Highland warriors were strange creatures. “So, you want me to hurt you?”
He nodded.
She smiled sweetly. “Then shouldn’t we be using a steel blade? I will be able to do a lot more damage.”
He laughed. “Nice try, killer. We’ll switch to a real blade when I’m assured that you aren’t going to accidentally cut your finger off.”
She lunged at him again—this time with purpose—hoping to catch him unprepared. But there was something she was learning about Niall. He was always prepared and ready for the attack, even when it seemed as if he was not paying attention. There was a watchfulness to him that hadn’t been there before. She supposed it had come from all the months he’d spent on the run being hunted by the Campbells.
She felt a twinge in her chest that might have been worry and pushed it aside.One month or one year,she reminded herself, but blast it, it had only been six days! Being with Niall had always been so easy. So much had changed, but that hadn’t.
Niall blocked her attack with ease. Sliding to the side, he grabbed the hand that held the blade and twisted her arm around her back until she was pinned up against him.
The contact caused her to freeze, and the knife fell from her hand.
* * *
Niall swore inwardly. His movements had been instinctive. When he’d seen the knife coming at him, he’d simply reacted.
She’s surprised him—and not for the first time, although he’d never tell her that. He didn’t want his praise to go to her head and for her to become overconfident.
The idea of her ever pulling a knife on someone still filled him with a sickly, almost vomit-inducing dread. But he had to admit that she wasn’t without some natural ability. Who would have thought that a lass could learn to fight? He’d offered to instruct her solely as a means to an end. His own end. To earn her forgiveness. He hadn’t expected to take it seriously.
He’d dismissed Patrick’s comments about her skill as brotherly bias and exaggeration. Of course, Niall knew from some of their childhood tussling and playing around that, like her brothers, Annie was unnaturally strong for her size.
But she was still alass—and a relatively small one at that. After what had happened to her, she was even more delicate in appearance now. Whatever soft childhood roundness she’d once had was gone. She was too thin—which made her strength all the more unexpected. But that would serve her well if—God forbid—she ever needed to fight. It was an advantage to be underestimated by your opponent.
Although she lacked the quickness and experience that came from years of practice, her instincts were good, as she’d just proved. Now she was pressed against his chest, and he was breathing in the dangerous mix of sunshine and the lavender soap in her silky, dark hair.
He’d been trying to be patient. Keeping his distance and not wanting to push her into something that she might not be ready for. Like this type of closeness where their bodies were touching, and he could feel every one of the sweet curves he’d been trying not to notice the past six days in full, mouthwatering relief.
Jesus.
Awareness hit him hard, sinking through him like a weight. His senses were drugged by the feel, the scent, the sound of her hitched breathing. He could practically taste her on his lips. The memory of the one kiss they’d shared came back to him in a hot and heavy rush.
It made his knees weaken and his resolve flounder.
He would have found the strength to resist the fierce pull coming over him if he thought she might be scared. But she wasn’t. She was stunned maybe, but not scared or in any way panicked.
She looked up at him, her eyes swimming in confusion, her lips parted in innocent invitation, and damn it, that was more than he could take. He loved her so much, and for two years he’d dreamed of being in this position again, except this time he would do it right.
He let go her arm, which he hadn’t been holding very tightly, lowered his head, and covered her mouth with his.
At the first taste of her, he groaned. The warm-honey sweetness engulfed him with hunger and yearning. His memories hadn’t been exaggerated. This was… she was…perfect.
For one precious instant, he felt her soften. Felt her succumb to the passion that had sprung up between them so instantly the last time.
But maybe he was too overeager. Too optimistic. Maybe he foolishly thought that he could rectify everything that had happened between them with a kiss.
Whatever it was, he’d erred and moved too fast. His attempt to fold her in his arms and deepen the kiss caused the very thing he’d been trying to avoid.
She pushed him away. “Stop!” She stared up at him in fury, clenching her fists. “What do you think you are doing?”
It was pretty obvious what he was doing, but he knew she didn’t just mean the kiss. He’d buggered up. Again.
But thank God, it was anger shooting back at him in her eyes and not fear. He would have stuck himself with that damned wooden knife that she kept complaining about if he thought he’d frightened her.
“I’m sorry,” he said, dragging his fingers back through his hair, which had slipped forward when he’d kissed her. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. The last thing I want to do is rush you.”
