Just as he had his hand on the door handle, she said, “MacCarrick, would you please buy me just a few new garments?”
He froze. Christ, she’d actually done it. This was the beginning of the end.
She stood and lightly touched his elbow, an unnecessarily cruel and unfair tactic. “I can repay you.”
He closed his eyes. He’d just have to deny her. Or put a price on them she wouldn’t want to pay. He turned with a lecherous look. “Lass, you ken they will no’ come cheaply.”
No angry words, no scathing retorts. “I also now know you won’t take advantage of a girl under your protection with no money and no family here to care for her.”
He bit out a harsh curse under his breath. “Do you no’ need to rest?”
“Dresses, MacCarrick,” she reminded him gently.
Once the seamstress had finished up a quick hem on her new skirt and the vivacious shopkeeper had packed her purchases, Annalía crossed to the front of the store, where MacCarrick prowled outside, pacing back and forth, and called him inside to pay.
When he entered, he went no further than the tight doorway, standing there with her as he surveyed her simple blouse and skirt. He stared at her face and her breasts and all the way down and up again, unhurriedly. This wasn’t the first time he’d examined her so rudely, but this time his lingering gaze didn’t infuriate her. This time, it felt like a touch.
The shopkeeper murmured, “I envy you the night you’re going to have.”
MacCarrick must have heard her because he turned away from Annalía with a cough into his fist. But what kind of night did his look promise? Why would the pretty woman envy her that?
Both the shopkeeper and the seamstress had told Annalía she was lucky to have such a “handsome Scot.” The seamstress had added, “Scottish men are such lusty devils!” as if this were a good trait.
When MacCarrick went to the counter to pay, the shopkeeper bent forward to present the bill—and her cleavage—to him. If Annalía hadn’t been here with him, would he have kissed the eager woman? Taken her into what would’ve been solely his room and bedded her? What an unusual, infuriating thought. She sauntered up to him, then took his arm, giving the woman a glare. She winked at Annalía.
The French!
On their way back to the inn, she was acutely aware of every woman who sneaked a glance at him. She’d never seen him around women like this and didn’t like it, even though he seemed oblivious.
When in Paris, she’d seen gloriously handsome men walking by, and though she didn’t sigh out loud like her girlfriends, she’d noted them appreciatively, but the looks these women gave MacCarrick were more sensual, more lascivious.
More…knowledgeable? They knew something about him that she didn’t, which was maddening. So she kept his arm, and he didn’t seem to mind. When she pointed out something and accidentally brushed him with her breasts, he hissed in a breath. His reaction to such a small touch was surprising and thrilling. She would make sure she did it often.
Now she gazed up at him, studying him as they walked along. He was exceedingly tall and broad shouldered. Of course, she’d known he dwarfed most men, but she’d always found his size intimidating, not attractive as other women seemed to see it. Though to be honest, there were things she did find attractive about him, now that she could look at him without…blinding hatred.
He had incredible eyes. Black like jet, but now she noticed they were flecked with silver. His face was hard, with rough features, but when these were put together, it was attractive, if one liked brooding and scarred. His hair was black as his eyes, and thick. She liked that, too.
She found herself asking, “MacCarrick, why did you become a mercenary?”
He scowled at her question. “What does it matter?”
“I’m curious about you,” she said. When he didn’t answer, she added, “I will answer any question you have, if you answer this one.” No response.
She squeezed his arm, and he finally said, “Highland regiments were returning from far-off places talking about the money to be made abroad. After their service, some of the soldiers signed on with a foreign crew, and I joined them.”
“It didn’t bother you? Killing for money?”
He tensed and grated, “That’s a second question.”
“Then ask yours.”
He pulled her into a shaded area and put his fingers under her chin. “Do you think about the night I kissed you in the study?”
She could feel her face heating.
“Do you?” he asked again.
“I might from time to time,” she said, striving for an airy tone. “It was my first kiss.”