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His life could be divided in before Aileen and after Aileen. As simple as that. And now there was no Aileen.
She would not make it easy for him. Not her. The conclusion wrenched his guts, for she forced him to go look at what bothered him. More than that, confess it. Even if only to himself.
Dangerous lass.
In the last couple of days, he had been pondering a lot over what happened in the Samhain and before it. Inevitable to give her credit. She was right. It listed as his obligation to straighten it. He did not fathom how. Maybe he would find out. He must, or this arid situation would not end.
He would do anything to see her smile flourish again to light her marvellous eyes and him. Make her happy, give her whatever she required materially and emotionally. If only he found the way.
He would. He was sure of it.
With this comforting concept, he headed for his study. Piles of papers awaited his attention.
~.~.~
Next morning, Aileen descended to the cellar to make a much-required inventory of its contents. The last one dated from three years earlier. She must begin again to keep track of it.
Footsteps sounded behind her and she did not need to turn to see who approached. She would recognise it in kingdom come.
“Aileen.” Did the man have to pronounce her name in such thawing way?
“Good-morning, Taran.” She greeted without lifting her head to the giant. “An inventory here is long overdue.” She explained.
The cramped silent space lent an aura of intimacy too disquieting to be acknowledged.
“Can I help?” His deep voice closer.
At the question, she swivelled her eyes to his. Damn! She was not supposed to look at him or she might become a puddle of want and longing.
“I believe I got everything under—“ He neared her and her thoughts scattered.
The bottle she held in her hand grabbed into his, fingers grazing. His manor’s management constituted her task, his interference unnecessary. Though she appreciated it he trusted her enough to do her tasks and gave her freedom to decide as she saw fit. He proved to be very attentive to the land’s running. Both formed a strong team, she cogitated.
“Here.” He started. “This is an eighteen-oh-two whisky.” He said so that she could note it down on her ledger.
Without an alternative, she accepted his offer, and they worked side by side for a while. A double effort to concentrate not dispensable.
And she had to own to being in his company made all the difference. The task flowed more smoothly. His proximity tempted her in a manner she did not experience before now. Heart beating fast, skin clammy with temptation, insides wrenching for his touch intensified that simple chore.
As he talked to her, he surreptitiously, diminished the distance causing his manly scent to tease her nostrils and her to corner on the other side of the tiny place.
When they finished, they had moved to the opposite wine shelf, which put him between her and the door.
“Thank you for your help.” She said, not quite looking at him, stuffing the ledger in her apron’s pocket.
She motioned to the door, his tall frame never bulged. No other option than to raise her eyes to his. The green darkened and fire laced with ice flooded her.
Time froze.
The thrashing of her heart must be audible in the silent cellar, together with the rushing of her ignited blood.
He could not have come closer, could he? For the heat of him reached her. Or had she got closer?
Blast it!
The steel wall of his chest filled her vison, and she craved to fill her hands with it. Her hands, her lips, her nostrils.
Audible breathing echoed in the cramped room. Not only hers.
