Page 4 of The Winter Laird

“Yep.” He stretched languorously, his T-shirt pulling tight over his large chest and flat stomach. Rolling his shoulders, he grinned at her. “I prefer to sleep on a couch rather than the floor.”

She rolled her eyes as she deposited her purse on the table. “I pay you a ridiculously large salary. Maybe you should invest in some furniture instead of a weekly female conquest. And why not crash at your mother’s house?” she demanded.

Colin gave her a mock-pout, which did nothing to detract from his all-American good looks. He swept her shoe off the floor and assessed her with knowing, chocolate-brown eyes.

“Her couch isn’t as comfy as yours. You seem grumpy, which is weird given that our dear Kristen Bouchement is now quite definitively Kristen Millings. Which, I might add, you would have witnessed, if you ever sat all the way through a wedding instead of skipping out before the vows.” He dangled her shoe from his finger and tapped his chin mock-thoughtfully. “Let me guess…bad night with the millionaire?” He dangled her shoe from his finger.

She just barely managed to not roll her eyes. “I’m going to bed.”

“I wasinbed before you tromped through the front door,” Colin replied. He plopped back on the couch, her shoe falling to the floor, and reached for the remote.

Brianagh snorted with disgust. “Technically, you wereincouch. Wait. Were your shoes on my couch?” she exclaimed, noting the mud-splattered boots on his feet as he propped them onto her coffee table. “Colin! Get your shoes off my table! Those boots are filthy!”

“Filthy or not, I love my Docs.” Colin smiled fondly at the well-worn boots, but he began to unlace them. “They can do more damage than those strappy things you’re wearing.”

“Shutup, Colin.”

“Nice ring. You know, smart as you are, you are damn stupid when it comes to guys,” he replied. He kicked off his boots and tossed her shoe back to her.

She whacked him with her other shoe as she walked by, aggravated that she loved him enough not to shove him onto the street. She hated when he was right—both about the ring and the strappy shoes.

“You’re notreallyserious about marrying that guy, are you?” His pitying laughter followed her into her bedroom, where she fell onto her bed and looked out the window. She twisted the ring on her finger. It felt heavy, foreign, and oddly constricting.

Soul mate. Ha.

She could love Matthew. She was sure of it. Love—well, love based in reality, she amended as she studiously avoided looking at her crammed bookshelf—was comfortable, and easy. That’s what she had with Matthew. She could talk to him about almost anything. Not many men would understand her driven nature—she was pretty ruthless when she had to be. Maybe that’s why she was initially drawn to Matthew. He was the first man, other than her smart-mouthed cousins, to respect her without making her work so hard to prove she was just as savvy, if not savvier, than he. He simply accepted that they were equals, and that was…nice.

But shouldn’t there be more than nice? That crazy desire—the need to touch, to feel, to be with that person every waking moment? A part of her longed for that connection, but she knew it wasn’t rational. She’d never felt that connection with anyone, so she sympathized for the tiny part of her that still believed in the happily-ever-after. Late at night, she would think about the kind of epic love she read about, when, even at eighty years old, a woman would still be pulled into darkened corners and kissed as though she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

So what if she didn’t have that? She couldn’t have everything. She had everything else—a thriving, successful business, a wonderful family, and now, Boston’s most eligible bachelor as a fiancé. Pining over the idea of love was childish and naïve.

Soul mates didn’t exist. Passion was fleeting, and her marriage would be built on something much more robust than that. Things like…

She paused.

Well, she would think of something. Even if his casual dismissal of her tonight made her feel more like a business acquisition than an engagement, he did still ask her to marry him. He must feel something more than friendship toward her if he was willing to pop the question. She was pleasantly surprised he did it in person, too, instead of via text.

That should’ve given her pause. The fact that it didn’t concerned her, but her phone buzzed, pulling her from her thoughts.

I miss your smile already. Dream of me.

She tossed the phone on her nightstand and nodded purposefully. Passion didn’t exist.Niceexisted. Passion was great for her dreams; it was even something that made for good reading, but really—who would want that every day? It was probably exhausting.

She was almost sure of it.

* * *

The woman saton a small wooden stool near a blazing fire set in a large hearth. She hummed tunelessly as she dug around a basket, pulling out one pouch at a time and tossing the contents into the flames, creating a quick burst of red with each addition.

“Come.”

Brianagh crossed the cold flooring and sat next to her, waiting.

The woman looked down at her and smiled. “A gift.” She took Brianagh’s hand and placed a dusting of pale-yellow powder in it. “Go on,” she whispered, her eyes reflecting the light.

Brianagh tossed the handful of powder into the fire and jumped when the flames caught it. They danced wildly, and the bright-orange burst made her eyes burn and water. She blinked quickly, not sure what she was about to see but desperate not to miss it.

She saw an outline begin to take shape—she recognized him immediately. He wasn’t as he had always been in her dreams, though; usually, he was smiling, or laughing, or there was a heat in his captivating eyes. Now his head was bowed. His hand rested lightly on his enormous sword, which held but a single sapphire in its hilt. He’d shown it proudly to Brianagh the day his clan leaders had presented it to him. He looked older than he’d ever appeared to her before, and she could feel the tension radiating from him.

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