She watched him with curious eyes. It could have been the dim light, but she looked slightly worried. When she lifted her hand,it reflected a peeking ray of sunlight, then he remembered the dampness on his kilt.
Her nose scrunched up, and she pulled her hand away from her nose. Darragh made to hide the glass under the desk, but he was too drunk, and it was too dark. The cup shattered loudly against the edge.
“Ye should leave it for tomorrow,” she said and stood up.
His hand hovered over the shadow of a wet carpet.
He wondered what she was doing in his study, or if she had known to find him here. He did not wonder for long; a piece of paper was placed in front of him.
“I did what ye asked.” She threw open the curtains behind him, letting in the afternoon light. “I removed Ewen’s name from the list.”
He was torn between two emotions. The first was jealousy, for she had used the man’s first name. They were obviously close. The second was elation, for Ewen Brodie was finally out of her life, and therefore his dreams and nightmares.
“Why?” His voice was hoarse.
Drinking always made his voice hoarse. She was to blame this time. Her presence had sucked him dry. His dignity, resolve, and the moisture in his throat.
“He was fun.”
He flinched, knowing what fun meant.
“But he would make a better friend than a husband.”
As long as he was alive, Ewen Brodie would never come near her as a friend.
Impelled by the alcohol coursing through his veins, he asked, “What makes a man a good husband?”
“Decisiveness.”
“Decisiveness?” he echoed, with more belligerence than he had intended.
“Maturity.”
“Maturity?” He laughed ruefully.
“Responsibility.”
“Renspon—”
“Stop that!”
“Stop what?”
“I am doing what ye want me to do. Why do ye sound so upset?”
He looked away and reached for the bottle on his desk, choosing to drink from it instead. “Ye daenae ken anything about what I want.”
Her steps were heavy and pointed in his direction.
“Please daenae come close,” he said, but found himself turning towards her.
She slammed a fist on his shoulder. “I daenae ken anything because ye never tell me anything.” He flinched. “Ye daenae consider me or me feelings, and treat me however ye please.”
“Quite the contrary. Ye haunt me, Talia. I cannae get ye out of me head.”
He dropped his gaze. He was tempted to look at her when her hands dropped to his thigh. He could see her skirt pooling around her knees.
“What else?”
