Chapter 8
Hekissedher.
That was his first thought upon waking. The second thought . . . The softness of her touch still burned his lips. Her taste had nearly undone him. Even now, if he closed his eyes, he could feel them pressing into his, the fresh scent of her skin enveloping him like a field of daisies. But it was the little sound of pleasure that brought a slight leap to his pulse. She hadenjoyedhis kiss. That knowledge was more dangerous than anything else.
Lash groaned.
His mind exploded every time he called her sweetness to mind. She had done something to him, stolen his wits. Bewitched him.
This woman, Honoria MacCallan, tempted him to want things he could never have. Never had he felt such a strong pull toward agadji. Nothing had ever enticed him into their world as Honoria did. The urge to leave burned in his belly. And what remained of his logic insisted that he do so fast.
She was not a woman of his world. She lived in luxury, laid her head down on soft pillows—had never known any other way of life. But confined on this bed, soft pillows and plush rugs, trapped as if an invisible vise had already shackled over his feet and clamped shut, felt fraught.
There were so many things he wished he could take back in his life. Decisions made differently. His biggest regret leaving his sister behind after his father had banished him. That must be the heaviest burden he carried on his shoulders. Remorse, however, always arrived too late. Syeira was missing.
His search for her had led him to Scotland, and he would not rest until he found her. But Danior had followed him. And that was a problem. A big problem. The kind of problem that left wounds in your chest. The question remained. Did Danior’s anger extend to their sister?
Lash would die before he allowed anything to happen to her. Syeira was the only constant light in his life. After he’d taken care of Danior, his priority was finding her. Which meant there was no room in his life for an auburn-haired beauty with big, innocent eyes.
But damnit, whenever she entered the chamber, the room lit up like a thousand fallen stars shooting across the sky. She was unlike anygadjihe had ever met, saw the world through bursts of color, from a view most people lacked.
But she was a distraction.
And he had made a grave mistake in kissing her.
Lash knew, with certainty, if he stayed much longer it would happen again. He would be no more able to stop himself than he could stop the world from spinning. But such fantasies were dangerous. For him. For her. For everyone.
“You are awake,” a deep voice broke into his musing, drawing his attention to the door.
A tall man pinned Lash with piercing eyes, arms casually slung across his chest as he reclined with one shoulder against the archway.
Ah, this must be Honoria’s twin.
She had been right. They did resemble one another—as much as a man could resemble a woman. The Highlander sported the same auburn hair and freckles dominating the bridge of his nose. His face was more angular, though, and reddish stubble covered his jaw. Fire crackled and clawed behind the good-natured depth of his gaze.
This was not a friendly visit.
“You must be the brother.”
The Highlander laughed. “I amoneof the brothers. Hugh MacCallan, at your service.”
The way he saidone of the brothersgave Lash pause. Honoria hadn’t told him much about her family, only that her brothers, all except for this one, were traveling.
“How many are you?” Lash found himself asking.
“Nine.”
Both his brows shot up. Somehow it seemed significant that Honoria hadn’t revealed the extent of her family. He made a note to ask her about it later. If he could manage to drag his gaze away from her lips, that is.
“Lash Ruthven.”
The Highlander inclined his head. He certainly did not lack in size. Lash wondered if all her brothers were tall and built like bulls. Honoria probably thought he’d be daunted—the Highlanders must make an intimidating picture.
“My sister has taken an interest in you.”
Not good.
Certainly not with the announcement coming from her brother.
