She shrugged casually. “I didn’t want to pry and find that you didn’t care for me as much as I wished you to.”
He hardly knew where to start with that. The idea that perhaps she’d been an unseen presence in his life up until the present moment even though he’d known her—in the most chaste of ways, something he thought he should add a little extra emphasis to mentally on the off chance she was actually reading his thoughts—
“Then you don’t have feelings for me?”
He blinked, then pulled himself back to the present moment with an effort. “Well, of course I do.”
“You don’t look like it,” she said pointedly.
He rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m trying to be polite.”
“Please stop.”
He laughed a little, though he supposed it sounded every bit as unhinged as it felt. “Mairead MacLeod, you are without a doubt the best part of my life.” He ignored the burning that had started up behind his eyes and looked at her. “I’ll tell you how I feel later.”
“Will there be scorching looks involved?” she asked politely.
“For you and you alone.”
“Thank you,” she said primly, then she seemed to be trying to decide what, if anything, needed to be added to that. “I think you should know,” she said finally, “that I did my best not to intrude.”
“Into what?” was out of his mouth before he realized what he was asking and how desperately he didn’t want to hear her answer.
“Into your doings with other gels,” she said grimly. “Though I’ll admit that I did note the lassies you took to supper.”
“Please tell me you limited yourself to suppers.”
She glared at him. “You were hardly a monk during your university years, Master Phillips. Or afterward, if we’re going to be perfectly frank.”
He bowed his head and laughed because it was either that or run and hide in the loo, and he didn’t run. He looked at her. “If you tell me now that you’re responsible for my endless series of first dates, I’ll… well, I’m not sure what I’ll do.”
She shifted uncomfortably. “I’ll admit nothing.”
He studied her thoughtfully for a moment or two. “And here I always thought those hens never wanted to see me again because they didn’t appreciate my attentions.”
“’Tis possible there might be another reason,” she conceded.
“Mairead,” he said, dredging up as much shock as he could to put into his tone. “For shame.”
“Me?” she exclaimed. “You libertine!”
He winced. “Can we stop talking about this yet?”
She scowled at him.
He pulled up a stool and managed to get his arse atop it without undue effort. He clasped his hands between his knees to keep them captive, then looked at her. He felt his smile fade in direct proportion to the silence that descended. It wasn’t an unpleasant bit of quiet, as it happened, just one full of a desperate hope that likely caused every gate within a five-mile radius to shudder a bit at his determination.
“I will try again,” he said quietly.
“I wish I could help you,” she whispered.
He looked at his hands for a moment or two, then met her eyes. “Am I venturing where I shouldn’t?”
“Don’t be daft,” she said briskly. “Unless you—”
“I want to.”
“I want you to.”
