It had been an amazing kiss, and it lingered on her lips for hours and tingled her senses far longer.
Now when he took her in his arms, she thought of that kiss, deep and lazy and loving, and she wished for more.
“The cottage is fine for now,” she said, wishing he would remark on her obvious intention to leave.
Didn’t he care? Didn’t he want her to stay? He hadn’t mentioned love again since they’d argued. And she was too stubborn to be the one to broach the subject. He was the one who had asked the question, after all. If he cared enough, he would pursue it. Wouldn’t he? She wanted to cry out in frustration. She had no experience when it came to falling in love. She only knew she had these crazy feelings rushing and twisting inside her, and that they grew more maddening whenever she was with him.
She felt Artair blend against her as if becoming part of her, and she hoped he would kiss her. Good heavens, but she wanted him to kiss her.
He is good for you.
Her grandmother’s voice reminded her, and while grateful for that, she didn’t need it. She knew as much herself. Artair demonstrated his considerate nature every day. It was his unbridled passion she wished to see. Or was she looking for a hint of love? Just once she wanted him to do something completely illogical, when it came to her.
Suddenly feeling the need to demonstrate her own passion, she turned in his arms and whispered across his lips, “I want you to kiss me.”
Without a word, he obliged, sweeping her mouth with his in a kiss that made her legs tremble and toes tingle as she melted in his arms. Lord, but the man could kiss. His kiss consumed and completed and made her want more, so much more.
She rested her cheek to his chest and splayed her hand over his heart. She thought she felt it thump strongly. Could it be thumping loudly for her?
“I love your kisses,” she said softly, and thought she felt a quickening of his muscles. But it was only for a mere second, and she dismissed it, thinking her mind played tricks on her, while wishing that it hadn’t.
“I love kissing you,” he said, and gently skimmed his lips over hers. “Whether tender or passionate, every kiss stirs my soul.”
Her heart soared along with her smile. “There you go being romantic again.”
“One reason I would make a good husband.”
She inched out of his arms reluctantly and could feel that he let her go with reluctance. She walked around the table, gathering items as she went, and when she stood opposite him, said, “Tell me other reasons you would make a good husband, and not the obvious ones.”
“Protecting you, then, would be one of the obvious ones.”
She nodded. “I’ve heard it enough. Tell me something different.”
She waited, thinking he was stumped and feeling a sense of disappointment when he finally replied.
“You fit perfectly in my arms. I feel complete when I hold you, as if part of me has returned and I am finally whole.”
He expressed beautifully what she felt herself, and it stole her breath away.
“A good reason?” he asked when she didn’t respond.
She nodded and in a bare whisper said, “Another reason.”
“We make good bed partners,” he said with a grin. “I love that you can’t stay to your side of the bed and that you are all over me throughout the night.”
She chuckled, since that morning she woke wrapped around him, and he had made a hasty exit out of bed under the pretense of meeting with Cavan. She recalled how empty the bed felt without him. Or had it been that she felt empty without him?
“Finished,” she said, dropping the last of the items she held in a basket on the table. “We can go now.” She didn’t want to hear any more reasons that he’d make a good husband. The two he’d cited were reason enough, besides loving his kisses, and the way he held her, and the way he worried over her safety, and, damn…
She hurried out of the cottage, her thoughts chasing after her.
Damn, she loved him.
She’d known it for a while, though refused to acknowledge it to herself. She had never been drawn as swiftly to a man as she had to Artair. He’d been right—they made each other feel whole. It was simple—they had been made for each other.
Then why was she annoyed? Isn’t that what she wanted, a man made expressly for her, and her for him? Even though he was too sensible at times, he’d proved he was romantic, so he surely possessed the passion to love. But was it an everlasting love passion, or merely a random passion?
She jumped, startled, when Artair draped her shawl across her shoulders.
“You need this with autumn in the air.”
Zia tied the ends tightly together and took his arm with a smile. She didn’t want him to know that thoughts of him and of love disturbed her. She needed to work this out for herself, make sense of it all, and—She almost muttered beneath her breath.