Page 29 of A Rogue to Watch Over Me
“When . . . when did this happen?”
“Years ago, while we were at university.”
She pressed one hand to the window pane, her slender fingers splayed against the glass. “You’re telling me that all these years, Paul carried this horrible secret.”
“He wanted to protect ye from the truth.” Logan rubbed at an ache in the back of his neck. “He blamed me. And he was right. If I hadn’t been looking for shortcuts, he would not have had to pull the trigger.”
She spun on her heel. Facing him, her chin thrust up, resolute. “In my heart, I know this much—if my brother killed a man, he had no choice. You cannot shoulder the blame.”
Ye’re wrong, lass.If Amelia knew what he had done to set the wheels in motion that night, she might well think differently on the matter.
He studied her for a long moment. Her unadorned beauty drew him in. The trust in her eyes seemed a clear contrast to the cynicism he saw every time he looked in the mirror.
Amelia demanded nothing from him. Unlike Elspeth, who sought sensual delight without any thought of trust or caring or faith in him as a man. The widow harbored no desire forsentimental emotions. She had taken all the pleasure he would give. Just as he’d taken from her.
Sudden need coursed through his veins. He wanted to trace the curve of her face, as if he could commit her vibrant beauty to memory.
He wanted to shield her, to protect not only her body, but the spirit in her eyes.
And, blast it, he wanted to kiss her.
Despite his noble intentions, if one could call them that, he hungered for the feel of her rounded curves against the length of his body and the taste of her lips.
But this was not the time.
And it sure as bloody hell was not the place.
“I trust that someday you will tell me more of the story.” Her softly spoken words mercifully pulled him from his thoughts.
“Someday, Amelia, I will tell ye. But for now, I will not set aside the vow I made that night. Yer brother trusted me to watch over ye.”
“You must promise me that you will exercise caution.”
“Do not worry yerself over me. I know how to fight, and I know how to win. Ye’ve seen that with yer own eyes, have ye not, lass?”
“I must admit, you have been most impressive, Mr. MacLain.” Her voice, low and smooth as velvet, touched him like a caress. “But I intend to play a role in my own defense.”
Ah, the lass had spirit. Despite the slight quiver of her chin, her tone held courage. She would not surrender to fear.
“Fair enough,” he replied. “I do have one expectation of my own.”
“And what might that be?”
“Ye find it improper to address me by my given name. But if the tavern blokes hear ye calling memister, they’ll wonder if myda has come back from the grave. MacLain will do. That’s what everyone calls me.”
“A reasonable request,” she agreed.
As she gave a little nod, a rogue tendril slipped from her primly pinned hair. Gently, he tucked the rebellious curl behind her ear. The small intimacy shot a bolt of awareness through him, and the most subtle of smiles touched her lips. Sunlight streamed through the window, highlighting traces of red gleaming in her silky gold tresses. Her eyes darkened with feeling, with concern over him, no less. No other woman had ever looked at him with such genuine emotion.
Had ever looked at him likethat.
Bloody hell, she was beautiful.
More beautiful than a man like him could find words to describe.
The expression in Amelia’s smile and her eyes tempted him. Even the tiny little vee of a frown between her expressive brows drew him in.
From the first, he’d intended to defend her. Had been determined to protect her. But now…now he wanted to hear his name on her lips.
