Lost in her embrace.
Lost in herlove.
This kiss wasn’t the same as the one they’d shared in the library. For one thing, they were standing in the middle of an Inverness street, and he was fairly certain there was slush seeping into one of his socks.
But it was sweet, and perfect, and supportive, and everything he’d beenneedingfor so long.
And when she finally pulled away, Lyon knew there were tears in his eyes.
Tears of gratitude.
She smiled sadly and pressed her cheek to his shoulder, offering him a hug. “I love you, Lyon Oliphant,” she whispered against him, and he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed his eyes shut, not sure what he could possibly say in response.
While considering it, he inhaled deeply, and when he did, he froze. There was a scent, the faintest whiff of…
He inhaled again.
Aye.
Smoke!
“Bonnie?” Another sniff, just to be certain. “I smell…burning paper.” It was a scent unlike a wood fire, or even a hay-and-paint-and-turpentine fire. “Do ye?—”
She shot upright, almost knocking his chin as she whirled about, inhaling deeply. “Fire!” Her hand found his a moment before her gaze did. “Lyon, the publishing district!”
And that was all she said before she gathered her skirts in her free hand and took off at a run. It was all shehadto say.
Holding her hand, he kept up with her easily, and soon took the lead, using his broad shoulders and harsh scowls to clear their way through the running crowds. Then herounded a corner and realized what they were all running from.
It was a row of buildings, all as old as Bonnie had said, the middle one bearing the remnants of a sign readingGrimm and Sons Publishing. Thick black smoke was billowing from it, and also from the two on the right, as workers frantically formed bucket brigades.
When she tried to pass him, tried to reach the buildings, Lyon pulled her to a stop.
“Bonnie, stay here. I’ll make sure the Fire Brigade?—”
“No, I cannot—” She cut herself off with a sob, as another pillar of smoke bloomed from the roof. “It was the paper. And the ink! The buildings were so old…” She pulled her hand from his and edged closer to the commotion.
“Nae closer,” he commanded, but his voice caught. Being this close to the fire, havingherthis close, was making it difficult to breathe.
“I hope everyone is alright. Oh! There is my foreman. Mr. McCaffey!” She darted forward, waving frantically, and Lyon was right beside her. “Mr. McCaffey, you are safe. Thank God!”
The older man was soot-stained and sweaty and shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry, milady. The whole place will be gone by the time the brigade arrives to save the rest of them.” He leaned over and spat, but didn’t bother apologizing for his manners. “I only just managed to get out, and the ink will?—”
Suddenly, Bonnie grabbed the man’s arm. “My manuscript, Mr. McCaffey?” she asked breathlessly. “Surely you grabbed my manuscript before you evacuated?”
“Nae time,” the man grunted, then spat again. “I’m sorry, milady.”
Her eyes wide, Bonnie slowly turned to her publishing house where her dreams were, quite literally, in flames.
“Bonnie,” Lyon urged gently, “come away.”
“My manuscript,” she whispered, and he knew what she was saying.
The only copy of her book, which she’d worked so hard on for so long, the very thing on which she’d pinned all of her dreams for her publishing house, was currently burning along with her presses and supplies.
Suddenly, she began frantically scrambling for the ties holding her winter bonnet in place. “No!No!”
“Bonnie, what are ye doing?” he asked in a low, intense voice as he stepped around Mr. McCaffey to reach her. “What are ye?—”
