“I willnae want to take it back.” Her words were muffled against the table. “It’s all true. Ye are handsome. And kind. And I think about that kiss constantly, and it’s makin’ me absolutely mad.”
Noah’s breath stopped. “Ava.”
“I shouldnae have kissed ye back,” she continued, still talking to the table. “I should have been angry, should have pushed ye away. But I didnae. I wanted it. Wanted ye. And that’s... that’s...” She lifted her head slightly, her eyes glassy with tears and dram. “That’s terrifying.”
Noah stood, his heart pounding. He couldn’t have this conversation with her, not while she was drunk, not when she might not even remember it in the morning.
“Come on,” he said, moving around the table. “Let’s get ye to bed.”
“Nay.” Ava tried to stand and nearly fell. Noah caught her easily, pulling her against his chest. “I can walk meself. I’m perfectly, perfectly...” She swayed dangerously.
“Perfectly drunk,” Noah finished. “Hold still.”
He swept her up into his arms; she weighed almost nothing, and he headed for the door. Ava made a halfhearted protest, then gave up and rested her head against his shoulder.
“This is nice,” she mumbled. “Ye smell good.”
“Ye’re definitely drunk.”
“Aye. But ye still smell good.” She yawned.
By the time Noah reached her chambers, Ava had dozed off completely, her breathing deep and even against his chest.
He managed to open her door without dropping her and carried her inside. Esther’s door was closed; the child was still sleeping in her bed for once. Noah was grateful for that as he gently laid Ava on her bed.
She looked so peaceful like this.
Her face relaxed, free of the worry and fear that usually shadowed her eyes. Her hair had come loose from its braid, spreading across the pillow in waves of dark gold.
She was beautiful, and she said she kept thinking about their kiss.
Noah stood there, staring down at her, consumed by want.
He wanted to kiss her again, to take her face in his hands and see if she’d make that sound again—the one she’d made at dinner when his thumb moved across her knuckles.
Wanted to lift her from the pillow and feel her hands in his shirt the way they had been in the cottage, her mouth open against his, her whole body saying yes before her head could protest. He longed for things that had no right to be thought of in a woman’s bedchamber while she slept.
His hand moved before he’d decided to let it, brushing the loose strand of hair from her cheek.
Ava sighed in her sleep and turned toward his touch, unconscious, unguarded, completely defenseless. Something in Noah’s chest tightened.
It would be so easy.
Lean down. Close the distance she’d been so carefully maintaining for two weeks. She’d said herself she thought about the kiss constantly. She’d said she wanted him.
Nay.
He straightened and stepped back, because she was drunk and asleep, and the only version of this he would accept was one where she was fully present—fully choosing, looking at him withclear eyes and no dram in her blood, knowing exactly what she was saying yes to.
Anything less wasn’t worth having.
He pulled a blanket over her, forced himself to step back, and headed for the door. But before he left, he allowed himself one last look.
She’d turned onto her side, her cheek resting on her hand, with her hair spread dark gold across the pillow. Peaceful. Unguarded in a way she never allowed herself to be when she was awake.
When I kiss her again, she’ll be sober. She’ll be willin’.
He held onto that thought like a handhold on a cliff face.
