Not here.
Not before everyone.
Ava’s gaze did not leave his. “Ye are holding me rather tightly, me Laird.”
His grip loosened a fraction and remained too firm. “Complain if ye mean it.”
“I am considering it.”
“Do so quickly.”
“And disturb yer focus? Nay, thanks.”
That drew a breath from him that was nearly a laugh and nearly something else.
Before he could fully take in the moment, a shrill voice burst from the doorway. “Get off me, ye wicked creature.”
The spell broke at once.
Bruce shot into the room in a blur of legs and delight, with Mrs. Patmore half stumbling behind him and trying to rescue the hem of her gown from his paws. He barked madly, circled once, and launched himself at the nearest person.
Ava dropped from Ciaran’s hold at once and sank to the floor just in time to catch him. “Bruce!”
The dog nearly climbed into her lap whole. He licked her chin, her hand, the front of her dress, then turned and barked at the housekeeper as though inviting her to join the game.
“He isnae aggressive,” Ava said through laughter. “He only likes people too much.”
“That is precisely the problem,” Mrs. Patmore sniffed, trying and failing to recover her dignity.
Isobel laughed openly, while MacKenna looked one breath from doing the same.
Ciaran crouched beside Ava without thinking. Bruce, delighted by more company, pushed his blunt head into Ciaran’s hand. Ciaran stroked the rough fur between the dog’s ears while Ava steadied the little beast against her dress.
For a moment, they all sat under MacKenna’s warm gaze, laughter at the table, Bruce on the floor, Ava at Ciaran’s side, the scent of supper permeating the air, and the memory of her body against his still fresh in his hands.
When the laughter faded and the evening began to settle again, Ciaran rose with the others and let the moment pass outwardly. However, it did not pass inhim.
All that lingered in his mind was the memory of the dance and Ava in his arms under her father’s watchful gaze.
Great.
As if he didn’t have a lot to deal with already.
CHAPTER 24
Later that evening,Ciaran shut the study door behind him and reached for the whiskey before he took off his gloves.
He poured some into the nearest cup and downed half of it in one gulp. The liquor burned cleanly down his throat, but it didn’t help afterward.
His body remained keyed up, and his mind remained fixed where he did not want it. Ava’s hand in his at dinner. Ava’s waist under his palm. Ava looking up at him while her father watched from across the table.
He set the cup down harder than he had meant to.
The study should have steadied him. It usually did. The sight of papers, ledgers, and wax was usually enough to clear everything else from his mind. Those things had served him well for years. He could come in here, shut the door, and become only what he needed to be—a laird with decisions to make.
Tonight, however, the room offered no such respite.
He sat back in his chair and pressed his palm flat against the front of his trousers. He was already hard. He had been since the dance, since her hand in his, and since her face tilted up to him in the candlelight. The leather was tight against him, and the pressure of his own hand made his jaw clench.
