Chapter Fifteen
It was an awkward feeling wearing Jamie’s shirt.
Well, not exactly awkward. She’d worn men’s shirts before but that was after sleeping together and it was a handy thing to pick up off the floor and slip on while she raided the refrigerator.
There was something different about wearing Jamie’s shirt. Or tunic, rather, she supposed it was called. She wasn’t sure why it felt different but it felt a bit scandalous.
They certainly hadn’t slept together. Not that it hadn’t crossed her mind.
It had on numerous occasions. He was young and attractive, not to mention attentive in every way.
She had a hard time forgetting that sweet kiss he’d placed in the center of her palm when they were standing by the loch.
Or the way he’d held her in his arms and kissed her with a fiery passion that burned deep and hot through her.
Remembering it made heat wash over her body in a tidal wave for which she was unprepared. She huffed and shoved off the blankets, kicking her legs out and curling on her side to stare at the door. He hadn’t come back yet.
She’d placed the jagged piece of keystone on the table beside the bed. Staring at it now, she was starting to resent that little rock. It had wreaked havoc in her normal, happy, quiet life. Something Moira had said haunted her.
Without you, all will be lost.
Add that to the two visions she’d had and she was not liking this prophecy one bit.
She huffed again and flopped to her back to stare at the overhead canopy of the bed. The thick curtains on each pole were made of velvet. When drawn, she supposed they would make the bed a cozy cocoon for—
She shoved that thought away.
There was no way she and Jamie were going to get that cozy.
The door scraped open and he reappeared.
Her heart leapt into her throat. Delight skipped through her, as though she were a teenager again gazing at her first crush.
She sat up, drawing her knees to her chest and watched as he closed the door.
Their eyes met and something passed between them she tried hard not to acknowledge.
His gaze lingered on hers, then dipped as he examined her sitting there, her knees cradled against her chest. A sensuous light flickered through his devastating eyes and something told her she was not getting out of this bed anytime soon.
A grin crept up the corner of his mouth.
It wouldn’t be wise to allow herself to be caught under his seductive spell but she figured it was far too late for that. She was ensorcelled.
“Yer no sleeping?” he asked at last.
“Not yet.”
He went to the hearth and poked the embers, giving them some life.
“Have you ever been so tired you couldn’t sleep?” she asked.
“I have.”
“What do you do when that happens to you?”
He reached for a tankard of ale. “I drink.” He raised it in a cheers motion and then downed it.
She giggled. “Maybe that’s what I need, then.”
Without asking, he poured her a tankard and brought it to her. She took it from him and downed it in one long quaff. The weak ale wasn’t good but it would do. When she emptied it, she handed it back to him.
His eyebrows lifted as he peered into the empty tankard. He looked impressed.
“Another?” he asked.
“Better keep it coming.”
“Ye best be careful, lass. Ye’ll be as fou as a piper.”
“Well, if it helps me sleep, then I’m all for it.”
He laughed, a deep melodious laugh that rumbled around in his broad chest and it did something for her. A lot of somethings. She was certain it wasn’t the ale that made her stomach flutter. It was Jamie.
“What does that mean—fou as a piper?”
“Means drunk.” He granted her a wicked smile.
He handed her a full tankard. This time, she sipped it and allowed herself to relax. He lowered himself into the chair by the fire.
“Where will you sleep?” she asked.
“Here.”
“In that chair?” she asked, unable to hide her surprise.
“Aye.”
“No,” she snapped. “You can sleep next to me.” She patted the feather mattress beside her.
His surprised gaze lifted to hers.
“And don’t tell me it wouldn’t be proper,” she added. “I can keep my hands to myself.”
A devilish grin crossed his face. “Aye, lass, but do ye think I can?”
That sounded like a challenge. One she wanted to accept.
“Well,” she said, slowly, a grin spreading, “I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.”
Brianna half hoped he would not be able to keep his hands to himself. There was a sense of curiosity about the young Scotsman as well as an attraction she was unable to deny.
He pulled off his boots and dropped them in front of him where he still sat in the chair.
They eyed each other from across the room, which made her heart kick into a rapid beat.
His gaze was unreadable. Slowly, he unfolded his tall frame from the chair and took long, methodical steps toward her. His gaze never left her face.
