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This kiss is slower than the desperate ones in the hollow, deeper too, and the careful way he holds me makes my pulse stumble.
My fingers curl into the front of his shirt. He’s so close that I can feel the heat of him through every layer between us.
Gods help me, I have wanted this man for months.
Wanted him in ways I refused to name, in ways I buried beneath pride and stubbornness and every sensible argument I could invent. Convinced myself it would be foolish to want him, dangerous to trust him, and madness to love a man like him.
Yet here I am.
And here he is, fighting for me. Fighting for this.
James draws back to look at me, something almost disbelieving softening his features.
“I cannae believe ye’re mine,” he murmurs. “Mine to love… for the rest of my life.”
The laugh I let out is shaky and a little wet with tears. “What’re you?” I ask, shaking my head faintly. “A bloody mind reader now?”
His thumb brushes beneath my eye, catching a tear before it can fall. He leans in and kisses the corner of my mouth gently.
“What’s the matter, mo ghràdh?”
I swallow, suddenly barer than I’d been half-undressed under him.
“I was just thinkin’… well, ye fought for me,” I say. “Even when I fought against you.”
His brow knits slightly, like the idea is obvious. “Well, of course I did.”
“You should’ve given up,” I tell him quietly. “I made it difficult enough.”
“Aye,” he admits easily. “Maybe you did.” His hand slides to the back of my neck. “But I’ll fight for you always,” he finishes.
The words are simple, but they carry the weight of a sacred vow, and my chest draws tight.
“I’ll fight through yer temper,” he continues. “Through yer stubbornness. Through every argument we’ll ever have, every slammed door and sharp word and every moment we’re certain the other is impossible to live with.”
I huff a small, helpless laugh, because only he could make a vow out of surviving my worst moods sound like a privilege.
“And when ye’re furious with me,” he adds softly, “and when I’m too proud to admit I’m wrong, and when the two of us are at our worst—”
His forehead rests against mine.
“I’ll still be right here,” he murmurs. “Fightin’ my way back to you.”
I can’t find the words to answer him. I feared loving him would destroy me.
Instead, it feels like coming home.
I pull back and brush my thumb across his lip, tugging it down a little.
“Ye dinnae have to fight against me anymore.” My smile turns slow and wicked. “So ye’d best take full advantage of that… while we still have time.”
His mouth curves slowly.
“Oh, I plan to,” he says.
He walks me backward.
One step.
