The Kiss: An Anthology About Love and Other Close Encounters(12)

“Ciaran MacRae,” she said softly. “I can’t figure you out.”

“You can sleep on it, lass.” He brushed his lips over her hair, and then she closed her eyes.





*


Bright sun shone into the stone chamber’s entry. Mac awoke next to Ciaran, warmed by his body. On her arm lay his large hand, rough and well-shaped. She felt safe and at home in his arms. The feeling was foreign, and she didn’t trust it. He stirred and repositioned his arms about her. The plaid was coarse and uneven, as if woven by hand. Mac touched the fabric. Not even Cam would have gone to such trouble.

In response to her touch, he planted a drowsy kiss on her forehead and drifted back to sleep. Mac gasped, shut her eyes, and exhaled. She should wake him, but his breath was so warm on her neck. She wasn’t quite ready to lose the belonging she felt in his arms. That in itself was good reason to leave. She was experiencing some sort of Stockholm syndrome—not that she’d fallen in love! Nor was she held captive. She could leave. It was light out. She could find her way home without him, and she would. Mac eased Ciaran’s hand aside, taking care not to wake him. She was about to slip out of his arms when he murmured something and cupped his hand on her breast.

Mac scrambled to her feet. “Now you’re in trouble.”

Ciaran rose abruptly and looked outside for signs of danger. Seeing none, he took hold of her shoulders. “Are you all right, Mac? Och, ’tis not a proper name for a woman so fair.” His words trailed off as he gazed into her eyes.

She should say something glib to put distance between them, but she just stared, slack-jawed. Too many moments later, she forced her gaze away. “Don’t flatter me, Ciaran. It won’t work.” If she said it enough, she might believe it.

“No, I ken that you wouldnae countenance flattery. ‘Tis why I spoke only the truth.”

God, he’s good. She turned back to him, ready to toss out her best sarcastic quip, but his weightless gaze disarmed her. She lost herself in it, unable to speak. Ciaran smiled an admiring, trustworthy smile. She almost believed it.

Mac wiped snow from the seat of her jeans, turned, and kicked snow onto the fire’s glowing embers. “I’ve got to go.”

Ciaran wrapped and belted his plaid then joined her outside the stone chamber. He squinted as the bright snow reflected the sunlight. “Would you leave me here then, to fend for myself?”


“Oh, I’m sure you can manage without me.” Mac turned to find Ciaran inside her personal space. Her voice lost its self-assured tone as she looked at him. She lost track of her purpose when his full lips parted. Unsettled, she drew back, but he touched her chin. She began to protest, but his gaze was so tender that her breath caught.

“Mac.” He made no move to kiss her, but his soft gaze fell to her lips.

She found her eyes drifting to his mouth as well. The kiss was there, waiting for her. “No.” She had built a life. She controlled it. Who was he to disrupt it? She turned away and stared at the brilliant snow and the stark winter trees.

Resting his hands on her shoulders, he said, “I must leave you soon. May I kiss you good-bye?”

Her cautious look was his answer.

“Can you not trust me by now?”

Fear would not drown out the drumming of her heart. Tears stung her eyes. How dare he… How could he affect her so? “You’re a stranger.”

With a pained nod, he said, “Aye, that I am.” He searched the sky and exhaled. “If there were but words to tell you—”

“Please don’t.” She was surprised by the chill in her voice. Was Cam right? Had Mac become so adept at keeping men distant that she didn’t know how to let one get close?

Quiet and sure, he closed the distance between them. “You’ve spent the night in my arms.”

“For the warmth.”

“You ken as well as I do that there was more.”

She did, but she wouldn’t admit it. She shook her head but stopped when the tip of his finger traced her lips. Against her will, her lips parted. She grasped his hand. Even the scratches and scars on his hand were appealing. Why couldn’t she breathe?

He turned his hand to grasp hers. He drew her palm to his lips. “Mac, I ken that you dinnae remember me.”

She was breathless but managed to shake her head. “Oh, I think I’d remember you.”

His eyes shone with a hint of a smile, but it faded. He placed Mac’s hand on his chest. “Do you feel that?”

She nodded, feeling the strong beat against her palm.

“That is my heart, and it’s yours.”

She stared at his chest. “Please.” Stop. She couldn’t voice that word.

“How can I win your trust?”

Scarcely a whisper came out. “Give me time.”

He lifted her chin. “Och, lass, I dinnae have that to give.”

“It’s too much, too fast—”

“Aye, I ken it.” His expression softened.

“But you can’t—because I don’t understand it myself.”

He brushed a tear that had slid to her cheek. He frowned at the sunrise. “There is no more time for us now.” Snow caught sparks of sunlight around them. Gripping her shoulders, he took in the sight of her hair, cheekbones, and mouth. “I must leave.”