And those lips were moving, but he didn’t have the damndest idea what she was saying because he’d taken a dangerous segue into a sensual fantasy involving heated, flushed flesh, Jillian’s lips, and a man’s need. The roar of blood pounding in his ears must have deafened him. He struggled to focus on her words, which faded back in just in time for him to hear her say
“You lied! You said you never thought about me at all.”
He gathered his scattered wits defensively. She was looking much too pleased with herself for his peace of mind. “What are you pecking away at now, little peahen?” he said in his most bored voice.
“Occam,” she repeated triumphantly.
“That’s my horse,” he drawled, “and just what is your point?”
Jillian hesitated. Only an instant, but he saw the flicker of embarrassment in her eyes as she must have wondered if he really didn’t remember the day she’d discovered the principle of “Occam’s Razor,” then proceeded to enlighten everyone at Caithness. How could he not recall the child’s delight? How could he forget the discomfiture of visiting lords well versed in politics and hunting, yet utterly put off by a woman with a mind, even a lass at the tender age of eleven? Oh, he remembered; he’d been so bloody proud of her it had hurt. He’d wanted to smack the smirks off the prissy lords’ faces for telling Jillian’s parents to burn her books, lest they ruin a perfectly good female and make her unmarriageable. He remembered. And had named his horse in tribute.
Occam’s Razor: The simplest theory that fits the facts corresponds most closely to reality. Fit this, Jillian—why do I treat you so horribly? He grimaced. The simplest theory that encompassed the full range of asinine behavior he exhibited around Jillian was that he was hopelessly in love with her, and if he wasn’t careful she would figure it out. He had to be cold, perhaps cruel, for Jillian was an intelligent woman and unless he maintained a convincing façade she would see right through him. He drew a deep breath and steeled his will.
“You were saying?” He arched a sardonic brow. Powerful men had withered into babbling idiots beneath the sarcasm and mockery of that deadly gaze.
But not his Jillian, and it delighted him as much as it worried him. She held her ground, even leaned closer, ignoring the curious stares and perked ears of the onlookers. Close enough that her breath fanned his neck and made him want to seal his lips over hers and draw her breath into his lungs so deeply that she’d need him to breathe it back into her. She looked deep into his eyes, then a smile of delight curved her mouth. “You do remember,” she whispered fiercely. “I wonder what else you lie to me about,” she murmured, and he had the dreadful suspicion she was about to start applying a scientific analysis to his idiotic behavior. Then she’d know, and he’d be exposed for the love-struck dolt he was.
He wrapped his hand around her wrist and clamped his fingers tight, until he knew she understood he could snap it with a flick of his hand. He deliberately let his eyes flash the blazing, unholy look people loathed. Even Jillian back-stepped slightly, and he knew that somehow she’d caught the tiniest glimpse of the Berserker in his eyes. It would serve her well to fear him. She must be afraid of him—Christ knew, he was afraid of himself. Although Jillian had changed and matured, he still had nothing to offer her. No clan, no family, and no home. “When I left Caithness I swore never to return. That’s what I remember, Jillian.” He dropped her wrist. “And I did not come back willingly, but for a vow made long ago. If I named my horse a word you happen to be familiar with, how arrogant you are to think it had anything to do with you.”
“Oh! I am not arrogant—”
“Do you know why your da really brought us here, lass?” Grimm interrupted coldly.
Jillian’s mouth snapped shut. It figured that he would be the only one who might tell her the truth.
“Do you? I know you used to have a bad habit of spying, and I doubt much about you has changed.”
Her jaw jutted, her spine stiffened, and she threw her shoulders back, presenting him with a clear view of her lush figure—one of the things that had definitely changed about her. She bit her lip to prevent a smug smile when his gaze dropped sharply, then jerked back up.
Grimm regarded her stonily. “Your da summoned the three of us here to secure you a husband, brat. Apparently you’re so impossible to persuade that he had to gather Scotia’s mightiest warriors to topple your defenses.” He studied her stalwart stance and aloof expression a moment and snorted. “I was right—you do still eavesdrop. You aren’t at all surprised by my revelation. Seeing as how you know the plan, why doona you just be a good lass for a change; go find Quinn and persuade him to marry you so I can leave and get on with my life?” His gut clenched as he forced himself to say the words.