Page 16 of Kilty as Sin
“Aye, ‘tis me. I’m safe, Barclay. Ye’re safe. Wake up.”
“No’ sleeping,” he murmured, as his other arm snaked around her waist to anchor her to him. “Enjoying the nursing.”
Her fingers dug into his hair and she wasn’t certain if it was to hold him in place, or to keepherselffrom falling.
Falling off him.
Fallingintohim.
“Ye hit yer head. I dinnae see any blood, but ye could be concussed.”
“No’ concussed.” His lips curled under her touch. “Just…resting.”
It was amazing that, no matter how exasperating he could be, he still made her smile. “Well, could ye rest with yer eyes open? So I can be certain ye’re no’ dying?”
It worked. Barclay opened his eyes…
And Grace fell. She fellhard.
His eyes were the most beautiful shade of green, bordering on gray. They were the color of Glencoe in the rain. The color of leaves in the mist.
And they were looking into her soul.
The world narrowed, every mote of her being focused on those eyes, onhim. The edges of her vision were going black, a tunnel leading her right into—
“Breathe, Grace.”
Och, aye.
She sucked in a breath, and the blackness faded. Under her fingers, his lips curled into a smirk.
“Are ye well, lass?”
Her entire body ached and her palm burned. But aye, she was well.
As well as she’d ever been.
“I should be asking ye that,” she whispered. “Does yer head hurt?”
“With ye cradling it so gently?” His free hand—the one not holding her against him—gently closed around hers. “Thank ye for caring for me, lass.”
She should have blushed. She couldn’t, not while holding his gaze. “Thank ye for keeping me safe.”
When he squeezed her hand gently, she couldn’t help her wince. Without pausing, he lifted her hand so he could see her palm, then tsked.
“By St. Pancras’s left ballock, lass, ye did this to save me?”
“I did it to save—” Well, actually, shehadbeen thinking of him when she’d dug in and held on. Flushing, she dropped her gaze to his lips.
As if he heard her unspoken words, he brought her palm to his lips then brushed a kiss across the abraded skin.
“Thank ye, Grace,” he whispered, and the words reached through her ears and down her throat and into her chest.
Into her heart.
His lips…his lips were parted and she wanted to touch them again. Not with her injured palm. Not even with her fingertips.
She wanted to taste them. To lick them. To claim them as her own.
