“Pull right!”Hector called, spurring his stallion forward.
He reachedher just as Moira stumbled slightly, throwing her off-balance. Without thinking, Hector leaned across the gap between their horses and caught her around the waist, steadying her in the saddle. For a heartbeat, she was half in his arms, her face inches from his own.
Time seemed to slow down.Hector could count every freckle on her nose, see the flecks of darker blue in her eyes, and feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest. His hand spanned her waist, feeling the warmth of her through the fabric of her dress.
“I’ve got ye,”he murmured, his voice rough.
“I ken,”she whispered.
They reachedthe castle courtyard as the midday sun climbed high overhead. Stable boys rushed forward to take their mounts, with Hector dismounting in one fluid motion. He turned to help Gabriella, placing his hands on her waist and lifting her down from the saddle.
Her cheeks were flushedfrom the ride, her eyes bright with lingering excitement, and her lips slightly parted as she caught her breath.
Hector lowered her slowly,their bodies brushing against each other as her feet touched the ground. His hands remained on her waist, and hers on his shoulders. The bustle in the courtyard seemed to fade around them, narrowing to just this moment, this woman.
Her eyes searched his,a question forming in their depths.
“Thank ye for the lesson,”she whispered, her fingers unconsciously tightening on his shoulders.
“Ye did well,”he replied, his voice rougher than usual. “A natural, as I said.”
Neither moved.The air between them seemed to thicken and become charged with something compelling. Hector found his gaze straying to her lips, wondering if they would taste as sweet as they looked.
“Same time tomorrow?”he asked, his tone deliberately professional.
She nodded,a hint of confusion flickering across her face. “I’d like that.”
“Good.”He took a step back, needing distance from the pull she exerted. “Duncan will show ye back to your chambers.”
Duncan approachedat Hector’s gesture.
“Until tomorrow, then,”Hector said, more curtly than he’d intended.
Hector paced his chamber,forcing his mind to focus on the meeting with the wool merchants tomorrow. Shipments to France, negotiations about prices—these were matters worthy of a laird’s attention.
Not the memoryof Gabriella’s laugh as she trotted across the hillside. Not the softness of her waist beneath his hands. Not the flush on her cheeks when he’d set her down in the courtyard.
He yanked off his léine,the room suddenly too warm despite the cool Highland evening. He leaned forward, splashing water from the basin onto his face and chest. Cold water. What he needed.
Tomorrow,he would maintain a proper distance during her riding lesson. No unnecessary touching. No lingering gazes. He was a McCulloch, not some untried lad unable to control his urges.
The door burstopen without warning.
“Hector! I cannae get this—”
Hector turnedaround to see a silver comb snagged in her thick waves, twisted at an awkward angle that forced her head to tilt.
She stopped mid-sentence,frozen in the doorway, with her hands tangled in her hair. Her eyes widened as she took in his state of undress.
“I didnae mean—”she stammered, backing away while trying to pull out the comb.
She bumped against the doorframe,wincing as the movement yanked at her scalp.
Hector moved toward her.“Stay still before ye hurt yerself.”
She stumbled forward,unable to see clearly with her head pulled to the side. Her foot caught on the edge of the rug, sending her lurching directly into his path.
His hands shotout to steady her, catching her by the upper arms. At the same moment, her palms landed flat against his bare chest, her fingers splaying across his skin. Her hands were cool against his heated skin, sending an electric current through his veins.
