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He flipped his fingers toward the loch. “It comes and it goes.”
She’d seen that already for herself.
“Ye’ll have t’ report this to the authorities,” he said.
“Right.” Kris began to get up.
“Not now.”
“But—”
“Whoever attacked ye is gone. Won’t do any good fer Alan Mac to be out here in the dark. Time enough to tell him tomorrow.”
Since she wanted nothing less than to leave her house and walk into the village—she wasn’t even sure she could—Kris decided Liam’s advice was sound. Even though it wasn’t.
“What about evidence?” she asked, but her eyes were so heavy she could barely keep them open.
“Shyte!” he muttered, the Scottish twist to the curse making her smile. “Well, there’s naught to be done. Ye cannae walk all that way, and I cannae carry ye. Ye don’t have a phone?” She shook her head, then groaned at the return of the pain. “How about some medicine? Fer yer head,” he clarified when she frowned, confused.
“Aspirin. In the bathroom.”
He returned with the pills and a glass of water. As soon as she took them, he held out his hand. She put the empty glass into it, and his lips twitched. He set the glass on the coffee table, then caught her hand. “T’ bed with ye,” he said.
Kris suddenly became aware of the small cottage and the even smaller space between her and Liam Grant.
The space shrunk when he pulled her upright, and she stumbled into him. “Sorry.” Her balance had gone to shyte.
He murmured nonsense that was really quite soothing as he helped her into her room.
“Am I supposed to go to bed?” She sat on the side, kicked off her shoes. As they hit the ground, dried mud broke off, crackling against the floor like sleet on a roof.
“Mo chridhe,” he murmured, putting a hand to her shoulder and pushing her onto the mattress. “Ye were made for bed.”
Kris blinked. God, he was so sexy. Every word he spoke rippled along her skin like a caress; every caress shot through her like a … shot.
She laughed, and he straightened, pulling away. He’d probably never had that reaction in the bedroom before.
Kris cleared her throat. “I meant, if I have a concussion I might…” She paused, trying to remember what she’d been about to say. He was so close; he smelled so good. And he was so damn pretty.
“You might…?” he encouraged.
“Fall down and I can’t get up.”
Leaning over, he kissed her brow. “I won’t let ye fall.”
Despite the chill of his hands, his lips were warm, and she wanted them to stay right where they were. Or perhaps move about a bit.
The giggle threatened again. She must have a concussion. Kris did not giggle. Not only was it unprofessional, but she’d rarely found anything in this world worth giggling about.
“I might fall asleep,” she clarified, “and never wake up.”
She was f
alling asleep now; she couldn’t seem to stop.
Right before everything fell away, he kissed her lips like that infernal prince in every fairy tale and whispered, “I’ll kiss ye awake every few hours, aye?”
“Aye,” she breathed, and wondered—
