Page 57 of The Laird’s Sinful Obsession

"Good." He leaned in again, his lips brushing the corner of her mouth. "Because I've never meant anythin' more in me entire life."

He kissed her again—slower this time, but no less intense. His tongue traced the seam of her lips and she opened for him immediately, matching his rhythm, learning the taste and feel of him.

One of his hands slid up her side, his thumb grazing just beneath the curve of her breast. Alba arched into the touch without thinking, a soft whimper escaping into his mouth.

Lachlann pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against hers as they both struggled for breath.

"We're in the middle of a corridor," he said roughly.

"I ken that."

"Anyone could walk by."

"Aye."

"I should let ye go."

"Probably."

Neither of them moved.

Lachlann's hand slid from her side to cup her face, his thumb stroking across her kiss-swollen lips. The tenderness in the gesture made her chest ache.

"I've wanted tae dae that," he murmured, "since I saw ye all grown up at Calum's gatherin' three years ago. Ye were standin' in the gardens, laughin' at somethin' yer braither said, and the sun caught in yer hair and I thought—" He stopped, swallowing hard. "I thought ye were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen."

Alba's breath caught. "Three years ago?"

"Three years of pretendin' I didnae notice the way ye looked at me. Three years of tellin' meself ye were forbidden. Three years of—" His jaw clenched. "Of wantin' ye so badly I could barely stand tae be in the same room."

"I thought I was the only one."

"Nay, lass." He kissed her forehead, her temple, the corner of her eye. "Ye were never the only one."

Footsteps echoed from somewhere down the corridor.

They sprang apart like guilty children, Alba smoothing her skirts while Lachlann dragged a hand through his hair. His shirt hung open, his lips were red from kissing, and there was absolutely no way anyone looking at either of them wouldn't know exactly what they'd been doing.

The footsteps grew closer.

Lachlann's hand left hers.

"We should leave," he said quietly.

The footsteps rounded the corner—just a servant carrying linens, who took one look at them and quickly averted her eyes, hurrying past.

Alba's face burned.

Lachlann turned and walked away, leaving Alba standing alone in the corridor with her heart racing, her lips swollen, and her entire world tilted on its axis.

She pressed trembling fingers to her mouth.

What happens next.

The words echoed through her mind as she watched him disappear around the corner, his broad shoulders filling the space, his stride confident despite everything that had just passed between them.

Alba took a shaky breath.

There was no going back from that.