Skye hated the way she was whining like a child, but she couldn’t quite manage to regain her composure.
“Nae because of the council, nay,” Evander responded firmly. “Because I willnae put ye in danger. It’s for the best, annulling it now. I thought ye would be pleased.”
Pleased?
Skye wanted to bark out the word, high and hysterical. She wanted to do something mad, like jump out of the window and fly, or order a horse to ride straight to her brother’s keep. She wanted to storm out of the room and never see Laird bloody Bryden again.
But all that would involve leaving him, and that, wildly enough, was something she did not want to do.
Turning on her heel, she strode over to the window. It was set in an alcove, with a curtain at the side. His eyes burned into her back, but she kept her gaze fixed on the horizon.
The sun was going down. Golden-pink light filled the world, a brief hour in which the forest was fairyland and Evander’s study an enchanted library. In sixty or seventy minutes, however, twilight would be here, stripping away the magic and replacing it with menace.
There were good reasons to avoid walking in the forest after dark, and not just because a person might risk twisting their ankle on a shadowy path.
“I suppose I should have expected this,” she muttered. “I assume that I am nae the kind of lass ye would have chosen for yerself, and were it nae for the lass swap part of the treaty, we would likely never have looked twice at each other.”
The low creak of a floorboard behind her was the only warning that he had crossed the room.
“Daenae ye dare speak like that,” he hissed breathlessly. “Saying that ye arenae the kind of lass I would choose for meself. Skye, ye are theonlywoman I would ever choose.”
Tension coiled in her chest, thrumming in time with her heart. She lifted her chin, still staring out at the scenery. As the sun sank lower, it seemed to spill molten gold on the distant mountains.
“Ye daenae mean that,” she whispered. “Ye shouldnae say things ye daenae mean.”
“Ye think I am in the habit of making up stories? Believe me, Skye, ye have tortured me day and night.”
“Ye say that I am the woman ye would choose, eh? Ye have a funny way of showing it, considering that ye are sending me away.”
He was silent for a moment.
Skye held her breath, listening. Had he crept out of the room? She was just about to turn around and check when a warm, broad chest brushed her back.
Heat jolted through her. She gasped, loudly enough that he must have heard.
“Hush, lass,” he murmured, his lips inches from her ear.
She could feel his hot breath on the junction between her neck and shoulder. The skin broke into goosebumps. One arm snaked around her waist, while the fingertips of the other danced across the front of her throat. Sensitive skin shivered.
He pulled her back against him, firmly pressing their bodies together. His palm cupped the column of her throat, just for an instant. Closing her eyes, Skye tilted her head back.
From the underside of her chin, Evander’s questing hand slid downwards, his fingertips stroking and circling. Down the column of her throat, between her breasts, and over her stomach, until it rested just over the apex of her thighs. He pressed his palm there, and although there were several layers between his skin and hers, Skye felt a distinct pulse of desire.
“Evander,” she breathed, her voice hitching.
He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck.
“Torture,” he whispered. “It’s been torture.”
His weight shifted against her, just a little, just enough to make her lean forward, resting one knee on the wide windowsill. One hand came up to brace herself against the glass, while the other dropped to clutch at his forearm, wound around her waist.
“It nearly broke me heart when we met again and ye had gone back to calling meLaird Bryden,” Evander murmured, his breath hot against her skin. “Me name is Evander. Let me hear ye say it.”
His questing hand hitched up her skirt to her knees and easily slipped beneath. He let his knuckles drag up the inside of her thighs in a tantalisingly slow stroke.
Touch me,Skye wanted to scream, her hips bucking.
He must have noticed, because he chuckled low in his throat and pressed his cheek against hers.
