The warmth of his nearness filled the space between them. Scarlett’s nerves felt alive. She wanted to move, to break the tension, but her body wouldn’t obey.
Robert reached out, brushing a damp strand of hair from her cheek. The touch was light, almost reverent, but it burned. “Five nights,” he murmured. “That was the bargain.”
Scarlett’s heart beat faster. “And this is one of them.”
His thumb traced the line of her jaw, stopping just beneath her chin. “Aye. But it’s still yers, Scarlett. Ye can send me away.”
She stared up at him, her voice caught somewhere between defiance and want. “I should.”
“But ye won’t,” he said softly.
Scarlett’s hand moved before she could stop it, her fingers brushing his chest, light and uncertain.
His heartbeat thudded against her palm. “Ye’re warm,” she said quietly, not sure why.
He smiled faintly. “So are ye.”
She tried to look away, but his hand caught her chin, guiding her gaze back to his. The way he looked at her made her pulse stumble.
“This night’s mine,” he said. “But I willnae take what ye willnae give.”
Scarlett searched his eyes, finding only honesty there. Honesty and restraint that felt far more dangerous than desire.
“And if I daenae know what I want?”
He leaned in, his mouth a breath from hers. “Then I’ll help ye find it.” Her pulse stumbled. “Robert…”
“Tell me, lass,” he said softly. “Will ye deny me tonight?”
She tried for another jest, but the words came quiet, trembling. “I won’t.”
Robert stilled. “Say it again.”
Her voice wavered. “I willnae deny ye.”
Something in him broke loose. His mouth found hers in a kiss that began soft—a breath, a touch—and then deepened into something fierce. Scarlett gasped against him, her hands rising instinctively to his shoulders. His skin burned beneath her palms, warm and solid and alive.
When he drew back, it wasn’t distance he sought but control. He rested his forehead against hers, and their breaths mingling. “Ye drive me mad, woman.”
Scarlett smiled faintly. “Good. Then we’re even.”
His low laugh rumbled through his chest. “Ye’ve a cruel streak, Scarlett McLaren.”
“And ye’ve a terrible habit of underestimating me.”
He brushed his thumb along her jaw, his expression shifting from teasing to something raw. “Do ye ken what ye do to me?” She met his gaze. “I think I’m learning.”
Robert kissed her again, slower this time. Less like a demand and more like a confession. Scarlett melted beneath the weight of it, the warmth of his hand at her waist, the press of his body, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
The world narrowed to sound and touch, the crackle of the fire, the whisper of rain, and the soft catch of breath between them.
“Robert…” she murmured. “Aye.”
“I shouldnae…”
“I ken.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “But I cannae stop.”
Neither could she.
