Page 34 of A Virgin for the Icy Highlander
What she hadn’t meant to do was surprise herself in the process.
“That was…” Grace trailed off, struggling to find the words to encompass all of the sensations that were still flaring and sparking within her.
“Unacceptable,” Hunter replied flatly, his surprise vanishing into a mask of cool calm.
“What?” Her eyes widened as embarrassment brought a rush of heat to her face.
He cleared his throat. “Ibehaved unacceptably. Me actions, just now.” He stood straighter and adjusted his shirt, which had been pulled askew by her searching hands. “I apologize. Ye may leave.”
He gestured to the door, taking a few steps back to give her an open path to escape. His breathing had not yet returned to normal, and his eyes were still bright with the passion she’d witnessed such a short time ago, yet he was… dismissing her.
She didn’t know whether to be mortified or bewildered, or both.
But she wouldn’t stay where she wasn’t welcome. Her father had taught her that, and it was a lesson she held close to her heart, though perhaps not in the way he had meant her to.
“You should… probably change before you go anywhere else,” she said as she passed him, waving a still-trembling hand at his attire.
His white shirt was covered in colorful handprints and streaks of paint. His face, neck, and hair were similarly smudged, marking the places where she had touched him. He was a masterpiece—hermasterpiece—left unfinished.
He blinked and snatched a nearby blanket, approaching her once more to drape it around her shoulders. Although she noticed that he didn’t come closer than he needed to.
“As should ye,” he said, stepping away again.
It took her a second to realize what he meant, and for her eyes and mind to work together again.
Those marks on him were from her own hands, which she must have inadvertently coated in paint when she was gripping the desk in the throes of her bliss.
Glancing down, she saw a few more stripes of color on her dress, and didn’t dare to consider what the back of her dress must look like.
At least the blanket covered most of her now, but there wasn’t any blanket that could hide her dismay and embarrassment. Only leaving that room and never looking Hunter in the eye again could remedy that particular mess.
Without another word, Grace left the study, walking quickly through the maze of hallways that she was slowly becoming accustomed to.
As she walked, the thud of her footsteps provided a distraction from what had just happened—and ended. Her thoughts drifted back to something Lilian had said, and now she understood how maybe there were hidden depths beneath Hunter’s armor.
Is Lilian right? Is Hunter very capable of feeling intense emotions? Or am I making the greatest mistake of my life by considering his proposal?
Indeed, was this a breakthrough or just the first of a lifetime of disappointments that, once she was wed, she would have no choice but to accept?
Now that she’d had a taste, and he’d made it clear that she wouldn’t receive another, could she spend the rest of her life starving for more?
I wish I’d never taken a single bite.
15
The sword slammed against the sawn tree trunk with an almighty crack. Wood splintered, exploding into a shower of tiny shards that rained down onto dew-soaked earth.
Hunter braced his foot against the makeshift post and wrenched the sword free, taking a moment to catch his breath as sweat poured down his face, beading down his back, slicking his bare chest in a glistening sheen.
It had been two hours. The practice stump was hewn to bits, and it hadn’t helped at all. Nothing he did could wear him out. Nothing he did could tire him to the point of a restful, empty sleep. He should have been weary by now, but the instant a thought of Grace—of yesterday—popped into his head, his body was flooded with renewed vigor.
This is the price for me idiocy.
He plucked a stray splinter off the edge of his blade and tilted his head up toward the morning sun, shining too bright in a near-cloudless sky. It was November; it was supposed to be rainy and gloomy, not beautifully crisp and sunny. The weather wasn’t supposed to be taunting him, too.
Closing his eyes to the glare, he sucked in lungful after lungful of the fresh, cold air.
What if I hadnae come to me senses?
