Playing dumb with Annie was never a good thing to do. Her eyes narrowed like those of a predator who had just smelled blood. The MacGregors were known as Sons of the Wolf, but right now he thought that should be sonsanddaughters.
“You acted like you didn’t know me when you saw me this morning. Have I changed so much insixmonths that you didn’t recognize me, or are you too busy impressing all the swooning lasses to deign to bestow a wave of hello to me?”
He didn’t miss either jab: the reproaching for both his long absence and the meaningless smiles and winks he’d exchanged with the women who were watching his practice for the games.
“They don’t mean anything to you,” she added.
He didn’t like the certainty in her voice. Had he been trying to prove a point to himself or to her by flirting a little more intently today?
“I didn’t say they did. But it’s no business of yours.”
He should know better than to try to embarrass her. Annie didn’t have a bone of maidenly modesty in her body. She knew who she was. She might be poor, hunted, and forced to live in the hills like a villein most of the time, but she was a MacGregor, and the proud lineage of her clan permeated every fiber of her being. No matter how low they tried to bring her, or whether she was gowned in fine silks or in a frayed and threadbare wool plaid, she was as regal as any queen.
As if to prove his point, his comment elicited nothing but the raising of one delicately arched eyebrow. “Isn’t it?”
He wouldn’t answer that. “What do you want, Annie? I need to change before the evening meal.”
She looked puzzled by his impatience rather than hurt. She tilted her head, and a small half smile turned her pretty pink, bow-shaped mouth.
He felt an ache in a place that told him hereallyneeded to stop thinking about the shape—and softness—of her mouth. Or how it would feel and taste crushed under his. Or how it would look wrapped around…
He cursed inwardly. But at one and twenty, this was the usual direction of his thoughts. Preoccupied was more like it. But he was a man and he needed to act like it.
“I guess you must have forgotten what day it is. I thought you might want to wish me something?”
Hell, he had forgotten! It was the Ides of June. “Damn it, Annie. I’m sorry. Happy Saint’s Day.”
She grinned and moved closer to stand before him. A little too close for his peace of mind, but he wouldn’t make it awkward by taking a step back as he wanted.
She looked up at him expectantly. Her tilted doe eyes half-lidded and almost coy. “I think you’ve forgotten something else.” At his confused look she gave him a hint. Abighint. She leaned in enough to let the firm tips of her breasts graze his chest. She might have dipped a torch to oil, so quickly did his blood light on fire. He would have wondered whether the unusually brazen move was a mistake were it not for her next huskily spoken words. “It’s myeighteenthSaint’s Day.”
Niall felt the blood drain to his feet in a hard rush. Gazing down into that upturned face so close to his own, he felt something jam in his chest.
He knew exactly what she meant—what she was asking for. And if he had any doubt, the inviting parting of her lips took it all away.
For years he’d wanted to do nothing more than kiss her. He’d wanted to dip his head, cover those enticingly pink lips with his, and give in to the passion that flamed between them. He sensed how good—how hot—it would be.
Perhaps that was what gave him the strength to refuse the nearly irresistible temptation of her not-so-innocent invitation. The knowledge that once broached this road would be a much harder one not to go down in the future.
But when he tried to step back, he realized the wall of the kitchen was behind him. Then her arms were laced around his neck, her body was leaning into his, and all his good sense vanished with the gentle press of her mouth to his.
Ah hell.
The velvety softness and sweet honey taste stole his breath. For one perilous second, he felt paralyzed, poised on the precipice of indecision. Of something big. Of something he wasn’t sure he was ready to handle.
But when she sighed, the decision was ripped from him in a responding groan of longing so deep he wasn’t sure where it had come from. All he knew was that he had to have her. He had to kiss her. He had to feel her lips move under his and feel her body pressing into him.
God, how many times had he dreamed of this?
Niall wrapped her in his arms, pulled her against his chest, and gave in to the rush of desire that capsized his good intentions and sent him drowning in a whirlpool of pleasure so intense that he wasn’t sure he would be able to pull himself out.
* * *
At the first touch of his lips on hers, Annie knew the long wait and moments of uncertainty were worth it. This…thiswas what she’d always known was between them. This was why none of those other women whom he smiled at or flirted with mattered.
It was the overwhelming feeling of warmth, of security, and joy that came over her when Niall pulled her into his arms. It was the certainty of destiny fulfilled. The affirmation of fate long awaited.
They belonged together, and no one would ever be able to convince her differently. He might smile and flirt and tease, but he was hers. Niall Lamont had always been hers. Just as she was his.
