KiltedForPleasure by Melissa Blue Page B

wash of relief. She picked up the ice, stood beside him and placed the makeshift pack on his chin.

    He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer. “I didn’t do it for you.”

    Ah. Consistent. She pressed the ice down harder than necessary. He winced and then chuckled.

    The laugh changed the contours of his face and it beat back the ever-present darkness in his eyes. She brushed a thumb over one of his laugh lines, thinking of all the things she wanted to say and finally chose, “Good.” More words climbed up and she swallowed, scared at the need to even add more. “I would hate to think you took offense on my behalf. Or felt jealous.”

    “Lower,” he murmured.

    She adjusted the ice. He sighed and closed his eyes, but his fingers didn’t stay still. He drew circles along her hip. Before they’d had sex that action would have sent a tingle throughout her entire body, a yearning to know exactly how that same caress would feel on her bare skin.

    Now she knew. An anticipation and a craving strummed through her. She cupped his other cheek. Shadows darkened the skin beneath his eyes. She hadn’t seen them downstairs. Different light, different perspective. She wanted to blame the moonshine for the sudden nerves that put a slight tremble in her fingers, but it was him.

    What exactly had I been running from?

    Right. She’d been running toward common sense. Callan was the kind of man who could beat someone outside a pub. He was a widow who didn’t talk about his deceased wife until he did and every emotion he bottled inside came spewing out. My wife. His distinction was small but telling.

    And Victoria? Well, she was a woman who held her breath and waited for a man to hurt her or simply showed a sign he couldn’t be trusted, proving her theory that no one should be trusted again and again. Neither of them needed to explore a relationship, much less a sexual one that could easily become complicated.

    But she couldn’t move from the warmth of him. Couldn’t help but stroke his laugh line again. “Did you win?”

    “He now knows better,” Callan answered without inflection.

    That sounded like winning. Victoria wasn’t sure if she should feel proud, embarrassed or indifferent. “I need to disinfect you or else you won’t be able to finish working on those antiques. I think I saw a first aid kit down in the pub.”

    He wrapped his hand around her wrist and held her gaze. The furrowed lines above his brows had softened. Of course there was lust in his eyes but there was also something gentler, quieter. This wasn’t the man who growled at her when they’d first met. This wasn’t the man who tied her to his bedpost a few days ago. He kept changing on her. How could she guard her heart if he kept surprising her and putting cracks in the wall she had around it?

    “Lass,” he whispered, “am I supposed to act like nothing has happened between us?”

    She wasn’t sure if that would even help. “You can do whatever you want.”

    His fingers pressed into her hip. “You act like I took advantage of you and didn’t call. I’ve watched you run every morning, and every morning I’ve greeted you without pressure. You seemed to want some time and I’ve given you that. What more do you need?”

    She’d noticed him outside his home in the morning. He stayed on his side of the moor and Victoria had been grateful. She had needed time to mentally compartmentalize what had happened, the risks she had taken to spend a night with him.

    In those four days of thinking, avoiding and somewhat missing his wry humor, she still didn’t have a clue what was going on. This wasn’t love, but being with a man had never felt like another part of her was being peeled back and revealed.

    “I don’t know,” she answered him.

    He only shook his head before letting her go. That didn’t feel like the end of the conversation, but she left anyway. By the time she came back from the pub with the kit, he had