Page 56 of Beloved Enemy
She looked around wildly for a second, her breath quick and uneven, before her gaze landed on him.
“Charlotte, what—?”
“Jeez, you scared the crap out of me,” she accused at the same time.
“What happened that ye’ve been laid low?”
“Laid low? What? No, I laiddown. I must have fallen asleep—”
“Why would ye...?” He scowled and rose to his feet, annoyed at having been nearly frantic with fright over her.
“Well, there’s nowhere to sit,” she explained. “And I kept spinning around, afraid to miss something, anything that might be...I don’t know, time-travel-ly.... But when I laid down, I could see everything all around me without spinning.”
“God’s bluid, Charlotte,” he seethed. “Ye just took years off my life.”
She winced and apologized in a small voice. “Sorry.”
Sighing, Reid reached out his hand to her, which she accepted, allowing him to pull her to her feet.
Absently, she brushed off her bottom and said, “Obviously, nothing happened. I’m still here.”
Reid could not say if she were aggrieved, resigned, or even if any favorable emotion tainted her voice.
“But that’s enough for today,” he told her. “We’ll return to Kingswood now.”
“No. I can’t,” she argued, shaking her head. “I’m not leaving until I find a way back. I need more time.”
Reid’s gaze was hard, unyielding. “And what will ye do if ye canna find yer way back today? Camp here alone until ye do? 'Tis madness, Charlotte. Ye canna stay here by yerself. It’s nae safe.” Absently, he lifted his hand and pulled a leaf free from her wind-blown hair, where it clung to the tresses spilling over her shoulder.
Charlotte recoiled slightly, grabbing her hair and holding it protectively against her chest. She shot him a sharp look, her fingers twisting in the strands, as if warding him off. “I don’t need your help, Reid,” she muttered, her tone edged withdefiance. “Nothing has happened yet, but that doesn’t mean it won’t.”
For a moment, silence hung between them, the tension thick as the wind whipped around them both.
“Ye canna stay here by yourself,” he ground out. “I willna allow it.”
“Well, newsflash: you’re not the boss of me,” she shot back. “I can make my own decisions, and I don’t need you telling me what I can and can’t do.”
“Aye, ye can make yer own decisions,” he agreed, his tone deceptively calm. “But when ye make foolish ones, I’ll nae abide by them.”
Her temper flared. “And who are you to decide what’s foolish? Frankly, I don’t need you toabideby anything—"
Before she could finish, something inside him snapped. Without thinking, Reid closed the distance between them in a swift, forceful movement, his hand cupping her cheek. Her skin was warm beneath his rough palm, and for a split second, she stilled. His thumb brushed her cheek, and then, without a word, he bent his head and claimed her lips.
The kiss was not gentle—it was driven by frustration, need, and something deeper that he couldn’t quite grasp. The feel of her mouth against his was all-consuming, sending a shock of heat through him. She stiffened at first, but soon enough she responded. Her hands clutched the front of his tunic, and he felt her give in, her body melting against his.
Reid’s mind whirled, but he couldn’t think. Couldn’t focus on anything but the heat of her, the taste of her. This wasn’t about proving a point or diverting her. This was about Charlotte—everything she’d become to him, everything he hadn’t wanted to admit.
Just as suddenly as he’d begun, he pulled away, his breath ragged, the warmth of her kiss lingering on his lips. His eyeslocked onto hers, dark and unreadable, and he saw a wee bit of confusion in her distracted gaze. His heart pounded in his chest, but outwardly, he kept his expression hard, controlled.
Charlotte blinked, her lips parted in surprise, her breath as unsteady as his.
And then her brows lowered. “Did you just kiss me to shut me up?”
“Aye, I did,” he replied without hesitation, his tone matter-of-fact.
He separated himself from her and claimed her hand, turning to lead her back down the mountain.
Charlotte went along willingly. Possibly she was furious, humiliated, and more than a little flustered by how easily he had disarmed her with that kiss. In all probability, she wanted to argue, to insist that she could take care of herself, but she would know deep down that he was right, that staying on the mountain alone was a dangerous idea.
