The Ranger (Highland Guard #3)(51)
Hell, what he wanted to do was toss her down on his bed, wrap her legs around his hips, and plunge into mindless oblivion.
Jesus, he needed to stop thinking about it. Stop torturing himself with things that were impossible. He’d always been able to cut himself off before, but with Anna it was different.
She was different. And it didn’t make him happy to acknowledge it.
He was aware of his brother’s scrutiny, but he couldn’t turn away. With every step that brought her closer, his heart pounded harder, every nerve ending standing on edge as he steeled himself for the moment when she noticed him.
But as she drew near, he felt a prickle of unease. Something was wrong.
She wasn’t smiling. Her eyes weren’t sparkling with mischief and joy. And her laugh ... the light, effervescent sound that he could have listened to for hours was acutely silent. He’d grown so accustomed to her perpetual good cheer, to the lighthearted charm that seemed to brighten the room, the void of its absence seemed darker.
Damn, had he hurt her more than he’d realized? Guilt pricked him.
For a moment he thought she would walk right past him, but then she sensed the weight of his gaze.
Their eyes locked.
Everything went completely still.
He waited for her reaction. Waited to see the color flood her cheeks, her breath hitch, and the pulse in her neck flutter. Waited for her awareness.
Instead, she stiffened.
Lady Anna wore her thoughts and feelings on her face. It was one of the things that he found so captivating and irresistible about her. The childlike innocence and excitement, the precious vulnerability. But the expression that had always been open to him was closed. He felt her cool regard for only a brief instant before her gaze swept past him.
As if he’d ceased to exist.
As if she’d never melted in his arms.
As if the kiss that he couldn’t stop thinking about had never happened.
As if she hadn’t almost been under him.
Her indifference ate like acid through his chest. Burning. Aching. Filling him with a wild recklessness. The primitive urge to do something crazed, like press her up against the wall and kiss her until she surrendered to him once more.
He was controlled. Restrained. Different. He didn’t have urges like that. But with one cool glance, Anna MacDougall had brought out every barbaric impulse stirring in his blood.
It seemed he’d achieved his objective. His cruel rejection had worked. Ironically, when he no longer wanted her indifference he had it.
Or maybe she’d never been interested in him at all. Maybe it was only about keeping an eye on him.
His mouth tightened and his muscles tensed, more bothered by the thought than he wanted to admit. Unfortunately, his brother was proving unusually perceptive.
Dugald shivered dramatically. “My, it’s feeling a little wintry around here. Seems the lass’s infatuation is over, little brother. With all the effort you’ve gone to to discourage her, I thought you’d be happy.” He paused to shake his head. “Could it be a woman has finally gotten to you? I didn’t think it possible.”
Arthur leaned back against the stone wall behind him, projecting a carelessness he didn’t feel. She had gotten to him, but he’d be damned if he’d let Dugald know of his weakness. “She’s a sweet girl, nothing more.”
“Made even sweeter because you can’t have her.”
Arthur shrugged, taking a long swig of cuirm, emptying his cup. “What I want from her is not something an innocent young noblewoman can give.”
Dugald chuckled and slapped him on the upper arm. “I feel your pain, little brother. I’m experiencing some of it myself. I know a lass whose talented mouth will do much to ease it; I’ll send her to you.”
Arthur’s gaze slid to the dais where Lady Anna had just taken her seat. He was tempted. Damned tempted. But he wasn’t interested in one of his brother’s women.
One corner of his mouth lifted in a wry half-smile. “Sharing, brother? It isn’t like you. But in this case it isn’t necessary. I don’t think I’ll have any trouble finding my own relief.” If he wanted, he had a few women to choose from. The problem was that he didn’t want. Them, at least.
Dugald shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He leaned over and grinned. “But you don’t know what you’re missing. The lass could milk a cow dry with her mouth, and she does this thing with her tongue ...”
Dugald’s voice faded into the background. The wicked skills proffered by Dugald’s jade didn’t interest him.
His gaze shifted to the dais.
She interested him, damn it. Though God knows she shouldn’t.
But he might as well have been invisible—not once did she look in his direction. He clenched the pewter goblet in his fist, filling it more than once as the meal drew on, his irritation growing with every minute.
His plan to stay close to her side was going to be more difficult than he’d anticipated, but if she thought she could dismiss him so easily, she was bloody well wrong.
He’s back.
Anna jerked back the unwelcome tug of yearning in her chest and forced herself not to look at him. Not to think about him.
Sir Arthur wasn’t for her. He never had been. Her course was set. She’d made her decision. Her father—her clan—was counting on her. It was too late for regrets or second-guessing, even if seeing him had brought all those unwelcome emotions rushing back.
Monica McCarty's Books
- Monica McCarty
- The Raider (Highland Guard #8)
- The Knight (Highland Guard #7.5)
- The Hunter (Highland Guard #7)
- The Recruit (Highland Guard #6)
- The Saint (Highland Guard #5)
- The Viper (Highland Guard #4)
- The Hawk (Highland Guard #2)
- The Chief (Highland Guard #1)
- Highland Scoundrel (Campbell Trilogy #3)