Logan sighed heavily and pushed both hands through his hair. “We have years before that happens.”
“But it will happen. You’re telling yourself you can keep him safe. You can’t.” She took the sketch from his hand and set it aside. “I know what it is to live in a world built from lies, Logan. It’s anything but comforting. It means living in constant fear. At any moment, the slightest thing could bring it all crashing down. It’s not good for Grant, and it’s not good for you, either.”
“It’s not your place to make that decision.”
“It is my place. This is still my castle. And I’ve come to think of Grant as my friend. You can try to tell me what to wear and where to go and what to serve for dinner. But you can’t forbid me from caring for him.”
The mere mention of caring gave Logan’s heart a kick and sent it spinning to some uncharted place.
“I can, and I will.”
She huffed out her breath in silent disagreement.
He leaned in, bracing his hands on the table. “You shouldna be alone with him. He’s a big man, with unpredictable moods and an addled memory. There’s no telling what could happen. When I came around that corner and saw the two of you . . .”
She tipped her head to one side and looked up at him through that fringe of dark lashes. “You were worried for me. I know. It’s sweet.”
He clenched his jaw. “It isna sweet. I saw a dangerous situation. I reacted.”
She dropped her eyes and touched the lapel of his coat. “I was worried about you, too. We expected you home yesterday, Logan. It’s why I’m down here with Grant at all tonight. Passing the time.”
Holy God.
Her fingertips touched a button on his coat. “It would be natural to be frightened.”
“I wasna frightened. I’m angry.”
“I can see that.” Her eyes lifted to his. “But I don’t understand why.”
Logan didn’t understand it, either. Any more than he understood how much he’d thought of her in the past three days. He was losing control, and he hated losing control.
And since he didn’t seem to have any hope of regaining it, he’d decided he’d settle for making her lose control, too.
He leaned forward, capturing that lush, pink mouth in a possessive kiss. She didn’t need any coaxing to kiss him back. Her lips parted beneath his, and when he slid his tongue deep, her tongue moved forward to welcome his.
Yes.
God, he wanted her.
He put his arms around her and gathered her to him, running his hands over the quilted velvet of her dressing gown and tugging at the knotted belt.
“What are you doing?”
He didn’t answer. He just kept on doing, expecting his intent would become perfectly clear.
He pulled the belt loose and let the length of braided fabric drop to the floor. Then he slid his hands inside her dressing gown to meet the cool, crisp linen of her shift—and the soft, pink heat of her body beneath it.
He smiled against her mouth. She was only wearing one shift tonight.
With a low, weary groan, he dipped his head and began to draw a line of kisses down her neck. He skimmed one hand down the firm slope of her thigh, gathering the muslin and giving it an upward tug.
“Logan,” she gasped.
If she meant him to stop, she was going about it all wrong. He loved hearing his name from her lips. It made his blood pound. His cock came to attention, hardening beneath the heavy weight of his kilt.
“You said you’d give me time,” she said. “Time to find another solution. I can’t let this happen.”
“It’s already happening.” He reached beneath her shift, stroking the tantalizing curve of her calf and teasing the hollow of her knee. “You want this, mo chridhe. I know you do. Oh, you can try to deny it with words. But if I were to touch you, right now, is that the same tale your body would tell? Or would I find you hot and wet and trembling beneath my fingertips?”
He skimmed his touch higher, climbing the silky expanse of her thigh. She sighed, and her flesh quivered beneath his fingertips. So soft. So sweetly warm.
“Tell me you didn’t miss me,” he whispered. “Tell me you don’t want my touch.”
“Logan, I can’t . . .”
When her voice trailed off, he kissed her, deciding to end the sentence right there.
No, you can’t, lass. You can’t tell me that because it isn’t true. You want me every bit as much as I want you.
He had to believe that, or he’d go mad.