Page 19 of Return to Clan Sinclair
He nodded again.
“Now you have to find him before he hurts Macrath or Virginia.”
“I do.”
“I agree with Macrath,” she said. “It wouldn’t do to tell Virginia.”
He studied her. “Why?”
“Virginia worries, and I don’t mean about her safety, but about Macrath. My brother can sometimes be rash and imprudent.”
“I find him to be measured and deliberate.”
“Then you don’t know Macrath as well as you think. He loves Virginia. When you love someone, you aren’t always measured and deliberate.”
“Is that how it was with you?”
The gazebo was suddenly too warm and he too close, even though he was on the other side of the structure.
“There are many types of love, Mr. Preston.”
“So it wasn’t.”
“I adored my husband.”
She sat there regarding him, trying to rein in her temper. He was everything she didn’t like in a man: arrogant, condescending, self-righteous, too confident. Plus, there was a look in his eyes that made a flush travel from her heels all the way up to linger on her cheeks.
Someone should tell him it wasn’t proper to look at a widow the way he was looking at her. Someone should tell him he should keep a proper expression on his face, not allow his lips to turn up on one corner as if he found the situation amusing.
Someone should also tell him she was not the kind of woman who flirted with a man she barely knew, even if the man had appeared stark naked in front of her.
He had quite a nice backside, and why on earth was she remembering that now?
“People tell you you’re right most of the time, don’t they? I’m surprised they don’t bow in front of you. Do the women all giggle and scamper about?”
He only continued to smile at her, as if her words didn’t discomfit him one bit. Or as if he knew how agitated she was, although she was certain she didn’t reveal it in any way.
“Go away, Mr. Preston. Bruce. Whichever name you prefer. Go away, leaving me to my contemplation of nature.”
“You want to be alone?” he asked.
“Yes, I most fervently do,” she said, turning and focusing her attention on a venerable oak.
One moment he was sitting across the way and the next standing in front of her, hauling her up into his arms and placing his mouth on hers.
Her lips fell open in surprise as he laid claim to her mouth. She told her arms to remain at her side. Ordered her back to stiffen. But, oh, her treacherous arms wound around his neck, and when he took a step forward, she bent backward like a sapling in a gale.
He was kissing her and she was letting him. Worse, she was participating. Her heart was furiously beating, her breath coming so fast she wondered if she’d tightened her corset too much this morning.
She was burning up. It was not yet noon yet she was desperately overheated. The sun wasn’t doing that to her. This annoying, arrogant man was kissing her into a fever.
Desire spread through her body. Joy, anticipation, the sheer delight of being alive made her tremble.
What was she doing?
She was allowing a perfect stranger to kiss her. Worse, if he pushed the issue, she might well succumb on the floor of the gazebo.
With the last of her reason she pulled back. She placed one hand against his chest, feeling his heart beating as fast as hers. Head bowed, she prayed for some type of restraint as well as the ability to speak.
