Page 18 of Sweet Home Highlander
He meant Dougal Buchanan, of course. Aisla tensed with the urge to fling up her hands and scream that she’d never done any such thing. That she’d never lied to him or broken her vows. With Dougal Buchanan or anyone else. Yet he’d never believed her when she’d claimed as much. She could only presume someone else had been telling him she was unfaithful. Someone else hedidtrust.
“I’m finished trying to convince you of anything,” she said quietly. “It’s clear you only want to believe the lies that have been fed to you.”
Aisla watched him…this proud man she’d exchanged vows with a lifetime ago, and she understood what she hadn’t then in the disaffection of his expression and the flatness of his words. He’d been scarred by pain, too. She hadn’t been the only casualty of their meteoric love. They’d been too young, consumed by the passions of youth and folly. It was a wonder they hadn’t destroyed each other. Though, in a way, they had.Shecould never love again. And he’d become a hard, irascible man.
He expelled a breath, and with a brief shake of his head, glanced away. “It doesnae matter.”
Aisla reached out an arm toward him. “Itdoesmatter. It matters because you have to see that me being here for any length of time is ludicrous. Surely your solicitor can get it done without me being underfoot? This cannot be easy for you, either.”
He eyed her, his gaze raking hers. “What’s that?”
“Having me here after all this time.”
He walked toward the cold hearth, stooping to stir the warm embers. “Nae, it’s no’ convenient. But ’tis a matter of weeks, Aisla. A few weeks for the freedom that ye crave. And if ye recall, before my mother interrupted us ’twas a few weeks I asked of ye in order for me to give ye the divorce. Ye see,wife? ’Tis fate.”
“I don’t believe in fate,husband.”
His gaze fastened to her. “What are ye so worried about? Are ye so afraid that ye’ll succumb to me in such a short time?”
Succumb to him?
“I’m not afraid of that.”
“I think ye are.”
She thought of the wager she’d overheard, knowing it was his motivation, and felt her frustration and anger swell. “And I think you overestimate your charms.”
His chin angled toward her over his shoulder, his sudden smile making her doubt the veracity of her own words. And her will. God, no man should have a smile that sinful and full of decadent promise. She turned and flounced back toward the bed, and instantly regretted her path. The recollection of what they’d done in that bed—tangled sheets, tangled limbs, and utterly sated bodies—tore through her.
She spared him a glance, only to see that his eyes, too, were also locked on the bed. Her thighs felt like jelly, her pulse hammering in her veins.
“I ken my own skill,” he drawled. “Especially where ye’re concerned.”
“Is that so?” she replied, resenting his knowing tone and the subsequent tingle that wound its way down her spine. She cleared her suddenly dry throat and glanced to the room where Pauline slept. “There’s nothing here that I haven’t seen before. Trust me, Niall, I’ve learned that life with you doesn’t stretch beyond the boundaries of heartache and despair.”
“I see yer tongue hasnae lost its sting.”
Niall unfolded his long body after coaxing a small flame to life in the hearth and relaxed himself into a nearby chair. He was dressed in riding clothes, which meant he’d been awake for a while. His boots were dusty and his shirt open at the neck. Aisla didn’t recall his skin at his throat being so bronzed as if he labored outdoors on a regular basis. Idly, she wondered whether the healthy color extended past the indent of his collar.
Niall tented a slow eyebrow, and Aisla dragged her eyes away, a blast of heat scorching her cheeks at being caught staring at him.
“I have a life in Paris,” she snapped, her brain going blank for a second. “I can’t abandon it for weeks on end.”
“I think ye’re lying to yerself.”
“About what?”
He drew two knuckles lazily across the curve of his bottom lip. Warmth prickled in her chest and shot straight to her thighs, but at least it didn’t rush to her face, alerting him of the effect his words had on her. His voice lowered into a growl so seductive that her bare toes dug into the thick pile of the Aubusson rug. “About no’ being afraid.”
“You are wrong. I am not one of your lightskirts, Niall,” she replied, proud her voice remained calm. “Nor do I crave your attentions in that way.”
“Ye used to love my…attentions.”
Niall’s eyes tapered to brilliant blue slits that speared the distance with lethal precision. God, he could slay with those eyes. How could any normal-blooded woman be immune? Though he had not moved an inch from his position in the chair, Aisla felt the press of the bed on the backs of her legs as if he had leaned into her with the full length of his body. Her mouth parted on a gasp, her nipples tautening beneath her night rail and her legs trembling. Her eyes dipped to the noticeable bulge between his hips that was outlined indecently by the soft buckskin, and she swallowed convulsively before wrenching her gaze away.
He’s doing it for a wager, you idiot.
“A lot has changed,” she said. “Let’s not play games. I have no wish to bed you, even if you begged on your knees.”
