Page 22 of The Icy Highlander's Virgin

"I dinnae mean to disturb ye," she said quickly, wrapping her arms around herself. "I was lookin' for... that is, I was..."

Spit it out, lass. Where is that confidence ye had when ye were beatin’ me up at cards?

"I wasnae doin' anythin' wrong," she finally managed, lifting her chin with a spark of defiance that made something warm unfurl in his chest.

Lachlan raised an eyebrow, keeping his expression deliberately neutral. "Did I say ye did somethin' wrong? Daenae put words into me mouth."

Her lips formed a small pout that was far more appealing than it had any right to be.

Christ, she's bonnie when she's ruffled. What I could do to those lips.

"Then why did ye..." She trailed off, seeming to realize she was digging herself deeper.

"Why did I what? Notice ye standin' there like a statue? Wonder what exactly ye were hopin' to see?"

"I wasnae hopin' to see anythin' in particular," she protested, though her eyes flicked toward the canvas behind him. "I was just... curious."

"Curious about what?"

"About ye," she admitted, then immediately looked like she wished she could take the words back.

About me. Me wife is curious about me.That was interesting. And dangerous.

"And what exactly did ye want to ken?" He took a step closer, noting how her breath caught at the movement. "What burnin' questions about yer new husband kept ye standin' in that doorway like a spy?"

"I'm nae a spy," she said indignantly. "And I had every right to be there. This is me home now too."

"Aye, it is." Another step closer. "But that doesnae explain why ye were watchin' me work instead of makin' yer presence known."

She opened her mouth, closed it, then tried again. "I dinnae want to interrupt."

"Interrupt what? Me talkin' to meself like a madman?"

"Were ye? Talkin' to yerself, I mean?"

Lachlan paused. Had he been speaking aloud? He did that sometimes when he painted, lost in memories so vivid they demanded to be voiced. The thought that she'd heard him made his jaw tighten.

"What did ye hear?" he asked quietly.

"Yer words were nae clear. Just... ye seemed to be describin' what ye were paintin'."

"And what did ye think of what ye heard?"

Erica hesitated, clearly weighing her words. "Ye sounded... angry. And sad."

Perceptive little thing.

"Maybe I was."

"About what?"

"That's nae yer concern."

"Isn't it?" She took a step into the room, her initial shyness giving way to boldness. "We're married, Lachlan. Shouldn't a wife ken what troubles her husband?"

The question hit him like a physical blow. When was the last time anyone had cared what troubled him? When had anyone asked?

"We're barely more than strangers," he pointed out, though his voice lacked its earlier edge.