Page 37 of Return of the Scot
Jaime turned, intending to flee the darkened room, the knowledge of her feelings, the intensity of his stare. Only as she ran, the lighting was terrible. The toe of her slipper caught on one of the heavy dumbbells, and she pitched headfirst into the floor. Her hands slapped the wood, catching her before her face smacked into it.
The quick clip of Lorne’s boots rushed behind her. As she was pushing herself up to sit, he knelt beside her, looking over her face and then the rest of her.
“Are ye all right?” He pressed a hand to her knee and then jerked away as if now realizing what he’d j done in that simple gesture.
Heat zinged up her thigh, settling somewhere in the middle, and she bit the inside of her cheek, her breathing uneven, which she hoped he’d conclude was because of her fall. Goodness, she needed to get out of here. The chill on her stockinged foot was warning enough she’d lost her shoe.
“My slipper.” Jaime patted around, trying to find the shoe that had been caught and ripped off her foot. But it was Lorne who found it first, her hand brushing over his fingers.
Another zing of awareness rapidly shot up her arm.
“I’ve got it,” he said slowly, reaching for her ankle. He smoothed his fingers over her foot, testing each toe. Nothing hurt, and his examination tickled. She bit the tip of her tongue to keep from laughing or gasping, really from reacting at all. Jaime was fairly certain the heat his touch caused would never go away. Her toes, foot and ankle would burn forever. “Nothing broken.”
She wiggled her toes. Circled her ankle. Still, he held onto her. “No.” The word came out in a rush of air. Jaime was surprised to find how much she liked the man she’d thought to be an arrogant fool. The impression she’d had of him since the incident with Shanna was being edged out by the man she used to know before that terrible moment—the man before her now.
Lorne eased her slipper gently back in place and placed her foot on the floor. Finally relinquishing her—regrettably. How could such a moment, the act of checking her for injury, of replacing her shoe feel so…intimate? So tender…
“Thank ye.” Jaime stared at him, hoping the emotions she felt weren’t screaming from her face. Normally one to wear a mask of placidity, she discovered it was incredibly hard to hide her thoughts at that moment. Perhaps the dim light was helpful enough.
Lorne stood and held out his hand, fingers stretching toward her. She took it, allowing him to lift her. But he didn’t let go when she was on her feet again. Mere inches were between them. Warm fingers wrapped around hers. He was staring at her, searching her face, and she found herself doing the same thing. Words flew about her head, but nothing she could frame into a coherent thought except one—kiss me.
That was a shot of cold water to the face. Jaime backed up a step, slipping her hand from his.
“I need to go. My aunt is likely tearing the place apart looking for me.”
Lorne grinned, some of that playful charm curling his lips, and she wanted to sigh at the sight of it. Her belly was full of butterflies. Oh, heavens, she had to remove herself from his presence at once.
“Should I carry ye out of here? I dinna want ye to fall again.” The tone of his voice was teasing and endearing.
Lord, but she was in trouble. Go!
Jaime’s voice, and her breath, abandoned her. All she could think about was how very close he was. How very dashing he was. How very charming.
“I can walk.”
“As evidenced just now—by the time ye get back to the ballroom, ye’ll be missing both shoes, and lucky no’ to have a black eye.”
Jaime couldn’t help laughing and was glad for that little bit of sound because her brain refused to think of anything to say. Not when her heart was pounding so fast, and the anger and bitterness she’d held onto for all these years seemed to be melting away into a puddle of confusion and something else. A heated, tingling feeling that made her want to dance and escape at the same time.
“Perhaps we should start over,” Lorne said softly, entreatingly.
Jaime cocked her head, the desire to flee dissipating as interest took the reins. “Start over?”
“Aye.” The smile he gave her was enough to melt even the coldest ice, and Jaime was not immune to it. “I’m His Grace, the verra stuffy Duke of Sutherland, but my friends call me Lorne.” He pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, and oh how she wished she weren’t wearing gloves. Not that the slim fabric made a difference because she felt that press of his lips throughout her entire body.
9
Lorne wasn’t certain if it was the way Jaime’s eyes had widened, or the way she’d licked her lips as she stared at his mouth, how she’d trusted him with holding her foot. But at some point in the last quarter-hour, he’d realized two things.
One, he desired the fiery, irritating, beautiful pain in his arse. More than he’d ever desired another woman, and to the point that left a gorging ache in his groin. He should have seen to the need first thing when he’d returned from the continent, but alas, he’d had more urgent things on his mind. The more disagreeable she became, the more he wanted to needle her. The more she frowned, the more he wanted to laugh.
And two, he was fairly certain she felt the same way.
Bending over her hand, kissing her knuckles, flirting with her, was more instinctual than it had ever been with another female, including her sister, his ex-fiancée. His desire for her was crowding out his ultimate goal of regaining his castle and teaching the chit a valuable lesson, and yet the illogical side of him kept welcoming these feelings, ignoring the facts.
“Well, Your Stuffy Grace.” Her voice had changed, sultry almost as she looked up at him, eyes all dewy and full of humor and something else—something with a sensual edge. She sounded hesitant as if she were trying on a new approach. “I’m Miss Jaime Hardheaded Andrewson. Lovely to make your acquaintance.”
Lorne laughed. The lass had hit the nail right on the head. For she truly was hardheaded. She grinned at him, pleased with herself, causing his gaze to fall back to her mouth. A sudden swarm of desire hit him in the gut. The urge to kiss her was intense, stifling. But doing so would irrevocably change everything between them in that reckless moment, wouldn’t it? And as much as he wanted to—as much as his desire for her had propelled them into this current situation—there was a part of him that held back. A part of him that shouted, “Stop this nonsense and leave this room immediately.”
