldn’t deny that seeing him again made her heart flutter as if she were a thirteen-year-old lass who’d just met her first handsome knight. She felt silly and woozy and flushed all at the same time.
