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He had been more than ready to tie the knot with her though. So much so he did not see himself with any other woman in his life. Which was certainly strange when he had declared to be an almost permanent bachelor. Not only that, he had never wanted a woman the way he wanted his wife, damn her! The mere notion of taking a mistress churned his innards. And now the infernal woman pushed him into isolation.
She could push him as much as she wanted. Whether he would comply with it or not, was a different question, he decided. He knew one thing for sure, pushing or no pushing, his wife also wanted him. And her place was in his bed. He was not ashamed to admit he would use her desire in his favour. They said all was fair in love and war. Well, this war was about to acquire a wholly new spicy twist.
His blood heated at the idea, his features took on a wicked hue.
In the morning, after a badly slept night, Moira came into the study, planning to do a bit of work before breakfast.
And stopped short at the view of her husband sitting behind the desk, calmly reading a report from the steward, she recognised the seal.
The McKendrick monument—should she call him the Darroch monument?—looked terribly tantalising in a hurriedly wrapped
tartan, crumpled shirt and stubble-darkened jaw. A memory of what that stubble did to her…well…her core, caused blood to rush to her skin and moist rush there.
Lazily, his eyes lifted from his reading. “Good morning,” he said in that voice she hoped not to hear so soon. The one that bathed her in everything gooey and forbidden.
What the blazes was he doing here? Clearly, she could not ask this of Laird Darroch now, could she? “Good morning,” she answered, trying to quell the frustration. She considered the study her domain, but The Darroch took precedence, naturally.
Clicking the door shut, she advanced cautiously. Should he wish to stay here, she would take her work to do in her chamber. After tossing and turning all night in her frigid bed, the last place she intended to stay was in her chamber. It seemed there was no other option though.
The ledgers she needed lay on the shelf behind him. The problem was that the distance between chair and shelf was less than two feet. She would have to squeeze herself to enter there, and his head would be level with her back.
“Would you excuse me to pick up a few ledgers on the shelf behind you?” she hoped her voice came out neutral, not giving him any hint that he stirred her.
Her dearest husband eyed her in the most innocent fashion. “Sure. Be my guest.” A large hand motioned her to it. But he did not move from the seat.
Her feet gave two steps and stopped. The idea of coming that close to him made thrills run over her body. Not the frightened kind. The heated kind, mind you.
“Can’t you be a gentleman and stand up for a minute?” Merely looking at him did strange things to her, like a flip of her stomach.
Those horribly sinful lips stretched in a half-smile. “I’m not a gentleman.” He shook the letter in his hand. “And I’m reading, as you can see.”
The insufferable scoundrel! Her legs jerked to life as she walked to the shelf. Tremendously carefully, she paced behind him sideways. There was just enough room for her frame. The ledgers sat on the shelf on level with her navel. Not for all the money in the world would she bend to find them. Stretching her hand down, she lifted them to see the dates on the spine.
Her husband yawned. And he must have tilted his head back in the act for she felt a faint waving of his luxuriant hair on the middle of her back.
She froze.
With a quarter-turn, she looked at him. His head was bent to the letter, and he read it so innocently.
Her attention went back to the shelf. She needed two specific ledgers to input the latest information on them. She reprimanded herself for leaving them there instead of putting them away in their right place. Her torso bent slightly to find what she was looking for there.
Her husband yawned again. But this time his whole head rubbed on her, his hair whispering her skin. Heat suffused all over her. A jerk up and she swivelled to him.
“Lachlan!” The blackguard pretended to read.
“Hmm,” he grunted as if very immersed in that really short letter.
“Stop it!” she demanded.
Only then did he deign to turn to her. “Stop what?” he asked as if she was speaking Greek.
But now he faced her, his mouth stood close to her breasts. “Nothing,” she dismissed. If that mouth touched her anywhere, she would be a lost cause. “Go back to your engrossing reading.”
“Right.” So obedient! The day her husband became obedient pigs would fly.
As he did it with a detached shrug, she extended her arm and took any two of the ledgers, without checking which. Irritably, she pulled them out and stepped out of the narrow space before he gave another ‘yawn’.
She was passing by his damned chair when he lifted his head to her. “Would you like to sit?”
