Page 21 of The Cruel Highlander's Bride
“There ye are,” Magnus drawled from across the room.
He had changed since this morning and was sitting comfortably in a large armchair by the fireplace. A glass of whiskey sat untouched next to him, as did an elaborate table laden with food. He patted his lap in an invitation.
A nervous laugh escaped Ciara’s lips as she took the seat across from him. He watched her in confusion but didn’t say anything else. She had thought he was kidding. Was she supposed to sit on his lap? She wasn’t a child.
Ciara was in over her head. She didn’t understand the dynamic between the two of them anymore, nor did she know how to act. She’d never had a fiancé before, and she’d certainly never had a man who evoked this level of lust in her. Not knowing what was expected of her was an unfamiliar and unwelcome feeling.
“How was the rest of yer day?” he asked in that delicious voice of his.
He wasn’t saying anything provocative, but it still elicited a reaction from her body.
She wiped her clammy palms on her skirt nervously.
“Aye, very good,” she replied, looking everywhere but at him.
They were in his sitting room, and it was sinfully decadent. Plush fabrics and rich colors filled the room. Ciara hid a small smile as her gaze wandered over the walls and furniture.
“I like to be comfortable,” Magnus grumbled when he saw her take in the room.
“I didnae think ye’d be so posh, Me Laird,” she said in jest.
He mumbled something about it all being very masculine. With a smile, Ciara’s gaze finally met his. The intensity she found in his deep, soulful green eyes had her immediately looking away. She cleared her throat but couldn’t think of anything to say.
The silence stretched out, and with each moment, Ciara grew increasingly uncomfortable. She could still feel the weight of Magnus’s eyes on her, and that heat had her fidgeting in her chair. Maybe if she continued pretending to be enraptured by the roaring fire, he would look away.
“What do ye think of the castle so far?” Magnus asked.
“Aye, it’s lovely,” Ciara choked out. She should have asked about his day or said literally anything, but nothing came out of her mouth.
“And ye’re settlin’ in well?”
“Mhmm.” She nodded.
God, she was sweating. Was it warm in here? Maybe she needed to move away from the fire—that would at least give her body something else to do.
Just as she was about to move to the sofa across the room, Magnus spoke again.
“Would ye like to get some air with me? It’s quite stuffy in here,” he asked.
“Aye, aye, please!” Ciara exclaimed, jumping on that idea immediately.
Some air was exactly what she needed right now. Fresh air could clear her head of whatever Magnus was doing to her. Maybe she’d even be able to look at him and speak.
“Maybe a picnic down by the lake?” he suggested, rising from his armchair and crossing the small space between them.
He reached out a hand to pull her to her feet.
“Oof,” she grunted.
Either she was cursed or clumsy because she stumbled a little and landed right against his broad chest. Her hands, acting of their own accord, flattened against his muscles. They might have roamed a little more than necessary, but they were really there to steady her.
Magnus had caught her easily, his arms wrapping around her back. He looked down at her through his eyelashes, his green eyes piercing her soul, that intense gaze rooting her to the spot. The feeling of his body, warm against her, was addictive. She wanted to stay curled up in this position all night, the heat no longer oppressive but comforting.
His large hands on her back were a small taste of the way she wanted him to touch her. She wanted his hands to roam freely over her body, but now they simply held her close.
Lost in the sensations of his hands on her, she silently urged him to move, to touch her. Everything. She wanted to feel everything.
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