Page 23 of The Ruthless Highlander's Hellion
Nicholas merely grunted in reply.
After Marcus left, the room fell quiet again. Nicholas drifted to the window, arms still folded, but his gaze now drawn beyond. The courtyard below shimmered in sunlight, and there she was—Alexandra—her skirts bustling, laughter on her lips. Charlie darted around her with a grin that could melt any hardened man’s heart.
He froze, caught by the sight. She had her hands out, chasing the boy gently as he squealed with delight. Every gesture, every look, was full of warmth and ease. She looked… motherly.
A strange ache twisted in his chest, sudden and unwanted. She wasn’t just beautiful—she was good. Gentle, patient. Everything Charlie had lost.
His boy needed more than a father with a blade and a bitter heart. Could Alexandra be that someone? Or was he just a fool dreaming again?
Nicholas turned from the window with a breath he hadn’t meant to hold. The silence now felt louder than before. He tried to shake off the image of her hands in Charlie’s hair, but it clung stubbornly. One day, the boy would need a mother again—and Nicholas couldn’t stop thinking that maybe… just maybe, she could be her.
"Enough of this nonsense, there's work to be done," he said as he sat down at his desk and began to write reports on parchment.
Hours passed as he worked. Candlelight danced across the reports scattered on his desk. His ink-stained fingers hovered over the parchment, but the words blurred, unreadable and unwanted. His thoughts strayed—again—to her. With a grunt of frustration, he crumpled the parchment in his fist and flung it aside.
He shoved back from the desk, the chair scraping harshly against the stone floor. Standing now, muscles tense, he cursed beneath his breath and paced once. Twice. Then he strode to the door. He’d had enough—he was going to find her and end this maddening silence between them.
The halls were dimly lit, torches hissing in their sconces, the quiet of the night pressing down like a weight. His boots struck the floor with purpose, every step echoing down the corridor. Hepassed a maid who bowed her head and scurried away without a word. He didn’t slow—his direction was set.
But before he reached her chamber, he caught a flicker of movement just ahead. A swish of a skirt, the soft hush of slippered feet. Alexandra. She was walking alone, head down, hands clasped tight before her as if she were lost in her own thoughts.
She looked up and froze when she saw him. Her face flushed instantly, pale cheeks blooming red beneath his gaze.
“M-me laird,” she stammered, taking an uncertain step backward. He didn’t stop—he stalked toward her like a predator, hungry and unashamed.
He cornered her before she could flee, his hand planting firmly on the door beside her head. His body caged hers, heat radiating between them, breath mingling in the narrow space.
“Why are ye avoidin’ me, lass?” he growled, his voice low and rough.
Her lips parted, but no words came for a moment. She blinked up at him, trying to find her voice, her spine pressed flat to the wooden panel behind her.
“Because…” she swallowed, trembling, “because what happened… it shouldnae happen again.”
His jaw clenched at her words, and something sharp flashed in his eyes. “Shouldnae, ye say?” he bit out. “I kissed ye, aye, and I regret nae a damn second of it. But now ye act like I’ve cursed ye.”
“I’m tryin’ to do what’s right,” she said, voice shaking but eyes still steady on his. “We should both ken better. This… this cannae go further.”
His hand dropped from the wall to the curve of her waist, fingers splaying across her side as if he meant to brand her. He leaned in until his breath warmed the shell of her ear.
“Little birdie,” he murmured, voice dark with promise, “ye’re in me territory—and here, what I say is the law.”
Then he bit her ear, not hard, just enough to make her gasp. She trembled beneath him, her hands rising to clutch his tunic without thought. He lingered just a second longer, inhaling her scent—wildflowers and firelight—before pulling away. His smirk curved slow and wicked as he stepped back.
She stayed frozen against the door, lips parted, eyes wide and dazed. His gaze lingered over her before he turned on his heel without another word, the sound of his boots muffled now in the corridor’s hush. He didn’t look back, though every step felt heavier than the last. Desire still thrummed through him like wildfire.
But as he strode away, a bitter thought bit at his pride.
Fool. I've lost control again—let her into me mind. She's a storm, a sweet little temptress, and I'm fool enough to stand in the rain with arms wide open.
He clenched his jaw, hating how easily she unraveled him. She didn’t belong to him. And for her sake, he needed to remember that. No matter how much he wanted to forget.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Alexandra’s heart thundered in her chest, a frantic rhythm that refused to calm. She pressed a hand against her bodice, trying to slow her breathing as she leaned against the corridor wall. Nicholas's scent still clung to her—earth and leather and something darker, something male. The memory of his whisper curled hot in her belly.
She should hate him for it—for cornering her, for speaking to her as if she were his to claim. But instead, her body had betrayed her, drawn to him with an instinct she could neither explain nor deny. He unsettled her, pulled at something buried deep, a desire long locked away. And that, more than anything, left her shaken.
With trembling fingers, she straightened her skirts and turned down the hall, walking in the opposite direction from where he'd gone.
