Page 23 of The Icy Highlander's Virgin
"Whose fault is that?"
"Are ye sayin' it's mine?"
"I'm sayin' it doesnae have to stay that way." She moved closer still, until she was near enough that he could catch the faint scent of lavender in her hair. "Unless ye prefer keepin' people at a distance."
I prefer keepin' meself safe.
"What exactly are ye proposin'?"
"That we get to ken each other. Really ken each other, nae just the surface things."
"And ye think that's wise? Kennin' the dark things about a person?"
"I think it's honest," she said simply. "And I'd rather have honesty than pretty lies."
Lachlan studied her face, looking for some hint of deception or calculation. But all he saw was genuine curiosity and something that might have been concern.
She's either very brave or very foolish.
"What if ye daenae like what ye discover?" he asked.
"What if I do?"
The question hung between them, loaded with possibilities he wasn't sure he was ready to explore. But before he could respond, her gaze shifted to the canvas behind him.
"What are ye paintin'?" she asked softly.
And there it was—the question he'd been dreading and expecting in equal measure.
"Somethin' that's nae fit for a lady's eyes."
"Let me be the judge of that."
"Erica..."
"Please, Lachlan." The word was barely above a whisper. "I want to understand."
Understand what? The darkness that lives in me? The violence that shaped me?
But the way his name had rolled off her tongue, the way she looked at him like she could see his inward struggles, and the note of genuine caring made him step aside.
"Daenae say I didnae warn ye," he said quietly.
Erica moved closer to the canvas, and Lachlan watched her face carefully as she took in what he'd created. The phoenix rose majestically from the painted flames, but beneath it, traces of the original scene were still visible—dark shapes that suggested violence, shadows that spoke of pain.
"It's a phoenix," she said softly, her voice filled with wonder. "But there's somethin' else underneath, isn't there?"
Too perceptive by half, this one.
"Aye," he said quietly. "There is."
"What was it before? Before ye changed it?"
Lachlan hesitated. How did he explain the darkness that lived in his mind, the memories that drove him to paint scenes of his own torture?
"Me faither," he said finally.
"Yer faither?" She leaned closer, studying the shadows beneath the phoenix. "What about him?"
