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“You understood,” she said shakily, rising from the chair beside the fire where she’d waited in a lather of apprehension.
“Of course I bloody understood.” His powerful chest rose and fell beneath the elegant blue coat, rather the worse for wear.
“You ran here,” she said in wonder.
“Of course I damn well ran,” he snapped, striding into her bedroom as if he owned it. No man except her father had ever set foot in this chamber. Thoughts of the night ahead sizzled through her. Closer to excitement than fear. Although fear was there, too.
She’d known he wanted her, but only now, staring across this firelit room, did she at last begin to grasp what Ewan Macrae’s desire truly meant. He looked so wild and desperate, as if his life depended on what happened next. When she’d sneaked into his room, she’d been nervous, but his turbulent reaction banished doubt.
“For pity’s sake, Charlotte, answer me.” That deep, confident vo
ice actually shook. “Do you want me to stay?”
Her heart racing, she raised her chin. “Yes.”
He sucked in a deep breath and without shifting his attention from her, closed the door behind him with a sharp click. A symbolic act to express his intentions. After all, they were alone in the house. “Thank God.”
Still with that unwavering gaze, he shrugged his coat off, then—breathtaking moment—he drew the fine white shirt over his head. He flung both garments into the corner, statement enough that his mind was fixed on having her. He was by nature a careful man.
She started to tremble in earnest, and despite her decision to take this man into her bed, she twined her hands together at her waist in a fidgety dance. The force of her emotions threatened to shatter her. Anticipation. Uncertainty. Love.
Oh, yes, definitely love.
His beautiful hands dropped to the waistband of his breeches. She couldn’t look away. He gave a soft laugh. “No, perhaps not yet.”
“I…I heard you at my door last night,” she said in a croaky voice. How was it possible to be so sure, yet so afraid at the same time?
He was quick on the uptake. That was something she’d relied upon when she’d left her slipper. “Did you indeed?”
She licked lips dry as the Sahara. “Why didn’t you come in?”
He cocked a black eyebrow at her. “Did you want me to?”
Yes. No. “I don’t know.”
Wry amusement curled his lips. “That’s why I didn’t come in.”
“You’re here now,” she said intrepidly, standing up and pushing back her shoulders, as though daring an enemy instead of inviting a lover.
“Aye, I am at that,” he murmured. “Come to me.”
Stupid to haggle over dominance when they both knew she’d surrendered. “No, come to me.”
“That’s my braw lassie.” His smile expressed unfettered admiration. “You know, it would be easy enough to meet in the middle.”
This was why she loved him. She ventured an unsteady step, then without a conscious decision, she threw herself forward at a run.
Only to land in his embrace. He’d come halfway.
His arms closed hard around her, warm, familiar, powerful. She tipped her face up for his kiss. How she wanted him.
His mouth was hard, too. He ruthlessly claimed her as his, and she stopped pretending she had any argument with that. Instead, she parted her lips for the hot invasion of his tongue, and her hands ran over him, discovering the intriguing secrets of his body. The hard pads of muscle. The smooth golden skin. The silky hair scattered across his chest.
Ewan gathered her closer, and his kiss intensified. Lightning streaked through her, left her restless, hungry, desperate. She’d never felt like this before, even when he’d kissed her last night. He raised his head to stare down at her with blazing eyes, and her breath escaped on a sob.
“You’ll marry me,” he said in a rough voice. If they hadn’t just kissed as if the world ended, she’d think he was angry.
She tipped her chin up and spoke defiantly. “Yes.”
