And just as my lips are about to meet hers, a door swings open behind me.
Startled, we both lose our balance. I fall backward, dragging Keira down with me. In a tangle of limbs and startled breaths, we crash to the floor.
I land hard on my back, the impact knocking the air from my lungs. A second later, Keira lands on top of me, her hair falling around our faces like a curtain.
Our eyes meet again, both stunned. Her lips—the ones I was about to kiss seconds ago—are now so close I can feel her warm breath against my skin.
The world hangs suspended in this perfect, absurd moment. All my attention is fixed on the woman lying on top of me—a McGregor who, I’m beginning to suspect, has completely turned my world upside down.
And the most unsettling part?
I’m not sure I want it to stop.
CHAPITRE 14
KEIRA
The Subtle Art of an Apology That Gets Worse with Every Word
Time stands still. Or at least, that’s what it feels like as I lie sprawled all over Alistair, in a position that would make my grandmother Maggie blush all the way to the roots of her silver hair.
Our faces are so close I can feel his warm breath against my cheeks. His blue eyes—usually brimming with arrogant confidence—are wide with surprise… and filled with something else I refuse to name. Something that mirrors exactly what I felt in that dark hallway just before we fell.
My brain is racing.
He was about to kiss me.
Alistair McKenzie—my sworn enemy, my fake fiancé, my temporary business partner—was about to kiss me. And worse, for a split second, I’d been tempted to let him.
“I… uh…” he starts, his voice rough in a way I’ve never heard before.
That snaps me back to reality. I bolt upright, nearly kneeing him in a very unfortunate place in the process, and scramble away from him like he’s suddenly caught fire.
“We found the archives!” I blurt, way too brightly, carefully avoiding his gaze as he gets to his feet.
“Technically, the archives found us,” he corrects, brushing off his pants.
I take a deep breath and finally risk a glance his way. He looks… normal. Like he didn’t just almost kiss me in a shadowy corridor of my family’s ancestral castle. Like my heart isn’t pounding for reasons I absolutely refuse to examine.
“Welcome to the McGregor inner sanctum,” I declare, sweeping an arm dramatically around the room in a desperate attempt to change the subject. “Centuries of secrets, scandals, and fiercely guarded shortbread recipes.”
Alistair looks around, something close to reverence in his expression. The archive room is vast and imposing, with towering oak shelves stretching to the ceiling. Leather-bound volumes, yellowed parchments, and metal boxes holding God-knows-what secrets fill every inch of space. A large wooden table dominates the center, surrounded by chairs worn smooth by generations of studious McGregors.
“It’s impressive. Ours don’t have this kind of character.”
A flicker of unexpected pride warms my chest. The McKenzie archives might have cutting-edge catalog systems and climate control, but nothing beats the living history soaked into these walls.
“Thank you for trusting me,” he adds more quietly.
Something in his voice makes me turn toward him. He’s looking at me with a disarming sincerity that catches me completely off guard.
“Don’t make a big deal out of it, McKenzie,” I shoot back, suddenly uncomfortable with the intensity of the moment. “You’re not the first sworn enemy to set foot in these archives.”
“Really?”
“No. Actually, you are. But it sounded better that way.”
He laughs, and I realize—unexpectedly—that I like that sound. Alistair’s laugh is warm, real.
