Page 12 of His Beauty
He wanted to shout,I’ll no’ be disappointed! But he couldn’t. Because, ultimately, she’d be disappointed inhim.
Trying to swallow down the growl which threatened to escape at the thought of this intriguing, exasperating, enticing,terrifyingbeauty spending the night in his castle, Lyon lifted his water to his lips and gulped desperately.
Nay, he wouldn’t be disappointed in her, but rather himself.
Because with her sleeping in one of the guest rooms—Oh God, what would she wear to sleep in that big bed all by herself?—there was no way Lyonwasn’tgoing to take himself in hand and frig himself senseless.
CHAPTER 3
It was still snowing the next morning, and Bonnie was surprised to realize the thought excited her.
Merely because it meant she’d have another chance to study the artwork in Oliphant Castle, she assured herself, and nothing at all to do with the man who stalked around the castle, all broody and sweaty and glorious and rude.
Really, he’d slurped his soup last night like some kind of barbarian, but she’d been almost certain he’d done it on purpose.
Smiling, she stood in front of the large window in the guest room she’d been given, the quilt from the bed wrapped around her shoulders, and watched the snow blow past. Her feet were cold but given the state of the rest of the castle, she supposed she should be grateful she wasn’t standing on medieval rushes.
After all, she’d only meant to come for a short visit and hadn’t planned on staying overnight.
Which is why, under the quilt, she was wearing one of Lyon’s shirts. She’d slept in it last night, after a blushing Keith had delivered it. When she’d asked if it had beenhisidea, or his master’s, the poor man had stammered something unintelligible and had quickly made his escape.
So Bonnie had spent the night wrapped in warmth andhisscent, imagining it was Lyon touching her instead of his linen. Perhaps it was the memory of thatintriguingembroidery she’d examined yesterday, or the completely scandalous medieval manuscript Tiffany had recently procured for her…
But aye, perhaps she’d touched herself last night—brushing her palms against her nipples, then lower—wondering what it’d be like to feel a man’s hand there— Nay, not justany man. Bonnie had been thinking aboutLyonwhen she’d touched herself.
And strangely enough, the thought didn’t make her burn with embarrassment.
Whyshouldn’tshe imagine going to bed with a man? Just because he wasn’t her husband, just because it wasn’t proper? Why shouldn’t she appreciate a well-built man, whose growls made her thighs tremble, and her stomach twist with yearning?
She could do as she pleased because she was a strong, independent woman, dammit.
At least, she would be once she made her publishing house a success. And that would happen—hadto happen—once she published her book of Highland history. She knew there were other like-minded women out there, women who would be fascinated to learn about their foremothers’contributions to their country, and Bonnie was determined to bring that to them.
Once she did, she was certain she’d receive similar submissions, and she’d be able to support herself the way she wanted to.
And perhaps engage in an illicit affair or two.
No, just the one. There has only been one man to catch your fancy.
True.
Chin up, Bonnie tossed the quilt over the bed and defiantly pulled Lyon’s shirt over her head. Nude, she strode to the wardrobe where she’d hung up her serviceable gown the previous evening. Today, she was stuck in the castle, thanks to the snow, but her time there was limited. If she wanted access to more of the Oliphant artwork than just the medieval embroidery—no matter how fascinating that was—she needed to convince Lyon to allow her access to the library.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t at breakfast. Keith was, however, and he was a cheerful fount of information…as long as she didn’t ask about Lyon’s past or Keith’s relationship to the laird’s heir.
Pursing her lips thoughtfully, she finished off the last of her eggs. “Keith, do you think you might be able to find a folding table?”
“Aye, of course. Do ye have need of one?”
A plan was forming as she stared out the small window in the wallpaper-over-stone wall in front of her. “I think I do.”
If Lyon wouldn’t allow her access to the library, she’d grant herself access tohim. After all, her manuscript and all the artifacts were in his study, and with the snow still coming down, he was stuck inside the castle, the same as she was.
And that’s why, an hour later, she swept confidently into his study and didn’t bat an eye when his gaze snapped up from his schematics, and he growled, “What are ye doing here?”
“I am setting up my own office,” she told him breezily, then pointed imperiously to a spot in front of the window. “Over there please, Keith. I will move my own chair.”
The servant-who-was-more-than-a-servant winked at her as he manhandled the folding table into place.
