Page 17 of Return to Clan Sinclair
“A cold,” she said. “Just a cold. He must have been feeling very bad but he never said anything to anyone. One night he went to sleep and simply didn’t wake up. The physician said it was pneumonia involving his heart.”
“And so you came to Scotland.”
A smile trembled on her lips. “And so I came to Scotland. Not to escape my grief, Mr. Preston, but my in-laws, all of whom think I should have been buried with my husband.”
“You’re jesting,” he said, taking a seat to her right.
“According to my brothers-in-law, I should remain a proper widow for the rest of my days.”
“They’re damn idiots if they think that,” he said.
Her eyes widened at his profanity.
“I apologize, but I can’t imagine a worse fate. What are you, in your twenties? You’ve got a long life ahead of you. Are you supposed to be dead because your husband died?”
“I’m a little older,” she said, “but I thank you for the compliment, Mr. Preston.”
“Bruce,” he said. “My name is Bruce. You must call me that, otherwise I can’t call you Ceana. It would be an inconvenience for me to have to translate your name to Mrs. Mead before I speak.”
“You are the most surprising man,” she said.
“Why? Because I say what I think?”
“Is that entirely wise, saying what you think?”
“Decidedly not,” he said, staring at her mouth. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t tell you I’ve wanted to kiss you from the moment I saw you, widow or not.”
Her fingers pressed against her mouth as if to banish any improvident comment or hide her lips from him. The first she might be able to do, but never the second. He would kiss her ear, then maybe behind it, down her neck and up again. He’d make her gasp and lose control of herself and then he’d have that lush mouth of hers.
A week, that’s how long it had been since he lost his reason. From the very first moment he saw Ceana Sinclair Mead.
She had to leave.
He was making her think things she had no business thinking. Very well, perhaps he wasn’t actuallymakingher think those things, but he shouldn’t say things like that to her. He shouldn’t make her pulse race in such a manner.
His eyes were so attractive, reminding her of a tumbler of the best Scottish whiskey with light shooting through it.
His chin was square, his throat strong, his shoulders almost too large for the white shirt he wore. She had absolutely no intention of allowing her eyes to stray below his waist in memory of what he looked like naked.
She was not a woman to engage in fantasies, and he was very much a fantasy.
“What must Virginia not know?” she asked, gratified to see his face change. The teasing grin was instantly gone and in its place were thinned lips and a flat stare.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
“Nonsense, of course you do. You and Macrath were discussing something in his library. He didn’t want to tell Virginia something and you were all set for letting her know. What was it?”
“You misheard, I’m afraid.”
She sat back against the gazebo bench and folded her arms, giving him a parental stare, one capable of freezing her daughters in place.
“You’re lying. I’m very good at ferreting out liars, and you’re lying.”
“You’re mistaken.”
“Very well, then I’ll just go to Virginia and tell her what I overheard. She’ll get it out of Macrath sooner or later.”
He actually had the effrontery to grin at her.
