Page 73 of The Laird’s Lost Wife

He tilted his head. “Is it so terrible? Being alone with me?”

She glanced up, meeting his eyes, and for an instant, he saw desire flare there, her pupils blowing wide.

She wants me, he realized, heat landing like a stone in his gut. She wants me again.

The feeling was more than mutual. He hadn’t gotten his own satisfaction last night by the loch, after all. He’d chosen not to; it had not been the right time. But that didn’t mean he hadn’t thought of it.

His dreams, when he had managed to sleep, had sent her crawling over his mattress with that slow smile on her face, hands outstretched, reaching for him. He’d never been able to reach back because it was a dream, and dreams always tried to keep good things away from a dreamer.

He reached for her, almost without thinking. It wasn’t a dream, so his fingertips grazed the tip of her chin. Her eyes widened, and he heard her breath catch in her throat. He could have sworn that he also heard his name stutter out of her lips.

Hunter.

Then she blinked, and the moment was gone.

She stepped back, putting herself out of reach, and his hand dropped to his side.

“If ye cannae be honest with me, I cannae be honest with ye,” she said briskly, and moved to the door.

This time, instead of trying the knob, she started knocking on the door.

“Help!” she called weakly. “Help, we’re locked in!”

Hunter rolled his eyes. “Ye have seen the size of this keep. Ye think anyone will hear ye if ye shout like that?”

She rounded on him, furious. “Well, what do ye suggest?”

He sighed, rolling up one sleeve and then the other, pushing the cuffs up over the swell of his forearms. “I suggest ye move back.”

She obeyed, inching away.

He took a careful step back, eyeing up the door. Then he lunged, driving his shoulder into the wood.

Bang.

At once, the old wood splintered, the lock cracking and popping out, and the frame itself snapped. The door flew open under his weight, and he staggered forward, nearly slamming into the wall opposite. He straightened up, brushing wood chips away, and turned to face her.

Daphne stood silhouetted in the broken doorframe, her jaw slightly slack.

“There ye are,” he said briskly. “Ye are free from me now.”

She stared at him for a moment, then closed her jaw with a snap. Silently, she stepped around the broken door, hanging precariously from one hinge, and set off at a brisk walk down the hallway.

Hunter watched her retreating back for a moment. She’d just disappeared when another figure stepped into the hallway, hurrying toward him.

It was his mother, and she eyed the library door with trepidation.

“Ye must have gotten stuck, then,” she said weakly.

He rolled his eyes. “Spare me the story, Mother.”

“Hunter…”

“Nay, listen to me now. Quit yer games.”

She reddened. “I daenae ken what ye are talking about.”

“Aye, ye do. Enough is enough. Ye cannae force anyone to spend time with me if they daenae want to. No more stuck doors. No more plots, all right? It’s nae going to work.”