Chapter 16 #2
Logan caught her at once, his hand tightening at the small of her back until there was hardly a breath of space left between them. Her chest pressed against the hard plane of his. The room blurred at the edges, the music becoming a distant, rhythmic thrumming that matched the pounding in her ears.
“Easy,” he whispered, his breath ghosting over her temple.
“I am trying,” she breathed. Her fingers clutched the corded muscle of his shoulder, his strength making her stomach jolt and liquefy. She loosened her grip, but her pulse didn't follow suit. “Truly, I am.”
“I ken.” His voice dropped lower, vibrating against her skin. “Stop thinking so much.”
Rose looked up, her vision slightly hazy, the air between them thickening. His hand stayed at her waist, his thumb now resting just above the curve of her hip, pressing firmly. It made her thighs feel heavy and weak.
“You seem very sure of yourself,” she whispered in a desperate attempt at a tease. If she didn't speak, she was going to lean into the crook of his neck and breathe him in until she forgot everything else.
His mouth curved. “Only when I’m right.”
“And here I thought,” she said, her voice turning husky, failing to keep the tremor out of it, “you would be rougher with taking care of a lady.”
His eyes darkened, the pupils growing wide until they were nearly black. His hand pressed a fraction more firmly, pulling her hips closer as the dance carried them into a turn.
“What else have ye been thinking, Rose?” he murmured against her ear.
The sound of her name, vibrating through the small space between them, sent a wave of heat straight to her core. She had said too much—the music and the heat of his palm were making her reckless.
“About this dance,” she challenged, her voice dropping to an unsteady whisper. “And how you’re such a thorough teacher. The horse, the dagger… now this.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingering until her lips parted of their own accord. The roar of the hall faded into a dull, rhythmic thrum.
“And what else,” he rasped, his hand tightening at the small of her back until there was no space left between them, “would ye like me tae teach ye, then?”
Her step faltered entirely.
Logan caught her before she could stumble.
He pulled her flush against him to shield the mistake from the room, and Rose found herself pinned to his length for one suspended, breathless heartbeat.
She could feel the steady, powerful thud of his heart against her own, the heat radiating from his chest.
She should have stepped back the moment the music allowed. Instead, she tilted her head back, her throat exposed, her eyes fixed on his.
His hand remained anchored at her waist, hers tangled in the hair at his nape, and the awareness between them was terrifying. She felt as though she had been waiting her entire life for this exact moment.
A fresh burst of laughter from the trestle tables snapped the tether.
Rose became aware of the room all at once. People were watching. Christina was smiling with terrifying clarity; Conn looked insufferably pleased. The distance between the laird and his guest had become perilously, visibly thin.
Rose’s face burned with a feverish heat.
Logan saw it and his gaze swept the hall with a sudden, icy stillness that forced the curious to look away. Then he looked back at her, his hand easing from her waist, leaving a cold, hollow absence that made her feel physically ill.
“Come,” he said quietly, his voice still gritty with the remains of the dance. “Let us get some air.”
He offered his arm, and she took it because remaining in the center of that circle suddenly felt impossible.
“Are we abandoning the dance because of my tragic performance?” she asked, trying for composure as he guided her toward the edge of the hall.
“Aye,” he said. “Before ye bring shame on me clan.”
She glanced up, horrified for one foolish second before she saw the faint amusement at the corner of his mouth. “That was cruel.”
“That was merciful. Ye should hear what I spared ye.”
Despite the heat in her cheeks, laughter tugged at her lips as the corridor swallowed them in cooler air.
Rose drew in a breath, but it did not quite steady her. The sounds of the hall softened behind them, the music turning muted and distant beneath the thick stone. Logan’s arm remained beneath her hand as he led her down the passage and through an outer door into the gardens.
Night had settled fully over the castle grounds.
The garden was dim, washed in moonlight and the faint amber spilled from the hall windows. The coolness brushed Rose’s heated cheeks, and the silence wrapped around her so gently that she nearly closed her eyes.
Logan stopped near a low stone border and released her arm slowly.
Rose missed the contact at once. She folded her hands before her to steady herself.
“Thank you. For asking me to dance.” She looked down at her fingers, then forced herself to lift her gaze. “Even knowing I would be dreadful.”
His expression changed. The teasing softened into a soft smile. “I’m glad ye accepted.”
Rose swallowed. “The dress is beautiful.”
His gaze moved over her again, but this time there was no hall to hide in, no music, no cluster of bodies to soften the force of it. She stood beneath moonlight in the gown he had given her.
The silence between them tightened, winding around them until the air felt brittle enough to snap.
“It was perfect the moment I saw ye in it,” he said, his voice dropping into a low, jagged rasp that seemed to vibrate against the skin of her throat.
Heat crawled up her neck, a burn that made her eyes sting. She jerked her gaze away, staring blindly at the dark, ivy-strangled garden wall.
Rose felt the air shift as he stepped closer, narrowing the world down to the few inches between them. Her pulse thrashed against her ribs. She kept her eyes locked on the stone, but every nerve in her body seemed to lean toward him.
She looked up then.
His expression was raw and terrifyingly bare. His jaw was a hard, white line, his mouth set, but his eyes were dark with a hunger that made her chest heave.
He lifted his hand with agonizing slowness, giving her every chance to bolt.
Rose stayed.
When his knuckles finally grazed the loose hair at her cheek, the contact scorched straight through her. Her lips parted on a broken exhale. His fingers traced the curve of her temple and the line of her jaw before his palm caressed the side of her face.
Logan’s thumb dragged once, heavily, beneath her cheekbone, pulling the skin tight. His gaze dropped to her mouth, his focus so intense it felt like a physical weight.
He was going to kiss her, and she realized, with a clarity that terrified her, that she would let him.
“Rose,” he murmured.
“Yes?” Her voice was barely there.
His neck moved. He leaned closer, and Rose’s hand rose without permission, resting lightly against his chest. Beneath her palm, his heart beat hard and steady.
That almost undid her.
His eyes lifted back to hers, darker now, searching, and something passed between them that was too honest to be hidden beneath manners or teasing.
This was no longer kindness. They both knew it.
Neither of them could pretend the dance had been only a dance, or that his hand on her face was anything but the edge of a choice.
Then the first alarm bell rang.