There he went again, accusing her of murderous intent. He couldn’t seem to let go of that idea. And every time he brought it up, he spoke with an edge of resentment in his voice.
“Logan, I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
He made a dismissive noise. “You didna hurt me.”
Right. How could a little Englishwoman possibly hurt a hulking Scottish warrior? Naturally, he would never admit to that.
“For what it’s worth,” she said, “my true fantasy was not a Highland castle and a man in a kilt. I just wanted to be understood, accepted. Loved.” Her gaze fell to her damp tartan sash and that heart-shaped lie pinning it together. “Don’t worry. I’ve learned my lesson.”
“I canna say much about love and acceptance, but I do understand you. I understand you just fine.”
“You really don’t.”
“Oh, I do.” His eyes roamed her face. “You’re deceitful, fanciful, clever, unbiddable, generous, talented with a drawing pencil . . .” He smeared his muddy thumb down the slope of her nose. “ . . . and dirty. Verra, verra dirty.”
“I’m no dirtier than you.”
She pressed her hand flat to his face. It left behind a starburst of five muddy fingerprints . . . and one unamused Scot. Added to his intense blue eyes and unshaven jaw, the markings gave him the look of an ancient Highland warrior, painted for battle.
Ready to strike.
His big, muddy hand went to her waist, tangling in the damp gray wool of her frock.
“If it’s dirty you want . . . ?” He tugged her close, startling a gasp from her. “It’s dirty you’ll get.”
His mouth fell on hers, hot and masterful. His hands were everywhere, smearing even the cleaner parts of her frock with mud. All Maddie could do was cling to his coat while the forbidden sensations swamped her.
His tongue swept into her mouth. Seeking, demanding. She could taste the frustration in his kiss. Whether it was left over from last night, this morning, or the entirety of the past decade, she couldn’t guess. Whatever the cause, he obviously meant to avenge it with this sensual onslaught.
And Maddie could not bring herself to object.
She loved the rough, possessive way he was touching her. His hands roamed her breasts, her hips, her backside. Her nipples came to tight points, as if they recalled last night’s attentions and were ready to beg for more. When his thumb found one of the aching peaks and teased it, she moaned with helpless pleasure and relief.
She let her head fall back, and he lavished soft kisses on the vulnerable skin covering her pulse. His gentleness and thoroughness made her feel cherished. Precious.
Wanted.
She’d never dreamed she could feel this desired by anyone. It was almost . . .
Oh, how ironic. It was almost a dream come true.
No, she told herself. Don’t be a ninny. She couldn’t let herself think that way.
She’d been struggling to keep her foolish heart out of this, keeping him at arm’s length with conditions and rules. It was too dangerous to do otherwise. All too easily, she could create a story in her mind. Spin a tale of devotion that would be just another lie—one she told herself. She didn’t want to imagine that Logan could care for her.
He didn’t care for her.
But he wanted her.
This heat between them was real. This grappling kiss was the truth. And the hot ridge of his arousal pressed against her thigh was far too big to be any trick of her imagination.
He lifted his head and looked down at her. “Maddie.”
When he whispered her name, the cold was forgotten. So was the mud, his teasing, the pain in her leg. The rain kept falling, pushing her further into the shelter of his embrace. Melting her will to resist.
She touched a hand to his cheek. Gone was the fierce Highland warrior. The rain plastered his hair to his brow and dotted his face, giving him a wet-puppy look: lost and in need of love. Every bit as confused as she felt inside.
“Oh, Logan.”
And now, despite all her best attempts to avoid it, here it came.
Her heart started telling her a dangerous, dangerous tale. The story of a decent, loyal man who’d treasured her letters, dreamed of her nightly, survived battles and marched across continents to come home—not to a castle or a glen but to her. And even now, when he held her in his arms, he lacked the words to explain all the emotion in his heart.
It was nothing but a silly fiction.
It had to be.
But she couldn’t block it out any longer. She put her arms around his neck and wove her fingers into his hair, pulling him close.