Page 18 of The Highlander's Fake Wife
Olivia froze at the laird’s subtle shift in tone. No longer the roaring ocean, but the calm, glass-like surface.
He rolled his neck and rubbed it afterwards, as if trying to shake off whatever tension had built between them. “I expected ye to take in a lot at once–put a fair amount o’trust in someone that killed yer faither an’ braither–and…” his expression soured, nose wrinkling as if he’d smelled something foul. “Maybe I teased ye a bit too much.”
“‘A bit’?” Olivia admonished. “I would’a thought yer entire life’s goal was to frustrate me, m’laird.”
His laughter warmed a small part of her chest. “Only a small part o’me life’s dedicated to that.”
Olivia allowed herself a small smile, shifting her body so as to face the laird a bit more properly. “I am sorry about the knife. I just–the instinct to protect meself was so strong, even after how kind yer kin.”
“Och, nay; daenae concern yerself with that,” Laird MacDonnell assured with a wave of his hand. “Honestly, I’m a bit surprised ye didn’t try something like that earlier. Was a bit worried ye were a bit too naive; I genuinely began to wonder how ye made it this far in life.”
Olivia furrowed her brow, letting out a mocking gasp of indignation. “Ye really are an ugsome troll, ye know that?”
“And yer a wild wee sea beastie, selkie,” the laird teased back.
That got a bit more of an honest laugh out of Olivia. She sighed lightly afterwards, swinging her legs over the bed as she walked around their posts, taking the opportunity to inspect the laird fully. He really was wonderfully built, the muscle of his chest on full display beneath his shirt as he stretched his arms out behind him.
The biceps were hard to miss as well, and–Olivia was quick to sit and stare at her hands now folded in her lap, flushing at the noticeable bulge against his trousers. Thoughts of her teasing Flora for her giant husband’s ‘appearance’ flittered back, and she couldn’t help but bite her lip. What horrible retribution, and the laird’s sister wasn’t even the one behind it.
“Olivia?”
She blinked, turning her head to face the laird once more. It was difficult to stay focused, what with that glimmering green eye of his entirely pulling her into a fantasy of her own making. The pair of them, swimming in the waters together, himself bare-chested and she–
–Laird MacDonnell’s laughter broke the spell, a mischievous smile crossing his lips as he eyed her deviously.
“Ooh; or are ye too used to yer new pet name, wee selkie?”
“H-Hardly!” Olivia squeaked. “‘Least I get to start callin’ ye an, ‘ugsome troll’ from here on out.”
“I would think, ‘fachan’ would be more appropriate,” the laird chuckled, gesturing to his eyepatch. “Given how we both share the same count o’eyes.”
Olivia blinked furiously, her face flushing with a terrible heat. “I–I wouldnae compare ye to that.”
“Oh?” Laird MacDonnell inquired, leaning closer with that sly, foxish grin on his face. “‘Cause ye think I’m more handsome?”
“Cause ye still got an arm an’ leg intact,” Olivia responded dryly…though, she didn’t lean away from his advance. She didn’t know why she remained sitting, but…something about his tone, the way he was looking at her; it was hypnotic to watch. The laird drew closer, physically moving his body across the bedside so the pair were just about touching shoulders.
“What else would ye compare me to, selkie?” Laird MacDonnell…Arthur…asked in a soft, husky tone.
“An eejit,” Olivia said, though her voice didn’t have quite the same bite as before. “Maybe…a fair folk from to sea, trying to lure me in to diving deep into the depths alongside him.”
“And would ye, selkie?”
Olivia’s eyelashes fluttered, finding herself leaning closer this time. His beard brushed against the underside of her chin, and before she could fully formulate a reply, Arthur’s lips found her’s.
He’d grown so used to the taste of salt when kissing women. Many of the ones who were all too willing to bed with him had lived in keeps across the shoreline as well, so it only stood to reason they’d take on its scent. Salty, a touch of fishy undertone, and that sharp tang that lingered with him days after the woman had left his home.
But Olivia–as their kiss lingered between them, Arthur was surprised to find her scent unfamiliarly earthy, mixed with what he could only describe as the smell of sunshine. And it was surprisingly sweet, like fresh honey bitten directly from the comb itself.
Arthur wanted nothing more than to taste more of her, to throw her down into bed and press above her. He settled for his hands around her face, gently cupping against as she leaned against them for support. She was so soft, so…innocent. At least, partially so, until he felt her own hand began to snake around his waist. A sea goddess, indeed; one just as ravenous as he, a mere mortal man. But her lips began to pull loose from his own and, reluctantly, he let her pull away. She quickly jumped off the side of the bed, hand hovering over her mouth as a blushing scowl crossed her face.
“Wh-what happened to following me one rule?!” She squealed, voice high-pitched and tinged with shame.
Arthur chuckled lightly. “Yer the one who lingered as long as ye did. I was just following yer lead.” His hand lingered across her lower lips, a mere touch away once more, before he quickly lifted in mock surrender at her dark scowl. It was entirely too easy to rile her up, and he watched as his selkie stomped back and forth for a bit, muttering and cursing unladylike things beneath her breath. Eventually, her anger simmered to a seething growl, grabbing a nearby stool before pulling it across and dropping into it.
“This ‘betrothal’ o’ours cannae end any sooner,” she hissed under her breath.
“It’ll end when me council’s convinced of it,” Arthur reminded her.