When he paused in front of her, she tipped her head back to look up at him. A shiver skipped through her. Not because she was cold, but because it was a shiver of need and desire.
“Did ye ken yer eyes are like the color of winter sky in the morn?” His voice was low, sultry.
Her breath hitched, pooling at the base of her throat.
She was aware of the unusual color of her eyes.
All her life, people had commented on them.
They were a pale blue—giving her the look of cold calculation to her enemies.
For those who were not intimidated by her eye color, they didn’t bother to hide their fascination.
No one, though, likened them to a winter sky.
“Are they?” she asked, trying to ignore the rapid-fire beat of her pulse.
“I’ve no’ seen the likes,” he said.
Handsome. The word drifted unbidden through her mind as she gazed up at him.
His chiseled face was all sharp lines and rugged angles, as if carved from stone, and yet his eyes were a soft doe-brown that caught the light in a way that made her breath catch in her throat.
And when he smiled, he showed off two deep dimples on either side of his oh-so-kissable mouth.
What was he doing to her?
“My mother had eyes this color.” She didn’t know why she told him that. It’d never mattered to anyone else before.
A dark brow lifted. “Aye?”
“She and my father were killed in an accident several years ago.”
Sorrow flickered over his features. Why did she tell him that? She never spoke of her parents to anyone. She didn’t want his sorrow or his pity. But something about the way he looked at her chipped away at her inner defenses.
“But you likely know that already from Evie or Chloe.” She scooted away from him as she said it, reaching the top blanket and pulling it back.
“They dinnae speak of yer mam and da.”
That stopped her cold. “They don’t?”
“Not to me.”
He walked around to the other side of the bed and pulled back the blankets on his side.
Then he sat on the edge. She watched the muscles in his back as he removed the tartan, letting it pool on the floor beside him.
Underneath he wore a tunic. He pulled this off over his head and dropped it to the floor with the tartan.
With her cheeks flaming, she turned away. She didn’t need to see that expanse of golden skin or the way his muscles flexed along his back and biceps. Nope, she didn’t need to see that at all.
She realized wearing his tunic was a huge mistake. Because now all she thought about was the way the soft material brushed against her bare skin underneath. Her modern clothes were in a neat pile on the chair opposite the one Jamie’d vacated.
After another sip of ale, she placed the tankard on the table next to the stone, the offensive stone that had altered her life and would, apparently, continue to alter her life.
She slid under the blankets and pulled them up to her chin, turning away from him in the hopes she would not be tempted by his hard, muscled body.
“Good night.” Her voice was a bit more gruff than she intended.
The rustle of material next to her and then the bounce of the feather mattress indicated he got up from the bed.
She snuck a glance in his direction to see him walking around the room and snuffing out the candles.
The only thing that remained was the fire blazing in the hearth.
He wore nothing but his birthday suit, which made her almost stop breathing.
She stifled the gasp that wanted to erupt.
He was glorious in every way imaginable.
He returned to the bed and settled next to her.
“Good night, lass,” he said on a sigh.
As if he were disappointed she clung to the edge of the bed, afraid to get close to him.
She had never been afraid to get close to a man before. What was wrong with her?
She rolled to her other side. His back was to her, the blankets tucked under his arm. The firelight flickered over that expanse of perfect skin.
Without thinking, she reached out to touch him. Her hand landed on his upper arm. On reflex, his arm muscles tightened under her touch. Then he stiffened.
Whatever silent communication it was that passed between them, she didn’t know. But he rolled toward her and reached for her, pulling her close.
Even in the shadowy darkness, she saw the smirk on his face.
“I thought ye could keep yer hands to yerself.”
She grinned. “I guess I lied.”
Her mouth met his in a searing kiss that was undeniable.
His arms slid around her, pulling her even closer, if that were possible.
Her mind screamed for her to put a stop to this madness, but her body was unwilling to listen to that nonsense.
Her heart was already pounding so hard she thought it would burst through her chest.
She shimmied out of his tunic and tossed it off the side of the bed. The next to go was her modern lingerie—which was not her normal satin and lace. When she had gone on her shopping spree in Edinburgh, she’d opted for simple and comfortable cotton.