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Kris lifted her head, disturbed by the thought. She was not the type to follow anyone, let alone a man she’d just met, in a country she was only visiting. She couldn’t let great sex fry her brain, although she could see now, when she’d never been able to before, how that might happen.
“Thug mi gaol,” he whispered. “Thug mi gaol.”
As he slowly twirled her about the floor, she found herself lost in the beautiful lilt of that voice. She wanted to press her cheek back to his shoulder and listen. So she did.
“Thug mi gaol don fhear bhan.” His chest vibrated as he sang. She rubbed her skin against his shirt, and the scent of him surrounded her.
“Wicked,” she murmured, and he kissed her hair. How was she ever going to leave him?
The song continued,
and so did they, around and around, captured in each other’s arms. Kris wished the music would last forever.
She had found few occasions to dance, and she wasn’t very good at it. But Liam was an exquisite dancer, and with him she became one, too. They never brushed another couple, never bumped butts or tangled heels. They seemed shrouded in a bubble of music and warmth that existed only for them.
“Agus gealladh dhusta, luaidh,” Liam murmured.
Kris lifted her head. “What does that mean?”
“‘I will never let anyone harm ye while I am here.’”
The music ended, but they stood in the center of the floor, staring into each other’s eyes. She wanted to kiss him. But the way her skin felt—buzzing, humming, calling out for his—she didn’t think she could stop at a kiss. From the blaze of his eyes, she didn’t think he would, either.
She slowly became aware of their surroundings. The pub was quiet, the dance floor empty but for them. She glanced to the right, then the left.
Everyone was staring.
“Liam,” she whispered.
“Dinnae worry about them.”
“Maybe we should—” She stepped back. His arms, still around her waist, held on, and she stumbled into his chest.
He kissed her, and she forgot that everyone was staring.
He still tasted of sinfully expensive chocolate, of midnight and seduction, with a side of nut-brown ale. His tongue was warm, but his lips were cool, a blessed oasis amid a sudden heat.
She’d been right. A kiss wasn’t enough. She had to touch him, bury her fingers in his silky black hair, run a nail down the side of his neck until he shuddered, hardening against her belly, which was pressed tightly to him, shielding him as he’d promised to shield her.
What on earth was going on? Kris had no idea, but she didn’t want it to stop.
Of course it did. Nothing good lasts forever. And something that great … well, it only lasted a minute, maybe two, before a voice interrupted.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
CHAPTER 17
Dougal Scott barreled toward them, fists clenched. Kris wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or to Liam.
Dougal swung. Liam ducked. Kris tried to, but she wasn’t as quick as Liam and the fist caught her on the cheek. Everyone gasped.
Light exploded, then the pain. Kris didn’t fall, but she staggered. Liam turned, caught, then righted her. She thought he would hold her and she even began to go into his arms, but as soon as she was solid on her feet he was gone.
His arm was a blur, shooting out, popping Dougal on the chin. The blow seemed too fast to pack much punch, but it must have, since Dougal went down like a house of cards in a sudden wind.
No one came forward to help. No one stepped in to stop them, not even Johnnie. Back home, a place like this might keep a shotgun under the bar, or at least a bat. But here, the owner just watched, as did everyone else.
It was weird.
