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Damn the woman!
He increased his own speed and managed to keep up with her.
“Stop!” he shouted. “You’ll break your neck.” For her safety, he braked his horse as he saw the end of the lane not far ahead. Otherwise, she would ride faster and risk falling off her mare.
At last, she slowed down, giving him the chance to trot to her.
“What were you thinking?” he scolded, angry that she would risk an accident.
“You scared me with your chase.” she threw at him as their mounts neared.
More furious than Fiadhaich, he jumped from his saddle, strode to her, grabbed her waist, and pulled her down with both hands.
“You’re not supposed to ride at that speed on a side-saddle!” Lacing her with one arm, he clashed their frames in the same way their eyes were doing.
Her breath hitched as her lips parted. Her flush from the ride deepened. “I always gallop,” she informed him, fingers resting on his shirt. He was dressed in his usual tartan, naturally.
The sight of her made him forget even what they were talking about because her eyes widened and he hardened. “You mustn’t.” This aired husky with his eyes on her lush lips.
“What are you doing in London?” Her silky tone did not help one bit.
“I came looking for you,” he drawled.
Her brows pleated at the same second her hands shoved him and distance came between them. “Has anything happened to Fiadhaich? You should have written.”
“The stallion is better than ever,” he devolved.
“Then what’s the matter?” The question could not be more inconvenient if it tried, he did not know the answer.
“I want you to come back with me.” His words surprised even him for they were exa
ctly what he came to tell her, and he did not even realise it.
Confusion and vexation marred her silken cheeks. “I cannot and you know that!”
He paced closer. “I don’t care what we can or cannot do.” The rasp made her eyes flare, not with shock but with…arousal.
“Good for you, because I do.” Her hands came to her waist and her chin lifted in determination.
His boots shortened the distance, and they stood less than two feet from each other. “Marry me.” What the hell was he saying? There was a marriage agreement on his brother’s desk, damnation!
“You must be out of your mind!” she breathed.
That was probably the best explanation for his actions. “I said I don’t care.”
Catriona housed a veritable typhoon inside that thrashed and shook and pulled her in every direction on the compass. The sight of the man destabilised her to the very bones. When he held her, she had the urge to clutch onto him for dear life and never let go. That had been precisely why she fled his arms. And then he asked her to marry him with that blazing fire in his cinnamon glare. How was she supposed to resist? But resist she must.
That man in front of her, so out of his element in this deuced city, magnificent in his clan’s tartan, tall, broad, hard as steel, proved too much for her. The memory of exactly what his hardness had done to her—still did to her in her dreams, daydreams, reveries—would tear her to pieces.
Resist, she must, sadly.
Her nostrils inhaled deeply, gathering enough courage to say what she should. “I had a job to do in your stables. It’s over. We go separate ways.” With maximum effort, she made to leave.
“You enjoyed the job’s…benefits, and will walk away.” Sarcasm dripped from his stance and his statement.
“This is what we agreed.” The attempt to input coldness in her voice proved self-destructive.
“I changed my mind,” the deep voice challenged her.
