Page 22 of A Virgin for the Icy Laird
How could she say such a thing in such a manner under such circumstances? They were alone, man and woman, in the cold hours of the night, where temperament edged toward the unsaid.
She possessed no sense of self-preservation. She was already angled in a way that accentuated her curves. The flimsy fabric clung to her breasts and flared around her hips.
A woman did not look more curvaceous than when she was pressed against a surface. She was a masterpiece, ignorant of her own allure.
Did she even understand what she had just done or how she appeared to him? She ought to be more circumspect.
“Ye should be careful what ye say to a man in a quiet room.” He looked at her hungrily.
“I am only readin’, me Laird.”
If she actually was reading, it was about time she reached the chapter that dictated women shouldn’t be in the presence of a man in improper attire.
Until then, he could not compel his feet to move.
He stood beside her chair longer than he should have, leaning over her shoulder. She was still reading the chapter on gloves, which momentarily drew his attention to her pinkening finger. As he stared at silken buttons painted on the page, her candle melted to its stub, flickering its last light.
They both were rooted to the spot, feeling the weight of the moment.
Adair tilted his head and saw her eyes darken. He was so close that he could smell the scent of her skin. He was suddenly hungry for a sweet treat.
He had not fought a greater battle than that day.
“Ye should be more careful around men, Emily,” he cautioned. “Ye may find yerself biting off more than ye can chew.”
“I have never been the greedy sort, me Laird,” she replied. “I daenae put meself in situations I cannae leave.”
He curled his hands into fists to keep himself from touching her. “We shall see.”
With those final words, he left as though the very devil was on his tail.
6
Emily closed the book, pressed it to her chest, and breathed out.
Adair MacDonnell is overwhelming.
She did not linger on that thought, only rose from her seat and left the library. She padded through the hallways till she found her chambers.
Inside, Elize was waiting for her, curled up by the hearth between two chairs. They did not say anything to one another as she crossed the room. If Elize was aware of her presence, she showed no signs of it.
Quietly, Emily retrieved her latest work from beneath her pillow—a white-and-blue stocking she had started knitting the other night—then settled where the room was the brightest.
“Where have ye been?” Elize asked hoarsely. She rose slowly, her eyes heavy-lidded. Carpet marks lined the side of her face.
Emily suspected she’d fallen asleep.
“I was reading in the library.” She turned toward the hearth and placed her basket of yarn beside her.
She could not meet her sister’s eyes, lest Elize see the blush lingering in her cheeks since Adair had left the library.
She did not want to think back to the library. Something had transpired between them, and it was dangerous to try to name it. The way he had looked at her, the way he had hovered behind her, his breathing when he had leaned over her shoulder and paused to… count her lashes? He had stared for a while.
Heat rose in her neck, and she shook the images from her head.
Elize’s narrowed eyes. She wanted to question her; her lips were pursed as she thought up the words. Emily waited, dreading them. Were it not for her inner turmoil, she could have easily made up a lie.
But then Elize seemed to decide against it. She lay back on the carpet, pulled her hair out from under her, and smoothed it. “Ye shouldnae roam about alone. We daenae yet ken if it’s safe to do so.”
