Page 74 of The Laird's Vengeful Desire
But watching Ian’s face, she found only polite enjoyment and friendship. His movements were skilled but reserved, his expression pleasant, but distant. When Olivia stumbled – cunningly on purpose – during a complex turn, he steadied her with gentle curtesy rather than intimate familiarity.
After three melodies, Ian bowed formally and escorted Olivia back toward their table. “That was lovely,” he said warmly. “Just like old times.”
“Just like old times.” Olivia echoed, though something in her voice suggested she’d been hoping for something other than nostalgia that night.
As they settled back at the table, Ian moved his chair closer to Rhona’s, angling it so they faced each other directly, rather than sitting formally around the wooded surface of the table. The change brought him close enough that she could catch the faint scent of leather and something uniquely masculine that made her pulse quicken despite her determination to remain objective.
“Well?” he asked quietly, his green eyes holding hers with challenging intensity. “Convinced yet?”
“Convinced?” Rhona’s brows shot up in disbelief. “Ian, she practically threw herself at ye!”
“Did she?” Ian’s voice carried that maddening note of amusement that made her either want to kiss him, or throttle him – she hadn’t quite decided yet. “I must have missed it.”
“Fer someone with such lovely eyes, ye are remarkably blind.” She said, the compliment slipping out before she could stop it. She dropped her voice even lower, into an urgent whisper. “The way she held on tae ye? How she kept lookin’ up at ye like ye are the answer to all her prayers? The way she–”
“The way she danced,” Ian interrupted with infuriating calm. “Like an old friend enjoyin’ herself. Naethin’ more.”
Rhona stared at him in exasperation. “Either ye are much more dimwitted than I thought, or ye are just bein’ deliberately obtuse. Which one is it?”
“Neither. I’m simply nae convinced by what ye consider tae be ‘evidence’.”
“What more proof could ye possibly need then, Laird Wallace?”
Ian was quiet for a long moment, his gaze studying her face with an intensity that made her feel suddenly exposed andvulnerable. Then, with a swift movement he pulled her chair towards him, bringing her close enough that when he leaned forward his mouth was near her ear.
“If ye truly want tae convince me,” he murmured, his breath warm against her skin, “then ye need tae show me what true infatuation looks like.”
“What?” Rhona’s heart stuttered. “I dinnae–”
“I mean,” his deep voice dropped to a low rumble that felt like it was vibrating through her bones, “that if I’m tae believe she’s in love with me, I need tae see the signs. Real signs.”
“Such as?” The words came out breathier than she’d intended.
“Such as…” Ian’s lips nearly brushed her ear as he spoke, his hot breath grazing the delicate skin, “when she looks at me, I should see her excitement, so much so that she has tae look away because she daesnae want tae show me how much I affect her.”
Without conscious thought, Rhona found herself doing exactly that – her gaze flying to meet his before skittering away like a startled cat.
“And her heart should beat furiously faster when I’m close,” Ian continued relentlessly. “Fast enough that I can almost hear it in the way she breathes.”
Rhona’s heart hammered against her throat like a wild thing trying to escape.
“And… when she says me name,” his voice was pure velvet now, dark and rich with something that made her stomach flutter, “there should be music in it. Like she’s tastin’ somethin’ sweet.”
“Ian,” Rhona whispered, and even she could hear the way his name trembled on her lips.
“And she should smell different when I’m close – like flowers after rain, or honey warmed by the sun. Her very scent should shift with excitement fer me.”
Rhona was acutely aware of the warmth blooming across her skin, the way her body seemed to be responding to his proximity in ways she couldn’t control or understand.
“And most importantly,” Ian’s voice dropped to barely above a whisper, “I should be able tae feel that love coursin’ through her blood, makin’ her blush from her toes tae the tips of her ears, like she’s been touched by fire…”
Heat instantly flooded Rhona’s face. It was so sudden and intense that she felt dizzy. Her entire body seemed to be humming from the inside out, every nerve ending alive with awareness.
“Ian,” she said shakily, pushing her chair back with enough force to make it scrape across the wooden floor. “That’s enough.”
The tavern around them continued its cheerful chaos – Athol launching into an increasing slurred ballad about a farmer’s daughter, other patrons clapping along with varying degrees of musical accuracy while the fire crackled warmly it its stone hearth. But for Rhona, the world had narrowed to the space between her and Ian, charged with a tension so thick that she could scarcely breath through it.
“Well,” Ian said quietly, his voice carrying a note of dangerous satisfaction. “That was… illuminatin’.”
