He pulled out the chair for her. She sat down. He sat next to her. She began to place the items before him and pushed the tray aside.
She could feel his eyes on her, but she did not dare look at him. But when she finished moving the food about, she looked at him.
Her eyes started on his broad shoulders, but bef ore she knew it, her eyes roamed down his chest.
“Be careful lass. Ye look at me that way, I shall nae be able to control me response,” he said.
“I dinnae ken what ye mean,” she said.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Ye think ye can play with fire, do ye, Isabelle?” he growled, his brown eyes flashing with warning.
Declan grabbed her hand before she could pull it off the table, his fingers tightening around hers like iron.
“I’m nae afraid of a wee fire, me Laird ,” she shot back, her voice bold even as her pulse hammered in her ears.
He pressed closer, his chest nearly brushing hers, and his jaw tightened.
“Bold words for a woman who’s mine now,” he snarled, his tone dangerous, commanding. Isabelle’s lips parted slightly, defiance gleaming in her eyes, and he felt the fierce thrill of her stubbornness. The urge to bend her to his will, to taste the fire she dared to spark, clawed at him from deep inside.
Suddenly his appetite was no longer on the food before him, but on her.
“Ye’ll learn, Isabelle, that I dinnae suffer fools, or wives, lightly,” he said, voice low, almost a growl, as his grip didn’t loosen.
“And I’m nae a fool, me Laird !” she snapped, trying to twist her hand free, but his strength pinned her.
He caught her gaze, dark and magnetic, and felt a surge of desire that made his teeth ache with need. Every inch of him ached to claim her lips, to show her exactly who held power in this marriage.
He leaned in slightly, the scent of her— faint lavender, faint spice— wrapping around him like a trap.
“Ye think yer stubbornness is attractive?” he hissed, the dominance in his voice sharpened with raw hunger.
“I dinnae think it is,” she replied, her eyes daring him, her voice trembling only slightly despite the fire in her chest.
“Then ye’re a fool, Isabelle, or ye lie,” he shot back, the words dripping with both scorn and desire.
She gasped. "I dinnae lie."
He held her gaze, and for a fleeting moment, the world shrank to the space between them, the tension crackling like lightning in the storm.
He could taste the heat of her skin even from inches away, and the need to bend her to him, to make her understand her place beside him, threatened to overwhelm his control.
She squared her shoulders, meeting his intensity with her own, and he felt the exquisite torture of being both enraged and enthralled.
“Ye’ve a reckless tongue, Isabelle Cain,” he said, his voice cutting through the air, sharp and commanding.
“And ye’ve nae yet seen the full of it, me Laird ,” she shot back, her defiance igniting him further.
Declan’s pulse thudded in his chest, a heady mix of anger, need, and possessiveness. He wanted to kiss her, to show her exactly who ruled, to lift her off her feet and press her against the wall of their chamber and leave no doubt of his control.
He released her hand for just a heartbeat then gripped it again, firm and unyielding.
“Ye think ye can goad me and not pay the price? That is nae true,” he demanded, his tone dripping with alpha authority.
“Ye’ll nae push me around, Declan,” she hissed, her jaw tight, but there was a shimmer of mischief in her gaze that only fanned his flame.
Every nerve in him screamed to capture her lips, to make her feel the consequences of challenging him.
