Page 23 of A Memory Not Mine (Sanguis Amantium #1)

Chapter twenty-two

Baird

B aird felt a stab of guilt for deceiving Mira.

He could see she was drawn to him—her eyes gave her away.

Even after years of his self-imposed, hermetic existence, he hadn’t lost the ability to read a woman.

So he made the choice to use that attraction, to stay close to her while she was in Edinburgh.

It was necessary, he told himself. The pull between them offered a convenient excuse—one he had to remind himself of constantly.

Because the way he looked at her wasn’t part of the act.

That was real. And if his life were anything other than what it was, he’d have made her his without hesitation.

After dinner, they walked around the city for the better part of two hours.

Mira opened up about her failed relationship with some architect, about the disconnection she often felt from people, and the things her therapist had said.

She spoke about how designing jewelry was the only thing that ever truly made her feel free.

She told him how hard it had been to go through her parents’ belongings, how the grief still crept up on her at the strangest times—like during the quiet drive to the Inn at Lochranza.

Baird listened, patient and still, wondering how anyone could have ever called her abrasive.

How some fool back in America— Michael —could have chosen anyone else over this perfect, vibrant, intelligent woman. This woman.

He kept one eye on Mira and the other on their surroundings, always alert—always watching for him.

The one he knew would come. There was something between them, some dark, binding cord that let Baird sense his presence like a storm gathering at the edge of his mind.

But tonight, the air was still. He neither saw nor felt anything, and before long, they were back at her hotel.

He let himself exhale, just slightly. But then, without warning, a different kind of unease settled in his gut.

He had a request for Mira, and he didn’t know how she’d react.

“Would ye allow me to see the painting? If ye aren’t comfortable with me coming back to your room, I’d understand…” His voice trailed off, uncertainty creeping in.

“Absolutely. Come up,” Mira replied without hesitation.

Trusting him seemed to come easily for Mira—too easily. It unsettled him more than he cared to admit. Was she always like this? So quick to believe in someone, to lean in without hesitation?

They took the elevator to her room on the third floor. Once inside, she dropped her bag and draped her coat over a chair before crossing to the small safe. She keyed in the code, opened it, and retrieved the red leather box. Lifting the lid, she handed it to him without a word.

He stared at the painting for what felt like an eternity. The face—one he knew so well—suddenly seemed cold and lifeless when compared to the vibrantly alive woman he’d been watching all night. Mira Garvie’s eyes held a spark the painting could never capture.

Baird pulled his eyes away from the portrait and looked back at Mira, then said quietly, “It’s beautiful .”

Mira seemed to be searching his face for a reaction when she asked, “Are you surprised to see how much we resemble each other? ”

“No,” he said simply, giving a slow shake of his head.

The moment shifted. His walls were back up—he felt them lock into place after letting them fall for most of the night. And he knew Mira saw it. She saw everything.

He handed the portrait back to Mira. She took it gently, set it on the counter, and drew in a deep breath—as if bracing herself. Then she turned, walked over to him, and took his hand in hers.

“Baird…I think you know I’m attracted to you. I don’t know if you feel the same, but if you do, I’d like you to spend the night with me.”

“There it is,” he murmured, his voice tinged with awe. “The direct Mira. Not abrasive at all…just clear. Decisive. Honest.”

As if accepting the invitation, she stepped closer, her other hand sliding up to the back of his neck, drawing him in.

Their lips hovered a breath apart when he stopped just shy of the kiss.

His body leaned in with aching need, but his mind braced itself, caught in a silent war.

Desire surged hot and insistent, but something deeper held him back—a flicker of doubt, or maybe fear. He hadn’t surrendered. Not yet.

“Mira…I don’t think ye know what yer asking,” he whispered, his breath warm against her mouth.

She inhaled deeply, catching his scent—and he saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes that seemed to throw her off-balance. His hesitation lingered between them sharply.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, pulling back just slightly. “I misread you. If you’re not attracted to me—”

But before she could finish, he caught her hand—gentle yet firm.

His other hand found her hip, drawing her in until their bodies met, no space left between them.

He pressed his hard length against her, letting her feel the answer.

The heat that surged through him was immediate, electric—impossible to hide.

Her question had been absurd, but he didn’t want to shame her.

He only wanted her to understand, in the most undeniable way, just how much he wanted her.

He held her gaze, his voice low and rough with desire. “Does that feel like I’m not attracted to ye, Mira?”

The question lingered in the charged silence between them.

“I don’t understand. We’re both consenting adults—I’m on birth control, if that’s what you’re worried about…” Mira said breathlessly.

Baird’s cool hands framed her face, his thumbs resting lightly along her jaw, one settling into the soft cleft of her chin. Then, finally, he bent down and kissed her. It was soft, tentative, and far too brief. When he pulled away, he saw disappointment in Mira’s eyes.

He exhaled, steadying himself. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a woman more than I want ye right now, Mira Garvie,” he said, his voice thick with restraint.

He let his hands fall away from her but held her gaze.

“Lock your door. Don’t open the windows,” he said quietly, his gaze steady.

“This city can be a dangerous place.” He hesitated, then added, “Can we pick this up tomorrow—after yer flea markets? I was thinking…maybe I’ll make ye dinner at my flat.

That is, if ye can stand a bit more of this ‘chitchat.’ ” When he said the last word, he gave her a faint smile, a nod to his earlier teasing.

He hoped she’d hear the warmth behind it—and maybe a quiet apology, too.

“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “I’d like that…very much.”

He gave her a quick nod, and then he was gone.