Page 63 of Auctioned to the Cruel Highlander
The words were wrong, even as he said them. He heard the lack of force in them and even heard the invitation hidden inside the failure.
Her mouth curled into a strained smile. “Ye have had many chances to sound convincing when ye say that to me.”
He released a short breath through his nose. “I am trying now.”
“I can see that.”
The reply carried hurt, wit, and knowledge all at once.
She was still angry with him. She had every right to be. He had pushed her away and pulled her close by turns until neither of them could stand on solid ground. Yet she stayed. She sat in his tower, in her nightgown, looking at him as if she meant to coax the truth out of him whether he wished it or not.
“Ye daenae understand how difficult ye are making this,” he said.
Ava’s eyes narrowed. “Do I?”
“Nay.”
“How?”
He looked at her.Reallylooked at her. His eyes settled on the color in her face and the way she held herself still, though he could feel the tension in her.
He looked at her mouth. The set of lips he had wanted for days and denied himself for days and had not stopped wanting, even when he had hidden from her like a coward.
“By sitting there as if ye daenae ken.”
Her breath caught. Hefeltit.
“I do ken,” she said, and the softness of it reached him more deeply than if she had raised her voice. “I only wanted ye to say it.”
That landed hard. He had no defense ready.
The piano had once given him cover. The music had let him empty himself without a witness. Now the instrument sat beneath his hands and beside her body, and there was no shelter left in it.
The tower had become a trap built from every piece of him he had tried to keep separate. The telescope by the window. The piano bench. The night air. Ava in the middle of it all.
He could send her away. He still could. Stand up. Put distance back between them. Open the door. Speak like a laird and husband, and make her obey.
But he did not want to.
That thought broke free from him, and he felt a wave of desire run through him. Before he could speak again, he rose in one swift motion.
Ava looked up at him, startled, and for one second, he saw the question in her eyes. Then he bent, wrapped his hands around her arms, and lifted her from the bench.
She gave a small sound and grabbed at his shoulders. There was no struggle in it, only surprise and the instinct to hold on. Her body settled against him with a trust that nearly undid him right then and there.
He lifted her and placed her on the piano. The instrument took her weight with a low wooden shift as he set her on its closed lid. Her nightgown loosened further when she moved, and his throat tightened at the sight of her pale skin and the column of her throat laid bare for him. He stepped between her knees before reason could return.
Ava’s hands stayed on him.
“Ciaran,” she whispered.
The sound of his name on her lips shattered what restraint he had left. He didn’t think too long before he leaned in and kissed her.
He had done it with caution before, but this time… this time he was not trying to be respectful. His hand came to the side of her neck, then slid into her hair, and he took her mouth with all the want he had kept locked down since the wedding.
She answered him at once, opening for him and drawing him closer with both hands on his shoulders until their touch became urgent. He could feel the heat of her skin through the linen and wool, and could hear the quick rise and fall of her breath. He could also feel her resolve in the way she leaned into him.
The kiss deepened fast.
