He reached out before he could stop himself, fingers closing around her wrist to still her restless pacing. “Careful, lass,” he warned, though his grip lacked true force. She didn't pull away. Instead, she stepped closer into him, her free hand pressing lightly against his chest, as though testing the truth of him.
“If it is nothing,” she challenged, voice barely above a breath, “then why do ye trouble yerself in such a way to keep distance between us?”
His control snapped like a frayed rope pulled too tight. In one swift motion, he caught her shoulders, pulling her flush against him, his breath hot against her lips.
“Because I am a man,” he said roughly, his voice low and strained. “And ye stand before me like this, defying me at every turn, and expect me to feel nothin''? I feel everythin'. The very heat in me rises with every heave of your bosom.”
Her breath hitched, her hands gripping his tunic as though she needed the anchor.
“Then stop pretendin',” she whispered, her gaze flickering to his mouth before returning to his eyes. The challenge in her voice, the vulnerability beneath it, unraveled the last of his restraint.
The world seemed to narrow to that single moment, to the heat between them, to the unspoken truth neither dared name. His hand rose to her jaw, thumb brushing her skin in a touch far gentler than his words had any right to be. Then he kissed her. It was not soft, nor tentative, but fierce and consuming, as though all the tension between them had found its only escape. She answered him just as fiercely, her fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as though she feared he might vanish. For a heartbeat, for a single reckless moment, everything else fell away.
Then he tore himself back as though burned.
He stepped away, dragging a hand through his hair, breathing hard, his expression dark with something far more dangerous than anger.
“Damn it,” he muttered, turning from her as though distance alone might restore order.
She stood frozen where he had left her, lips parted, eyes wide with something that looked too much like heartbreak.
“James…” she began, but he cut her off with a sharp shake of his head.
“Nay,” he said firmly, forcing coldness back into his tone. “This is exactly what I sought to avoid.”
He turned to face her again, though he kept his distance now, as though she were a flame he dared not touch again. “I was meant to protect ye, nae bind ye to somethin' that will vanish in a matter of days.”
“And what about what just happened?” she asked quietly.
His expression hardened, though it cost him dearly. “It was a mistake,” he said, each word deliberate, controlled, and utterly false.
The hurt that flashed across her face struck him deeper than any wound he had taken in battle.
She drew herself up, pride returning like armor. “Very well, me Laird,” she said, her voice cool now, though it wavered at the edges. “Then I shall remember that.”
Without another word, she turned and left him, the door closing behind her with a finality that echoed through the chamber.
Eloise had scarcely taken three steps into the corridor when she heard the door behind her burst open. Before she could turn, strong hands caught her, and she gasped as the ground seemed to vanish beneath her feet.
James lifted her as though she weighed nothing, one arm beneath her knees, the other braced firm at her back, and she instinctively clutched at his shoulders. Heat rushed through her at the sheer strength of him, at the ease with which he carried her, her heart racing wildly in her chest.
“James, what are ye doing?” she demanded, though her voice lacked the sharpness it had held only moments before.
He didn't answer her at once, only strode back into his chamber and kicked the door shut behind them.
Then, with a look that burned through her, he said low, “I'm doin' what I should have done long ago.”
Her breath caught as he crossed the room and lowered her onto the bed, far more gently than she expected from a man who had just stormed after her. She pushed herself up on her elbows, eyes wide, watching him as though he were some unpredictable force she couldn't quite understand.
“Ye’ve lost yer senses,” she murmured, though her pulse betrayed her, fluttering fast and unsteady.
He shook his head slowly, stepping closer, his gaze fixed upon her with an intensity that made her stomach tighten.
“Nay,” he said quietly, “I’ve found them.”
There was something different in him now, something stripped of restraint, and it made her breath shallow. She swallowed, her voice softening despite herself.
“Then ye’d best explain yerself, me Laird.”
