Page 58 of What a Scot Wants
Her green eyes dimmed, the accusation clearly knocking her feet out from underneath her. Ronan steeled himself against the remorse for having been the one to do it.
“You’re wrong,” she said, spinning away from him once again. “You don’t know the first thing about me. I love Haven. I love what I do there. I love who Iamthere.”
“I ken ye do. And I dunnae think ye should give it up, no’ completely. I wouldnae ask ye to. But I think it’s time ye made room in yer life for other things.”
She crossed her arms and scoffed. “Let me guess—like a husband?”
He set his palms on her hips, uncaring that the pilot might see. He waited for her to shove him and walk away again. When she didn’t, Ronan curved his grip inward and flattened his hands against her stomach.
God she felt so good tucked up against him, the soft, round swells of her arse pressed against his thighs.Stop, he ordered himself. He was getting carried away. The idea of taking Imogen to his bed had plagued him for too long, it seemed. He was almost starting to think that his new tactic might actually have an upside.
“Tell me ye havenae thought of it yerself.”
“Ronan…”
“Tell me the truth.” One of his palms covered the lap of her skirt, pressing against the space between her thighs. Turned as they were toward the corner of the basket, it was highly unlikely that the pilot could see what was happening. Not that Ronan cared. He felt all inhibitions melting away as Imogen’s heat reached him through the thin muslin and linen of her day dress.
“Ye’re already wet, aren’t ye?” he whispered in her ear. He hooked his fingers and pressed harder.
She bit off a moan. “We can’t.”
“We could.” His cock was already stirring, and he didn’t take a step back to keep Imogen from noticing. Hell, if they were alone, he’d already have her skirts around her hips and his fingers in her slick, tight channel.
Her hand came down over his. “Control yourself,” she hissed, peeling his fingers free. She threw his hand down and sidestepped him, rocking the base of the wicker basket as she stalked to the other corner.
Her reaction was exactly what he’d intended, and yet the admonishment struck him in the gut. Control himself? He thought he had been, but the disappointment he felt, the sting of her rejection, kicked like an angry mule.
Ronan took a few seconds in the corner of the basket, alone. Bold overtures and declarations would work, he knew it. He’d drive her away before the week was through. Before the engagement ball, for certain. She wouldn’t recognize his advances as anything but true and honest because hell, hedidwant her. He wouldn’t have to lie at all to gain the outcome he wanted. He waited until his arousal had reduced before he started toward Imogen.
“Forgive me,” he said, swallowing his pride and practically choking on it. “I’ve sprung this on ye too fast.”
Imogen peeled a lock of her hair from her cheek. The wind had intensified, buffeting her hat and dress. “Your change of heart is rather…surprising.”
He needed to press his suit, but he felt a bite of panic, unable to think of what more to say. Perhaps a retreat, before he advanced again.
“How is Rory?” he asked. The abrupt change in topic startled Imogen, but she looked relieved. “I’ve heard Mrs. Desmond has had to hide the grape preserves and biscuits for tea from her.”
Imogen allowed a grin, and the sight of it quickened his pulse. “I think she should teach Rory how to make them instead. She’ll root out the hiding spot in no time at all.”
She peered at him and, again, touched the ribbons on her hat. “I’ve asked her to stay on with me. I’d like to adopt her. If possible.”
It didn’t surprise him. The young girl obviously admired Imogen, and vice versa.
“She’s lucky to have ye.”
Imogen waited, as if expecting him to say more on the matter or express his concerns. After his scathing observation regarding Haven, he didn’t blame her. But Ronan didn’t have anything else to add. It was her softheartedness that had led her to be such a champion for those women she harbored. He’d already seen her protective side when it came to the girl. He would have been surprised if shehadn’tthought of a way to keep her close.
Another gust of wind pummeled the balloon, causing the colorful silk above them to ripple wildly. Imogen clung to the basket edge and held firm.
Ronan looked to the operator fussing over the burner. “Perhaps we should descend, aye? The wind is picking up—”
A loud cracking sound cut him off, and instantly the basket went into a dangerous tilt. Ronan slammed back into the wall of the basket, breath smacked from his lungs.
“Ronan!” On the other end of the basket, Imogen screamed, her feet flying out from underneath her as that side of the basket rose up into the air while Ronan’s end seemed to tilt downward. She clung to the edge, her legs flailing.
“Imogen!” He got to his feet and reached hand-over-hand up the side of the basket toward her. “Stop kicking and dunnae let go!”
The operator was on his hands and knees, crawling up the incline toward the burner. “One of the ropes must have come untethered!” he shouted, reaching for a rope hanging from the mouth of the balloon. “I have to open the vents to release the pressure and start our descent.”
