Page 64 of A Rogue in Firelight
“I do not know what will happen after the king’s visit,” she murmured. “But if you need anything then, please let me know.”
His heart pounded hard. “Thank you. I appreciate your friendship.”
“Are we friends, then?” She tipped her head, watching him.
“More than friends, if you like,” he murmured, pressing her elbow, drawing her closer. Lowering his head, taking the chance, he touched his nose lightly to hers, angled his head. Waited, invited.
She tilted her face, nudged his nose, allowing. He drew in a breath and touched his lips to hers gently. Her lips met his in tender answer. Resting a hand on his chest, she leaned against him, and the kiss deepened of its own accord.
With one arm, he pulled her snug against him, and as she melded willingly into him, he sought her lips in a deep, exploring kiss. Sinking his fingers into the silky mass of her hair, he felt her sigh, press into him, open her lips to taste more. The feeling that plunged through him pulsed, strengthened. Then he pulled back.
“Friendship,” he breathed, “may have to be enough.”
“And secrets,” she whispered.
“Yours are safe with me.”
“And yours with me.” She did not pull away, but he let go, creating space between his body and hers.
“Forgive me,” he said. “Talk of fairies and romance skewed my thinking.”
“Hush. Do not apologize.” Reaching up, she touched a finger to his lips. “You do not seem the romantical sort. Perhaps it was the whisky.”
“Perhaps. But I do apologize. Neither of us needs a complication.”
“I am no innocent girl, but a widow.”
“I know,” he whispered.
“Ronan MacGregor,” she said, face close, bodies apart, tension rising like lightning between them. He felt it and would not allow himself to pursue it. “I trust you. And I—would be yours, if you wanted. If we agreed. I think we might.”
He sucked in a breath. “Go gently, lass. Do not trust me, or this moment.”
“I do. You are not the rogue people think.”
“Am I not?” He stepped past the threshold to the stone platform, where the steps led up to his room, or down and away. A precarious place. A precarious decision. He took her elbow. “I will take you to the tower door. The steps are treacherous in the dark.”
“Wait. I should apologize.” She took his arm. “It is unlike me to speak so—boldly. It might be the whisky.”
“It has a way of loosening tongues. Come ahead.” He guided her down a step.
“I have made a fool of myself,” she fretted quietly.
“Hush. What you are doing for me, lass, and what you said made me feel like—”
“A viscount?” She half-laughed.
He tipped her chin upward. “Like a Highland hero, kissed by a fairy queen.”
“Oh,” she whispered.
In the half-light, her soul seemed to shine in her eyes for a moment. It was all he needed, all he could ever want, but could not have. He was very like the sorry Highlander in her story, filled with love he could not express.
Enough, he told himself. “Best go, lass, before I lose myself utterly and you lose your trust in me.”
“I do not think that can happen now.”
“Miss Graham, you are a delicious and idealistic creature.” He led her down another step.
