Page 50 of Wanted By the Wicked Highlander

In the sudden, enclosed chaos of the storm, the physical distance between her and Sebastian transformed. The wooden stall gate was between them, but only just. His arm ran along the mare’s neck, her hand at the mare’s jaw, and there was perhaps a single foot of charged, warm air separating her fingers from his forearm.

She did not move her hand back.

He did not move his.

Siobhan blew out a long, shuddering breath, dropping her head a fraction as the rigid line of her neck eased.

“She trusts ye,” Alba said. It came out quieter than she intended, the absolute roar of the rain forcing her voice down to carry.

“She’s learnin’ to.” His eyes remained fixed on the mare. “It takes time.”

Alba looked at the side of his face. She tracked the hard line of his jaw. The iron lantern above the stall swung in a sudden draft from the eaves, throwing the amber light across both of them in a slow, shifting arc.

Outside, the storm drove itself against the stable walls. The stable door rattled violently in its heavy frame. Neither of them looked at it.

“She nearly threw me the first week,” Alba said. Her fingers moved slightly, a slow stroke along the mare’s cheekbone. She felt, rather than saw, Sebastian’s intense attention shift toward the tiny movement. “The first winter after Ewan died. I came out here in the pitch dark because I couldnae sleep and I thought ridin’ would help.” She kept her eyes locked on Siobhan. “She put me straight into the fence post.”

“Were ye hurt?”

“Bruised. Mostly me pride.” A short pause. “I came back the next mornin’.”

“Of course ye did.”

The utter simplicity of his words moved through her veins in a way she had no useful place for.

His forearm was terrifyingly close to her fingers. She was aware of it. They were completely alone, and the storm had sealed the stable door as thoroughly as an iron lock.

Siobhan shifted her weight, pressing slightly into Sebastian’s large hand. The movement brought his arm a half-inch closer to hers.

Alba looked at his hands. The calloused knuckles. The vast breadth of his palm flat against the dark bay coat. The rolled linen sleeve pushed back, showing the corded muscle beneath weather-darkened skin that had gone completely still themoment she’d laughed, and had not entirely resumed its ease since.

She should step back from the gate. She was going to step back from the gate.

"Ye're nae movin'," she said.

"Neither are ye."

"I asked first."

"Ye did nae ask anything." His eyes stayed on the mare, but his voice had dropped. "Ye made an observation."

"Fine." Her chin lifted a fraction. "Why are ye nae movin', Sebastian?"

A long pause stretched between them, filled only by the mare's breathing and the rain hammering the roof.

"I havenae worked that out yet," he said finally.

The rain drove harder against the roof, a deafening sheet of water.

Chapter Sixteen

He had not meant to look at her when she laughed.

It had happened before he could foresee it, the sound arriving first, low, unguarded and entirely unplanned. His eyes had moved to her face instinctively. He no longer had control over his subconscious.

He looked away immediately. He snapped his gaze back to the horse, to the long, familiar motion of his hand along Siobhan’s neck, focusing entirely on the safe and manageable problem of a frightened animal during a storm.

It was too late.