He turned her to the bed, lifting her on top of it with strong arms before leaning over and covering her with his warm body. She breathed deeply when he pushed himself back from her and stared deeply into her eyes, before lowering his gaze to her lips.
Were they going to do this? Was she going to lay with her husband?
Kyla knew it would accomplish nothing, would only make their relationship more complex than it already was. They should be sharing words, not bodies.
But that didn’t seem to matter when he bent his head to taste her lips once more. His tongue stroked hers in an intricate play as heat coursed through her. She leaned up, running a hand over his hair, fisting it in her fingertips and—there was a quick knock on the door before it was shoved open.
“Fin, I need you to—oh!” Roderick hastily backpedaled out the door. “Am I ever sorry Fin, Kyla. Goodnight!”
Neither Finlay nor Kyla looked at him, Finlay because he was still staring so intently at her, Kyla because she was mortified, although why she didn’t know. She was in—well, on top of—the bed with her husband, which was certainly nothing to be ashamed of. The spell that had captivated them both was broken, however, as her mind cleared and Finlay’s words and attitude toward her from earlier in the day and during the meal downstairs came flooding back into her consciousness.
She pushed herself off the bed and started for the door, realizing how she must look as she straightened her dress and brought her cool hands to her warm, flushed cheeks.
“Leaving so soon?” Finlay drawled out as he watched her go. She halted her steps.
“I… aye, that was rather sudden, and I’m just not sure I…” Kyla floundered for the words as she kept her back to him, her gaze riveted on the door.
“Goodnight, Kyla,” he said wryly as she turned the doorknob and began to ease the door open. “Ye know, there is an interconnecting door, should you ever choose to use it.”
She gave a quick nod of her head before slipping out into the hallway and back to her own bedroom as fast as she could.
Kyla threw herself onto her bed, alone, her thoughts racing. What was she thinking? This man was ignorant, rude, and blatantly ignored her. She had gone up to his room to tell him that she would no longer be disrespected by him in front of his family, and when he had kissed her, she had allowed every rational thought to flee. She was a smarter woman than that. But she had allowed herself to become caught up in the moment and had let her actions get away from her. Apparently, Finlay didn’t want to actually speak with her and had resorted to extreme measures to keep her silent. So be it.
She resolved that the following day she would ride back home—her former home, that was—to see what had been transpiring with the MacTavishes since she had left. She was concerned for her brother and her father, and hoped that all was well without her.
She fell into a fitful sleep, filled with dreams of Finlay McDougall.
* * *
Finlay had a restless night, both his mind and body full of thoughts of Kyla and what could have been. When she had walked through the door, he had seen the anger on her face, and he had been done with it. He didn’t want this enmity, this tension between them, but could not think of the words to make things right. Instead, his body had reacted before his mind could even comprehend what he was doing, and he had taken her in his arms the way he had dreamt of for years.
He had been stunned when she had responded with equal measure. Damn Roderick and his interruption. If he hadn’t come in when he did… but there was no point in wishing for what could have been, he supposed. Besides that, when he and Kyla did finally come together—if they ever did—it should be because she was as fully interested and as willing as he was…not simply swept up in the heat of lust.
He resolved that if he were to ever have Kyla beneath him on the bed again, there would be much more than a passionate kiss, and that she would be as willing to initiate as he was.
He knew, deep within him, that there was only one way to make her truly want him…to be the man she desired him to be, a man who was much more understanding and rational, who would say all of the things she wanted to hear. If he was smart, he thought as he rose before the sun, splashing water on his face in an attempt to make up for his lack of sleep, he would simply pretend to be that man.
But Finlay was too stubborn to be someone he was not. No, she would have to take him for who he was, with no false pretenses. He wouldn’t apologize for his character.
Although, he considered as he left the room and took the stairs in anticipation of breakfast, perhaps he could soften his edges somewhat.
It couldn’t hurt to try.
* * *
Kyla woke the next morning to a chilly room, the fire having burnt down in the night and the cool autumn air circulating through the window and around the bedchamber. She made a note in her mind to be sure to close the window before she fell asleep the coming night. She dressed in a skirt of McDougall tartan with a shawl over her blouse, and descended the stairs for breakfast.
It was fairly silent in the house. The McDougalls were early risers, for the most part, and despite her best efforts to wake early, they always seemed to
