Page 31
So, she had seen him and chosen to pretend she hadn’t. Still, she hadn’t retreated. He could count that as an improvement.
“I was,” he admitted. “To speak to ye.”
“Why?”
It was his turn to regard her with a degree of bewilderment.
She hadn’t even attempted delicacy.
“I think ye ken why, leannan.”
After a swift glance around the opening, he cupped her elbow and guided her to the hedge’s protective shadows. They were suitably hidden from the house behind the six-foot-high, neatly trimmed boxwood, and from this angle, not visible from the stables, either.
She surprised him by sighing deeply. Her attention swerved to somewhere over his shoulder. “If this is about the kiss, ye needna fret. I ken ye are a man of—ah—strong needs, and I’m the only unattached female—”
Jesus on the blessed cross.
Did she think he’d only kissed her because she was the only lass available?
Was her opinion of him truly so low?
“Hold there, Kendra.” He cupped her delicate shoulders, forcing her to face him. “Do ye ken how insultin’ yer suggestion that I kissed ye because ye were the only accessible woman around is? I thanked ye for honorin’ me with yer kiss because it meant somethin’ to me. I hope it did to ye, as well.”
Her bosom rose as she drew in a deep breath, and he damned himself for being unable to drag his attention away.
He’d always been a breast man.
Some men were leg men. Some adored a plump bum, and while he certainly could appreciate a shapely calf and thigh or a delectable, pear-shaped bottoms, breasts… Ah, glorious breasts. Those magnificent, impossibly soft, yet firm rounded mounds made for kissing, licking, and fondling.
And none compared to the swell of Kendra’s ivory breasts. Och hell. His loins responded with predictable enthusiasm.
Broden swallowed and forced himself to think of something—anything—else.
The earldom. Mother. My wards. The hole healin’ in my chest.
“Ye do have a rather—erm—colorful reputation, Broden. I’m nae fool. Ye dinna suddenly find yerself enamored of me.” She adjusted the basket before meeting his gaze boldly. “We shared an enjoyable kiss. Let’s leave it at that. I expect nothin’ from ye, and ye shouldna expect anythin’ from me, either.”
She made to move away, but he caught her elbow.
“’Twas more than that, love.”
Her eyes flashed, the blue and gold flecks in her irises sparking.
In surprise? Anger? Excitement?
“Was it?” She narrowed her gaze to shrewd, pewter slits. “How precisely? We’ve been at odds for years. Years, Broden! One kiss disna change that.” She waved an ungloved hand, the fingertips slightly pink from the cold. “Blame my participation on relief that ye’re recoverin’. That the dastard who shot ye didna succeed. To a wild, impetuous whim.”
“Ye dinna believe that any more than I do,” he said, surprised by the vehement emotion compelling his words.
Did she?
Her reaction suggested it meant far more.
But why this retreat?
Why this obvious effort to downplay what had happened?
She made to step around him, but he gently caught her free hand.
