Page 38 of Taming the Scot
Bronwen’s hand fell slowly. He’d thought she’d jerk away. “Aye. Now, about what ye were saying.” She stopped for a moment, and in the silence, he could hear her inhale and exhale. “I kissed ye back. Ye did no’ force me.”
“Aye, but propriety and decorum and all that. A gentleman should no’ take liberties from a lass.” He could have added, especially if a courtship between them was impossible, but he didn’t. Because more and more, he wanted that possibility to be true, no matter how ridiculous it seemed.
“Perhaps ye needed the practice,” she said, shocking him again.
“Practice with kissing?” he asked. “Was I so bad?”
Bronwen’s hand flew to her mouth, and she stifled a giggle. “No’ that. Ye were…quite good. Rather, I meant with your manners.”
“Ye thought I was a good kisser?” He waggled his brows. “Well, ye were too, Miss Holmes.”
“I’ll ignore the fact that ye keep talking about it and say this—look at ye now, acting the gentleman and apologizing for it. Well done. I think the lessons are paying off.” She sounded almost sarcastic in her tone.
As honest as he’d been up to this point, Euan couldn’t seem to make himself stop. “I’m no’ certain they are.”
She cocked her head at him. “What do ye mean?”
“Because I’m saying all these things, and I genuinely mean them, but at the same time, all I can think about is how much I want to kiss ye again.” He searched her face, which remained unchanged for several seconds. “And knowing that ye liked it…” He let out a low groan to emphasize his torment.
The stoic facade she’d kept up since the moment she’d crossed his threshold fell in an instant.
She looked away hastily, shifting on her feet. “But ye can no’, Euan. We must no’.”
“I know, but that does no’ change the fact that I love the way ye say my name.”
Her gaze jerked momentarily back to his, wariness in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I should no’ have.”
“Aye, ye should. More often, and every day.” He wanted to reach for her. To feel her in his arms, a contented sigh on her lips. Why couldn’t they?
“It is no’ proper. This is no’ proper.” But she didn’t back away. Nay, she stayed right where she was. She should leave if she were going to. Duck out of the alcove and play her charade in the parlor, play-acting that none of this had occurred. Because if she didn’t, he’d take her back in his arms and kiss until neither of them could stand.
“But what if it feels right?” he asked.
“Feelings and truths are two different things,” she countered. Her hands were wringing in front of her.
“I disagree, lass. I think they are one and the same, especially right now.” He focused on her, ignoring the tightness in his chest when her gaze met his, and she stopped fidgeting.
“Because ye want to kiss me.” Her words were said in a tone barely above a whisper.
“Aye,” he drawled just as quietly.
Her hands went back to wringing, and he wanted to reach forward and take them in his grasp. To ease her worry.
“But why?” she asked.
The question was so simple, with an overly complicated answer. “For all the reasons that make sense and even those that do no’.”
“How will ye be able to focus on a future bride if all ye keep doing is thinking about kissing me?”
Maybe those two should also be the same—she could be his wife. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Didn’t want to scare her away. Because she seemed right now very much like a spooked filly, ready to take off.
“Do ye want to kiss me back?” he asked instead.
Bronwen bit her lip, the little chip in her tooth scraping seductively over her plush, pink mouth. “Aye.”
“Then why are we still talking?” he murmured, half jesting, a smile curling his lip. He was going to hell.
“I can no’ believe I’m doing this…” she said. “Nothing good will come of it.”
