The Saint (Highland Guard #5)(4)

His brows furrowed in befuddlement. “I won.”

“I don’t care if you won, he nearly killed you!”

He folded his arms across his chest, a decidedly cocky grin on his face. For a moment her gaze snagged on the bulging display of muscle in his arms. Lately it seemed she was always noticing things like that at the most inopportune times. It flustered her. He flustered her. Which was disconcerting, since from the first she’d always been comfortable around him.

“But he didn’t,” he said.

The arrogance of his pronouncement distracted her from her distraction. Her eyes narrowed. Men and their pride. Nay, Highlanders and their pride. They were a special breed of proud and stubborn. “You don’t have to sound so pleased with yourself.”

He frowned. “Aren’t you pleased for me?”

Helen nearly threw up her hands. “Of course I am.”

The frown deepened. “Then why are you so upset?”

Were all men obtuse? “Because I don’t like seeing you get hurt.”

He grinned again, snagging her around the waist as she tried to spin away from him. It was a playful move—something he’d done many times before—but there was something different this time when he dragged her up against the long length of his powerful body. Something hot and dangerous crackled in the air between them.

She gasped at the contact, feeling every solid inch of the steely chest and legs plastered to hers.

He looked down at her, his warm, golden-brown eyes darkening. “But I have you to take care of me, don’t I, m’aingeal?”

The huskiness in his voice sent a shiver running through her. My angel. He’d called her that since the first day they’d met, but today it sounded different. She blinked up at him, surprised at the change that had come over him. He never flirted with her like this. It was strange, exciting, and a little intimidating. He was a man. A warrior. A champion. Not the tall, lanky lad she’d first met. And suddenly she was achingly aware of it.

She tilted her head back, her lips parting in some instinctive response. She could see the desire swimming in his eyes and sucked in her breath in anticipation.

He was going to kiss her. God, he was really going to kiss her.

Finally!

Her heart hammered in her ears, as he lowered his head. She could feel his muscles tighten around her. Feel the pounding of his heart against hers and sense the passion surging inside him. Her knees weakened as desire shot through her in a wave of melting heat.

She sighed with pleasure at the first contact, at the sensation of his soft lips pressing against hers. Warmth and the faint tinge of spice infused her, flooding her senses with the heady taste of him.

He kissed her tenderly, dragging his lips over hers in a gentle caress. She sank into him, unconsciously seeking more.

Show me how much you care for me. She wanted throes of passion. She wanted heartfelt declarations of love. She wanted it all.

He made a pained sound, and for a moment she wondered if she’d hurt his ribs. But then his arms tightened around her. His mouth hardened, pressing against her more fully. The taste of spice grew deeper, more arousing. She could feel the tension in his muscles, feel the power surging through him, and her body melted in anticipation. Then suddenly he stiffened and pulled away with a harsh curse.

He released her so abruptly she had to catch herself from stumbling. Her legs seemed to be missing their bones.

Her eyes widened, shocked and not a little disappointed. Had she done something wrong?

He dragged his fingers through silky-straight, sandy-brown hair. “Marry me.”

She gaped at him in astonishment. “W-what?”

His gaze locked on hers. “I want you to be my wife.”

The spontaneity of the proposal was so unlike him, at first she thought he must be jesting. But one look at his face told her differently. “You’re serious?”

“Aye.”

“But why?”

He frowned. It was obviously not the response he’d hoped for. “I would think that would be obvious. I care for you.”

Not “I love you.” Not “I can’t live without you.” Not “I want to ravish you senseless.”

There was a tiny pinch in the vicinity of her heart. Helen told herself she was being ridiculous. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? He’d told her how he felt—even if it wasn’t exactly with the flourish she’d hoped for.

He was so confoundingly controlled. Not cold and unfeeling, but calm and even-tempered. Steady. A rock, not a volcano. But sometimes she wished he’d explode.

When she didn’t respond right away, he added, “Surely this can’t come as a surprise to you?”

Actually it did. She bit her lip. “We never talked about the future.” Perhaps because they’d both been trying to ignore the realities.

Marriage. It was the only option for a woman in her position. Then why did the very idea strike fear in her heart?

But this was Magnus. He understood her. She loved him. Of course she wanted to marry him.

But what he was asking was impossible. “Our families will never allow it. The feud.”

“I’m not asking our families, I’m asking you. Run away with me.”

She sucked in her breath. A clandestine marriage? The notion was shocking. But also, she admitted, oddly appealing—andundeniably romantic. Where would they go? Perhaps the continent? How exciting it would be to travel across the countryside with only each other to please! “Where would we go?”