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Could one’s conscience snort in disbelief?
Kendra did admire Broden’s masculine form. What woman with eyes in her head and a pulse beating in her veins would not?
She itched to skim her fingers over those granite shoulders and marble thighs—had ever since coming upon him, Liam, and Quinn swimming stark naked in the loch. Heat suffused her cheeks at the vivid memory.
Praise be to the saints that Liam and Quinn had already dove into the water. Only Broden had stood atop the projecting rock, his glorious back, buttocks, and thighs dripping with water and deliciously bare to her curious and avid scrutiny.
Even as a child, she’d recognized he was as beautiful as a carved statue: all sculpted hard curves and magnificent planes and angles.
She’d never quite been able to erase that image from her mind, even when she was most peeved with him. Which was aggravatingly frequent. And, to her utter consternation, many, many, many times over the past years, his glorious, unsettling, and superb form had interrupted her dreams.
They’d been the focus of a myriad of daydreams, too.
Self-disgust and self-castigation at her fickleness stomped dual feet upon her pride.
Broden drew to a halt beside her, his celestial smile flashing across his sun-kissed face.
She’d always liked his smile; the way the devilish slant lit his umber-brown eyes and warmed the atmosphere. And despite her determination otherwise, that sinful mouth still had the power to send wickedly delightful chills scampering down her spine.
Stupid, stupid girl. It was just teeth and lips.
Aye, but what glorious teeth and lips. What would it be like—?
Kendra firmly quashed the thought before it had a chance to fully manifest. To her consternation, it was neither a novel nor infrequent thought, damn my eyes.
“Good mornin’, lass.” Must his merry eyes twinkle with whatever that was? As if he could read her thoughts and recognized the feelings he stirred in her? “What brings ye out on this fine day?”
“I’m pickin’ up yarn for Mother.” And she didn’t wish to be delayed by a suave, distracting devil.
He wore buckskins today rather than trews, the legs tucked into boots reaching mid-calf. His black cloak trailed over his expansive shoulders and fell in long waves over his mount’s sides. Instead of wearing a tam, a cocked hat topped his sandy-brown hair, worn long and tied at his nape with a black ribbon.
Black gloves encased his fingers, which she knew to be thick and strong. He raised his hand to scratch just left of his mouth. Stubble shadowed his jaw as if he hadn’t shaved in a day or two.
Instead of making him appear unkempt or slovenly, the beard gave him a roguish, pirate-like appearance. As if he needed anything to make him more attractive. Not that she was foolish enough to fall into that trap ever again.
Why, blast it, was she even noticing?
Hadn’t she spent years diligently recounting his many faults?
Broden McGregor was a womanizing flirt.
Once before, he’d burned Kendra. Badly. She still bore the scars, deep in her soul. She’d not make that mistake twice. Shifting slightly in her saddle, she stifled the unwanted fluttering in her belly as his approving gaze took in her exposed knees and calves.
If he told Liam…
A groan almost escaped her.
No. She wouldn’t show weakness. Not to him. She jutted her chin upward and squared her shoulders in a silent challenge.
“I take it yer brother and mother arena aware ye intended to ride astride?” he murmured, humor ringing in his deep voice.
Curse him for reading her mind again.
“Nae, and I’d appreciate it if ye didna mention it.” She hated asking him for a favor, but she so coveted her rides. “They’d restrict my outin’s to sedate trails, properly sittin’ atop a sidesaddle, and with a groom for a chaperone.”
Oddly, warmth and amusement glinted in his whisky-colored eyes, rather than the irritation, impatience, and exasperation that typically showed there when he gazed upon her.
They’d had more than one silent battle, glaring daggers at each other. And many more verbal spats, sparring with snipes and innuendos, and occasionally outright rudeness.
