Page 57 of The Laird's Wicked Game

As will I. How she wanted to say those words, yet she stopped herself. Making such an admission would make severing this connection even harder.

Something shifted in his eyes then, and she tensed, bracing herself for him to ask for another month or two. She’d told herself before coming to him tonight that she’d remain strong. If he suggested such a thing, she was to deny him. The past six moons had flown, yet at the same time, it was too long. Each murmured conversation they had, in the aftermath of their coupling, each tender, unguarded moment, brought her closer to the brink of falling into a chasm.

Kylie had to pull herself back from it.

But Rae surprised her.

He didn’t ask for more time or try to wheedle another promise out of her. Instead, he continued to look up at Kylie as his thumb caressed her cheek. And the softness of those fern-green eyes made her want to weep.

How easy it would be to love this man, to open herself up to him.

Nonetheless, being his lover for a spell was one thing, remaining in that role longer term was another. She could see trouble ahead and would do all she could to prevent it.

The moment drew out, and awkwardness stole over her. Clearing her throat, she favored him with a brittle smile. “There’s no need to look glum just yet, Maclean,” she teased, even as the ache under her breastbone intensified. “The night is still young … ye can have me again, if ye wish?”

He laughed before, to her surprise, shaking his head. “If tonight is the last we shall have together, then I’d rather spend the rest of ittalkingto ye, than swiving ye.” His mouth curved once more, even if his gaze remained solemn. “Going forward, things will be different.”

Kylie swallowed, even as she cursed this man for his decency. Couldn’t he be selfish and callous, as Errol had been? Couldn’t he say something that would make it easier to harden her heart against him?

Usually, Rae fell asleep after Kylie left him.

But not tonight.

Listening as the door whispered shut one last time, and his lover stealthily made her way back to her bedchamber, he stared up at the beams crisscrossing the ceiling above.

His self-restraint amazed him. So many times over the last few hours, he’d ached to tell Kylie that he was in love with her. And yet, he’d somehow managed to swallow the words, to let their last night together pass without a declaration that would likely end in his humiliation.

No, it was one thatdefinitelywould shame him.

She’d made her wishes clear. He might be pining for her like a lovesick youth, but she remained emotionally reserved. Sometimes, and tonight was one such occasion, it felt as if there were an iron door between them. She’d let him get close over the past months, but at a certain point her shields had come up, and there was no getting past them.

Of course, he’d known this moment was near. He’d been out riding when he’d seen the snowdrops.

Too soon.

He’d pushed his discovery to the back of his thoughts then and gotten on with his day. All the same, he’d dreaded this evening.

After their final tumble, he’d wanted to converse with his lover intimately for a while, for he enjoyed the closeness that had developed between them. He’d never felt so comfortable with a woman, so accepted for himself—and on a selfish level, he wished to have one last exchange he could revisit whenever loneliness sank its claws into him. But things had been awkward after Kylie had told him she’d seen her first snowdrops. Instead of talking, they’d merely held each other. And when she’d finally risen from the bed and pulled her night-rail back on, before slinging her cloak about her shoulders, he’d felt as if she were taking a piece of him with her.

Smitten fool.

Aye, he was.

Rolling over, Rae buried his face in the pillow and growled the saltiest curse he knew. This game had been his idea, but he’d overestimated his ability to be able to share his bed with Kylie Grant for six months and not fall for her.

Shehad managed though, and the realization left a bitter taste in his mouth.

22: A LOCK AND KEY

THE RAIN HAMMERED against the curtain wall, the skies above the color of lead.

Squinting out at the misty landscape beyond, while water ran off the brim of his sealskin hood, Rae grimaced. The spring rains had started early this year. Usually, they didn’t get a deluge until April, but it was only the beginning of March, and the weather had turned. The last of the snow had melted with the end of February, the air had warmed—and heavy rain clouds had rolled in.

To the east, the Sound of Mull churned, white caps foaming. Unsurprisingly, no birlinns or cogs sailed between Mull and the mainland this morning.

Rae muttered a curse under his breath. He’d ordered a shipment of oats from Argyll—as a harsh winter had depleted their stores—but it would be delayed now. Turning from the view, he strode back along the walls, to the slippery steps thatled back down to the barmkin. Large puddles had formed upon the cobbles, where two bairns splashed like waterfowl.

An instant later, their mother rushed out of the kitchen, her voice carrying through the pattering rain. “Look what ye have done … yer new trews are filthy!” she shouted, waving a wooden spoon. “Get indoors, the pair of ye!”