Page 20 of The Dragon Laird’s Obsession

Ailis looked down at the blanket beneath her hand and smoothed her fingers over one embroidered sheep. When she spoke, her voice had changed.

“Me Laird, I had me maid pack these with me things.” She swallowed, and the small movement caught his eye, letting his gaze drift down her mouth again. “They are from me childhood. They are all I have left from me mother. She stitched them with her own hands.”

Gordon’s anger struck the wall inside him and fell uselessly to the floor as he saw her eyes soften.

Ailis touched the blooms beside the bed. “The hortensias were Sorcha’s favorite flowers when we were lasses. For me to grow used to this room, I need me family near me.” Her hand moved to her chest. “Only in small ways.”

Why does she have to speak of family? Why does she have to take me fury and make it feel like cruelty?

Gordon exhaled slowly through his nose. He crossed to the bed and touched the edge of the woolen blanket. His fingers brushed over one soft, foolish sheep.

He himself had not known much of family warmth until recently. Growing up with his uncle had ensured that. His throat tightened at the memories of nights spent alone in his dark chamber, eating his supper while the rest of the keep enjoyed theirs in the dining hall. Loneliness was a concept he knew too well. He did not wish it on anyone.

Regardless of the fact that she is doin’ so to torture me.

Gordon felt his throat tighten as he found his voice again. “And is the sheep yer favorite beast, too?” he asked, his voice rougher than he meant.

Ailis’ smile returned, smaller now but more dangerous for being real. “It is, aye, Me Laird. Temporarily, as it happens.”

He looked at her, one brow arching. “Temporarily,” he repeated.

“Aye.”

“Of course,” Gordon said.

She stepped closer than she needed to, and the chamber seemed to draw tight around them as he inhaled the lavender on her skin. His heart hammered too fast, his pulse leaping in response. The shameful speed of his body’s response was more than he was ready for.

Candlelight trembled over her face, gilding the freckles across her nose, the curve of her cheek, the full softness of her mouth. Heat roused low in him, slow and savage as a beast disturbed in the dark. His fingers curled against the sheep-stitched blanket. Every part of him strained toward her while every hard-won scrap of honor commanded him to step away.

Ailis looked up at him, eyes bright. “Besides, Me Laird, everythin’ is temporary, is it nay?”

Is she speakin’ in riddles? Or literally?

She did not move back, and he felt his head spinning too fast.

I should push her away… make her uncomfortable… make her retreat.

His gaze dropped to her lips instead, and he knew that was a mistake. Her mouth parted slightly, and that small, soft opening struck him harder than Malcolm’s blade had.

He imagined bending his head as he envisioned taking that mouth and seeing whether her sharp tongue would turn silent beneath his. Whether she would gasp. Whether she would step into me or slap me for darin’.

His hand tightened in the blanket.

“Or perhaps,” he said, the words nearly a whisper, “it is a fine chamber for us both.”

Ailis felt it. He saw the awareness pass over her face, saw color climb her throat before she could deny it. Her fingers flexed against her skirt. Her breath caught once, soft enough that he might have missed it if he had not been listening for his own doom.

Still, she did not retreat.

“If ye wish, Me Laird,” she murmured.

The words were meek, but her eyes were not.

Gordon’s restraint strained like a rope under too much weight. For one breath, he stood close enough to take what he had spent days forbidding himself to want.

Candlelight and flowers.

It was absurd that she made him feel anything, so he stepped back, fearing that if he stayed a minute longer, he would indeed give in to the reckless urge to kiss her.