Page 32 of The Ruthless Highlander's Hellion
“This mess,” she said. “The schemin’, the politics, the bein’ used like a pawn.”
She rubbed her arms as though chilled, though the kitchen was warm. “I miss home,” she said after a moment. “I miss when things were simple.”
His brow furrowed. “What do ye miss about it?” he asked.
Alexandra smiled faintly, a flicker of something warmer breaking through the storm cloud in her eyes. “Dancin’,” she said. “We used to dance in the evenin’, after supper. Nothin’ grand—just music, laughter, movin’ around the old hall.”
Nicholas blinked, surprised. Of all the things he’d imagined she might say, that hadn’t been one. “We’ve an empty room,” he said with a shrug. “Ye can dance there as much as ye like.”
Before she could answer, he stepped forward and caught her arm. “Come.” His grip was firm but not rough. Down the corridor they went, torchlight flickering on the stone walls, until he pushed open a heavy door at the end.
The room inside was large, high-ceilinged, and mostly bare except for a tall cabinet, a low bench by the wall, and a cloth-covered bench.
A grand window overlooked the hills beyond, the moonlight casting silver shapes across the wooden floor. The hearth at one end still held warmth from earlier coals. Nicholas stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter.
He watched Alexandra’s face lit up with something close to joy as she stepped across the threshold. She tilted her head and began to hum a tune, soft and sweet. With a smile, she gathered her skirts in both hands and twirled. Her feet moved lightly on the floor as she spun and dipped, graceful and unhurried.
Nicholas leaned against the stone wall, arms folded, watching her. The sight of her—hair loose and tumbling down her back, waist curving just so, her ankles delicate as glass—made his blood run hot. She looked like a dream, something wild and untouchable, laughing softly to herself as she danced. He swallowed hard, jaw tightening, willing himself to remain still.
She danced across the floor. His eyes devoured her. When she spun toward him again, she paused.
“Ye’re starin’,” she teased. “Do ye always watch, but never join?”
He grunted. “I daenae dance.”
She grinned and reached for his hand before he could protest. “Ye do now.” Her fingers laced with his, warm and sure, and she pulled him toward her.
He resisted at first, stiff and uncertain. But her laughter wrapped around him like a spell, loosening the tight grip of control he always kept. Her other hand found his shoulder, and before he knew it, they were moving. It was no formal step, just a slow, teasing sway, bodies close, breath shared.
She tilted her head back, smiling up at him. “See? Ye’re nae half bad.” Her chest brushed his, sending a jolt down his spine. “Dancin’ is good for the soul.”
Nicholas’s hands moved to her waist, strong and possessive, holding her just a little too close. Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t pull away. Her body moved against his, hips brushing, skirts rustling, and he felt his restraint snap taut like a frayed rope. Every shift of her form was fire, and he was a man caught in the blaze.
She laughed again, breathless, cheeks flushed. “Ye’re starin’ again.”
“Aye,” he growled. “Can ye blame me?”
Her smile faltered, just for a second, as something heavier slid between them—heat and want, thick and real.
Nicholas brushed a dark curl behind her ear, fingers grazing her cheek. “Ye shouldnae tempt a man like that, lass.”
Her voice was just above a whisper. “And what would a man like ye do?”
His eyes burned into hers, his answer caught somewhere between warning and promise.
“Things I shouldnae,” he said.
And yet still, he didn’t let go.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Alexandra's hands rested on his shoulders, but it was her heart that trembled most.
She felt him—his heat, his strength, his hunger—and her traitorous body leaned closer instead of away. Every nerve screamed against her better judgment, but her skin still tingled where he touched her.
She hated herself for it, hated the way her body responded to him like dry grass to flame. He’d taken her from her mission, held her as a captive, and yet—here she was, drawn to him like a moth to ruin.
Her pride told her to pull away, to scream at him, to remind herself of all the reasons she ought to despise him.
