Ian looked at her trembling lips and watched as she became aware of his gaze. The blush rose to her cheeks. The heat between them was undeniable, their bodies moving in close, familiar rhythm despite the argument.
As they danced, Ian became painfully aware of every place they touched. The press of her against him stirred something dangerous; her warmth seeping through layers of cloth. Her hand rested against his shoulder, light but steady, and the sway of her body matched his with unsettling ease. His blood rushed, thick and insistent, and he felt his manhood harden.
He clenched his teeth, forcing his gaze away from her mouth. The faint scent of flowers clung to her hair, maddeningly sweet.Each turn brought her closer, the brush of her hip against his hardened staff, sending sparks along his nerves. He had faced steel and fire without flinching, yet this threatened to undo him.
Ian tightened his hold just enough to feel her there, solid and real. Lust coiled low and fierce, urging him to claim what was already bound to him by vow. He fought it with the same discipline he used on the battlefield, slow breath by slow breath.
“Daenae think me weak,” he murmured. “It takes strength to hold back.”
Arianna looked up at him then, her blue eyes wide and searching. For a moment, the fight drained from her face, replaced by something wary and curious.
“Hold back? I daenae understand yer meanin',” she said.
He pulled her closer and growled low in her ear. “Ye will soon enough, lass.”
He moved back from her ear and stared at her blue eyes as they went wide.
“Ye agreed to wait until I am ready,” she said.
“Aye, and I am a man of honor and will keep to me word, but ye tempt me something fierce.”
“Then prove this strength ye speak of that garners yer restraint,” she said softly.
“I daenae need to prove it, lass. In time ye will see that I am made of hard mettle with yer own eyes,” he said.
The music swelled, and they turned together, locked in a dance that felt far more dangerous than any duel.
The song ended in a flourish of strings and stamping feet, and Ian felt the tension snap like a pulled cord. Arianna tore herself from his grasp, her skirts swirling as she turned away. He watched her cross the hall with sharp strides, her back straight and proud, until she reached her mother’s side. Only then did he force himself to look away.
Ian returned to his seat at the high table, his mood dark as thunder. He reached for his drink, though it did little to cool the heat still coursing through him. The laughter and music pressed in around him, hollow and distant. He had barely settled when a familiar presence slid into the seat beside him.
“Saints preserve us,” Flynn said cheerfully, lifting his cup. “If looks could kill, half the hall would be dead." He glanced toward Arianna and grinned. “Ye sure ken how to get along with yer lady.”
Ian shot him a glare sharp enough to draw blood. “Careful, Flynn,” he growled. “Ye’re testin’ how fond I am of ye.”
Flynn laughed, utterly unbothered. “Aye, aye, threaten me later,” he said lightly. “But ye should listen to me.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice in mock seriousness. “I managed to charm Melissa, did I nae?”
Ian snorted despite himself. “I daenae ken how,” he muttered. “Women are stubborn creatures, every last one.”
“Aye, they are,” Flynn agreed readily. “That’s half the joy.” He took a long drink. “But ye arenae meant to wrestle them like an enemy.”
Ian’s mouth twisted. “Feels simpler that way,” he said darkly.
Flynn eyed him, amusement softening into something more thoughtful.
Ian stared into his cup, his thoughts turning inward despite himself. Flynn did not bear his scars, nor the weight of that missing eye beneath leather and cloth. Women did not flinch from Flynn, nor lower their gaze in fear. Ian had seen it too often to deny; fear first, then obedience.
He clenched his jaw, unwilling to voice the truth even to his closest man.
Nae woman could truly love a beast marked like me, no matter the title I bear. Arianna might stand tall and defiant now, but fear would come soon enough.
He swallowed the thought like bitter ale.
Flynn nudged his shoulder. “Still broodin’, are ye?” he asked. “It’s yer weddin’ night, nae a funeral.”
Ian shot him a sideways look. “Feels closer to a siege,” he replied.
Flynn laughed outright. “Aye, and ye’ve survived plenty of those.”
