Page 57 of What a Scot Wants
“I don’t feel anything, and neither do you,” she replied with a complete lack of conviction.
Ronan smirked. “Ye’ve felt what I want a few times now, lass. And whether ye want to admit it or no’, I’ve felt the evidence on ye as well.”
The memory of his hand under her skirt and between her thighs at the opera, her warm, wet clasp as he pushed inside her, stroking her to a shattering release, made his groin grow tight. He didn’t have to put on the strained voice when he spoke next.
“I ken what desire looks like. What it feels like. Ye want me as much as I want ye.”
Imogen’s eyes flared, and she turned away, facing the long drop to the earth below. She sucked in a breath, as if remembering where they were, and whipped back around. Ronan kept his place, his arms reaching to brace her against the wall of the basket.
“Think of the benefits, Imogen. If we were to leave off with these games and marry, we’d never have to stop. We’d never have to hold back from the things we want most.”
“The things I want most involve my life in Edinburgh. They involve Haven.”
“They include me as well. Say it. Admit it. Ye’re too stubborn of a woman to lie to either of us.”
The balloon’s silk caught an updraft of wind, and though the basket, large enough for at least a dozen more passengers, was on four long leading ropes staked to the ground below, they were all tossed to the side. Imogen yelped as Ronan set his feet apart and took her by the shoulders, steadying her. She shook his hands off.
“Fine. If you want me to admit it, then I will. I do…” Her eyes drifted past his shoulder to the balloon pilot, and she lowered her voice. “I want you. Physically. That is all. But I’m not going tomarryyou just so we can…we can…”
He leaned closer to her ear. “Fuck.”
Imogen didn’t shove him. She didn’t stomp his foot or slap him or call him a degenerate. She simply stared into his eyes, her own bright and questioning. For a moment, he worried if she had somehow stumbled onto his tactic. He’d already played the coarse ruffian, though, and she was too smart to think he’d fall back on it now.
Then again, he wasn’t reallyplaying.
He didn’twantto marry. He was simply laying out the advantages if they chose to.
“You want to marry me so we can sleep together without any qualms?” she asked. “A marriage based on sex?”
He put his hands into his pockets and shrugged, allowing a little smirk to play at the corner of his mouth. “Marriages have been based on less exciting things in the past.”
A wash of color stung her cheeks as she set her jaw and well and truly glared. “I am not a harlot,” she whispered through gritted teeth.
“I wasnae calling ye one,” he replied, guilt lancing his stomach. “Ye’re no’ a harlot for wanting a man in yer bed, Imogen.”
“You assume too much. Just because I responded to your advances—”
“Responded?Tomyadvances?” Ronan checked his voice and shadowed Imogen as she walked away, toward the corner of the basket. She crossed her arms and peered out over the city’s horizon beyond the trees. “Ye practically planted yerself in my arms at the opera, if I recall.”
Her shoulders tightened, and Ronan cursed himself. He wasn’t supposed to be antagonizing her. Fighting only seemed to put them on the same playing field, each of them battling for the upper hand. He needed Imogen to believe he truly wanted to marry her, and with any hope, she’d do as he suspected: run.
“Ye responded to me because ye feel the same need that I do. Ye light my blood on fire, Imogen.” He stood at her back, bent forward so his lips were at her ear. “When ye’re angry, when ye’re laughing, when ye’re just standing there, looking so damned beautiful.”
Ronan’s chest felt tight, his pulse hard in his throat. These words…where were they coming from? He hadn’t planned any of them. But they felt right. And better still, they weren’t lies. He didn’t want to lie to her.
“Stop, Ronan,” she said, touching her hat nervously.
“Why?”
“Because I’m not going to change my mind. I’ve spent the last several years helping steer women in the right direction, to know what they want and to not allow anyone to stand in their way. Haven is my purpose. What kind of hypocrite would I be if I gave it all up because of a fleeting attraction?”
He’d expected this response, and he let out a sigh of relief that he’d been right to wager on it. Still, he needed to push her.
“Haven is yerexcuse, Imogen.”
She elbowed him in the stomach as she whipped around to glare at him. “What do you mean by that?”
“I think ye hide behind Haven. Ye use it as a shield, the women, too, to no’ have to face whatever it is ye’ve been avoiding. It’s time to stop.”
