Page 19 of Sweet Home Highlander
“Trust me,leannan, if there is to be any bedding between us, ’twill be ye who will be doing the begging.”
The Gaelic word was so steeped in sex, his smirk so full of overconfident deviltry, that her knees turned into traitors. She wanted to throw a shoe at his head. His hot stare raked her body, and she might have well been stripped naked. Gracious, but his presence made her feel sheep-headed.
Aisla slumped weakly against the bed, hoping he would not notice, but she didn’t miss his gleam of triumph. “’Twill be a cold day in hell before that happens, Niall Maclaren, no matter how irresistible you think you are.”
Dimples appeared in his cheeks, making him look like the boy he’d been. “Ye think I’m irresistible?”
“I think you’re irritating.”
“Keep telling yerself that. I ken ye still feel the passion between us.”
Aye, he was right. But she was no longer a naive eighteen-year-old with stars in her eyes and girlish flights of fancy between her ears. Her cocksure husband was in for a rude awakening. This silly delay was simply a means to an end, and she had to treat it as such. Aisla was also no stranger to seduction or how to use her feminine wiles to get what she wanted. One could not live in Paris, the city of everlasting love, and not become skilled in the push and pull of attraction. She needed to turn the tide, regain advantage.
The wager!
She knew about it, buthedidn’t know that. If she had to stay here for the next few weeks, she wasn’t going to be some pawn in whatever game he was playing with Ronan.
Aisla propped her elbows on the bed, certain she’d secured his attention, before licking her lips as if she’d consumed a particularly delicious morsel of cake. His mouth tightened, and she felt a wicked pulse of satisfaction. “Care to make a wager on that?”
“What terms do ye offer?” he said, leaning forward in his chair, his voice husky.
Blast, she hadn’t expected him to capitulate so easily. Then again, hewasa man, one who was clearly fond of wagering.
Aisla racked her brains. She had no intention of seducing the cad, especially when she was in the process of betrothing herself to another. It felt too sordid. But if winning the bet meant that she could teach him a lesson, she’d do what she had to.
“If I succeed in seducing you, you’ll admit your fault in what happened to our marriage. Publically, to all of your clanspeople. And you’ll convince the duchess and Mr. Stevenson that it’s better for me to return to Paris until the divorce can be settled.”
He shifted his jaw in contemplation. “And if I seduce ye?” he asked, his voice slathering her senses like heated honey.
There was only one answer she could give that he’d agree to. “Then I will agree to the full six weeks you’ve proposed.” She swallowed. “At your side, as your wife.”
Just the idea made her feel nauseous. She couldnotlose.
“And Leclerc?” he drawled. “I hate to think what yer current lover would feel over such an arrangement.”
“We do not have that kind of relationship. However, when we marry, I will honor my vows.”
“As ye honor them now?” he asked slyly.
“A sight better than you have.”
Being here again, with him, feeling the bubbling of anger, desire, and frustration just beneath her skin…it was all so familiar. Now, after one conversation with Niall, she found herself right back in the position she’d been in years ago. Feeling frustrated and ready to burst with vexation. All she’d ever wanted was an apology from him; for him to admit he’d wronged her. It would have been better if it had come while she’d still been at Maclaren, when there had been the chance to save their marriage.
At least now, if she managed to win, she would have her apology. Knowing the wager he had with Ronan, she also intended to be the coldest, thorniest woman imaginable for the next six weeks, so much so that Niall would pack her trunks himself and have them loaded into the carriage at dawn on the final day. If she managed to seduce him by winningherscandalous wager, she and Julien could be on their way from Maclaren within days. Maybe even hours.
With newfound determination, she assessed her opponent, still leaning forward in the chair by the hearth, his thick forearms propped on his thighs, his eyes hitched onto hers. They slipped, coasting down the front of her wrapper, and Aisla saw the subtle shift of his hips as he adjusted his seat in the chair. He’d accused her of still feeling passion for him, and he wasn’t wrong. But he felt it, too. And that weakness could be to her advantage.
The notion of seducing him shouldn’t have made guilt churn so slow and torturously in the pit of her stomach. But she had Julien and the ailing Lady Haverille to think of. While the idea of Julien taking a mistress didn’t bother her, she simply had no interest in anything physical for herself. That yearning had died six years ago, along with her heart.
Until now…when the stirrings of desire had shocked her.
They are memories,nothing more.
Julien was a better choice. A safer choice. They would lead separate, fulfilling, happy lives. They might lack for passion, but Julien also wasn’t a drunken liar. The more she thought about the careless way Niall had treated their marriage vows, the more determined Aisla became. She was no longer some tender, unworldly maiden to be manipulated and maneuvered. She would beat Niall at whatever game he was playing, and leave with her head held high.
“What is it that’s going through yer head right now?” Niall asked, standing up from the chair. Aisla’s kept her gaze level with his, though she was still able to see the swell of his arousal. Perhaps she could strike swiftly and end this now.
“I’m only considering how we can seal this agreement,” she replied, her tone light.
