Page 10 of His Savage Sweet

Of Anna, and the way she’d looked when I first saw her, studying her pastry dough. Of the way I’d stopped ordering dessert, despite my love of sweets, because my first whiff of cinnamon sugar after her had damn well brought me to my knees. Of the way she had looked when I last saw her, sprawled out on the table, her hands still stroking herself gently.

I growled, hated to be reminded of the empty feeling which had accompanied my flight from the kitchen that night.

“Ye can be angry, but I was nominated to come talk to ye.” Findlay shrugged and crossed his arms in that closed-off way of his. “Or rather, I missed dinner last night too, and Rickard oh-so-lovingly nominated me.”

Talking to me is that bad? Aye, perhaps it was…

From the corner of my eye, I watched my brother take a deep breath. “Spit it out,” I growled.

“We’ve never seen ye this bothered. I’ve never seen ye skip so many meals—”

“I’m eating,” I corrected him.

But he scoffed. “Pub fare down by the docks? That hardly counts as food.”

Damn. He was right. I missed the finer foods the castle kitchens provided. But how could I eat food she might’ve prepared?

Findlay took another deep breath. “So. Who is she?”

What? Was he reading my mind?

I whipped around and scowled.

When he saw my expression, Findlay merely shrugged, his dark eyes glinting with warning. “Calm down, Wulf. It’s just a question, and ye’ll no’ find a sparring partner in me.”

“Pity,” I muttered, turning away again, wondering how I could get out of this conversation. “Ye need a good beating.”

My brother ignored that. “There’s nothing so important ye’d stop eating the food we all ken ye love. Unless ye’ve fallen in love and—”

I laughed.

It wasn’t a nice laugh—more like a bark—but it shut him up. “Love?” I slammed my wrist-wrappings into the leather satchel I’d take down to the barracks later. “Love? I barely ken the girl! I dinnae love her.”

I’d only been balls-deep in her, only had the most intense orgasm of my life inside her. I’d spent inside her! What kind of dobber did that without knowing shite about a woman?

I’d just taken one look at her and had to have her. And I’d had her, right enough. I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about how amazing it’d been to have her, right there in the kitchen. I’d had her, and spent in her, and goddamn that had been stupid. What if I’d planted my seed in her?

The thought of Anna’s body swelling with child—my child—froze my anger. A baby. I’d never before had any interest in kids, much less having my own…but I had to admit that making a baby with Anna suddenly seemed like a brilliant idea.

Made me a little breathless.

“Would ye like to?”

Findlay’s quiet question startled me, and I shook my head in confusion. Like to have a baby with her? Then I realized he was talking about knowing her, loving her. The last thing I’d said aloud.

Would I like to get to know Anna better?

Despite my confusing reaction to her? Despite the fact I’d been avoiding her—avoiding any reminder of her—for two weeks?

Would I like to get to know the real her, to try to understand why she had this unnerving control over me? Would I like the chance to maybe go balls-deep inside her again?

Fook, aye.

Findlay sighed, obviously not hearing my inner monologue. “I dinnae ken who this woman is, brother, but ye’re hurting for her. So invite her to dinner—no’ with the family, for the love of God. Take her someplace intimate, woo her. Find out if ye’ve got something in common besides the obvious lust I can see written all over yer face.”

“Woo her?” I choked out.

“Aye. Find out if ye’re compatible outside the bedroom.”

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