Page 17 of Kiss Me, Macrae
It was the very first time they’d encountered each other without anyone else around. After a long pause, as though by silent mutual agreement, they slowly started forward again.
Allegra held her breath, though she couldn’t quite figure out why the moment felt so poignant.
He was just a man.
A man whose green eyes flashed with sensual promise. A man whose kisses made Allegra forget the rest of the world even existed.
A man who’d said they were fated.
As they neared each other in the gently falling snow—with her heart pounding, her skin tingling, and her belly a riot of warm flutters—she almost believed him.
They met beside a dormant bed of roses. The tangle of thorny branches looked stark and beautiful in the snow.
Allegra curled her fingers within her wool mittens at Macrae’s easy smile.
“’Ello, lassie.” The sparkle of life in his eyes and the rich, low timbre of his voice brought a tightness to her chest and a heavy ache between her thighs.
It was in that moment that she acknowledged her reaction was more than mere desire. It was an intrinsic, physical craving. A soul-deep recognition. A basic need.
And it honestly terrified her.
“Enjoying the bonnie weather?” he asked when she failed to respond through the sudden strangle of emotion in her throat.
“It’s very beautiful,” she managed to reply.
“Aye.” His voice had gotten even lower, the tone as intimate as the one he used when he was groaning against her lips.
Her attention fell to his mouth. He kept his beard neatly trimmed since coming to Darrow House. She imagined the soft whiskers brushing her skin while his firm lips pressed to hers.
He lowered his chin with a rough sound while his gaze—intense and focused—claimed hers. He didn’t take a step closer, but she felt his warmth reaching out to her. “Are ye wantin’ me tae kiss ye, lassie? All ye’ve gotta do is ask and I’ll take ye into my arms right now.”
His words tipped her off-balance, made her yearn and sweat beneath her winter layers. “No. You can’t do that.” Her words sounded ridiculously halfhearted.
“Have ye been aching for me these past days?” he asked, making Allegra’s thighs tremble. “Because I’ve been aching for ye.”
A shiver that had nothing to do with the wintry wind sweeping through the garden coursed over her skin. She couldn’t find the breath to refute him.
He was right. She was aching for him—straight through her core, from head to toe.
She wasn’t sure what he saw in her eyes that made him part his lips on a long, measured exhale, but the sound was tortured and rough. With his green eyes blazing, he stepped toward her. For a moment, his big body completely blocked her view of the house and provided a buffer against the wind. She forced her features into a stern expression, wanting desperately to prove she couldn’t be swayed by his sinful voice or his coaxing words.
If he had any idea how tempted she was to just curl her body into his solid strength, she’d be lost.
“My bed’s never felt so cold or empty since I started imagining what it’d be like tae have ye in it. My hands shake with the longing tae slide over your skin. It’s killin’ me not tae feel your heartbeat against mine.”
Allegra’s breath was shallow, her head dizzy, and her knees weak, but she forced herself to reply. “Don’t say those things to me.”
“’Tis the truth.”
She shook her head. “And what comes after I’ve warmed your bed?”
His expression became fiercely earnest. “Ye ken what I want, lassie.”
“Right. You want to marry me,” she said with a harsh little laugh.
There was a pause while he peered into her eyes as though searching for a lost secret. Then something unreadable passed through his gaze as he sighed. “I understand if ye canna bring yourself tae believe me just yet. But promise me, lass, that when ye do”—his voice lowered to a heavy murmur— “ye’ll come tae me straight-away.”
Allegra struggled to breathe as she searched for a response. But then he took a step back and gave a short bow. “Have a lovely day, Miss Smithson.”