“How long do ye think ye can keep doing this?” he asked.
Emma blinked. “Do what?”
“Ye push. Ye bring beasts into me hall, ye turn me stables into a carnival, ye move chests into me chambers, all while telling me it is about yer position in the castle, when we both ken it is something much more.”
“There is no deeper meaning.” Her hands had curled into fists without her noticing, and she opened them. “And it is about me not feeling as if I vanish every time you step out of a door.”
“So,” he drawled, “it is aboutme.”
She wanted to deny it, but the lie stuck in her throat.
“Youare the one who leaves,” she retorted. “I am trying to find the light in this situation.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth. It made heat rise again between her shoulder blades.
“Ye want me to see ye,” he said. “That is all this noise is.”
“I want my husband to notice that I am in his home. That is hardly a wild demand.”
He closed the distance between them in three steps, and she felt the edge of the bedstand at the back of her calves. His hand came up and caught her wrist, not hard, but firm enough that she could not pretend she could pull away easily. His thumb stroked over the inside of her wrist where her pulse fluttered.
“There,” he said softly. “Now we are getting somewhere.”
She glared up at him. “You are enjoying this.”
“A little,” he admitted. “Ye draw attention to yerself with animals and cloths. Ye kent I would come storming back. Ye wanted me angry. Ye wanted me here.”
“I wanted younot gone,” she corrected. “There is a difference.”
“Is there?” he asked.
“Yes, there is,my Laird.”
He lifted her hand higher between them. The position made her step closer. She could feel the heat of his body through the small gap between them.
“Ye say ye want color,” he said. “But what ye truly want is consequence. Ye want to poke and see what I will do. Ye want me to prove that I am here.”
“There you go,” she scoffed. “Flattering yourself again.”
“I make it sound honest.”
His other hand found her hip, and her breath caught.
No, no, no, no, no.
“Let go,” she demanded.
“Something tells me ye daenae want me to.”
She hated that the answer in her body did not match the answer in her head.
“Ye want to ken what I think?”
“Something tells me you will tell me anyway.”
“I think,” he whispered, his hand sliding up her back, “that ye deserve to be punished.”
She blinked. “What?”
