His lips twitched. “I suppose you can say that. Much of the dance is expressing your deepest emotion through the music. You live the dance, breathe the dance, and you consume every part of the rhythm.”
“That sounds almost poetic.” His words transfixed her, as did the spark of animation that lit his features.
“Most dances lack the playfulness and wit of the Flamenco where there is room for improvising.” A small smile graced his face. He must have fond memories of the dance.
“Will you teach me this Flamenco?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
Green eyes delved deep into hers. “It would be dangerous, especially if we were alone.”
Honoria’s heart melted at that. “What if you taught Isla as well?”
Still dangerous, his eyes seemed to say.
“Teach us anyway.”
“So eager to play with fire,” he murmured. “Who am I to resist.”
“Och, I am up for playing with fire if you are.”
It was, after all, just a dance, Honoria mused. Why then, did it feel much more than that? Flames of temptation lapped around Lash wherever he went, and Honoria had a feeling if she wasn’t careful, she’d be set ablaze.
I am up for playing with fire if you are.
What those words did to him.
Honoria MacCallan was a breath of fresh air. The crisp raindrops in spring. Soft. So damn soft her touch played havoc with his brain. She represented the very thing he had been taught to loathe and yet, she was the very thing he hungered for. She gave him closeness, warmth, kindness, acceptance. It defied explanation. It defied logic. It challenged everything he’d ever learned.
The mere thought made Lash’s guts clench.
He barely survived childhood. He had grown up living the life of a wanderer and spent seven months in search of his sister. He possessed nothing of great value. He was a Rom without a tribe. He was a man without a country. She was a lady that lived in a castle. He preferred the outdoors while she preferred painting and poetry. He enjoyed a solitary existence while she surrounded herself with family.
They were the polar opposites living opposing lives.
Andhe had a murderous brother in search of him.
But when he peered down into the amber eyes of Honoria MacCallan, so innocent, so damned trusting, all his troubles seemed less . . . troublesome.
Lash had told her he was Romany and instead of scorn, she reacted with kindness. She was much too good for him. He could devote his entire life to becoming worthy, rich, powerful,better, and still he would not come up to scratch. He was dead wrong for her. Did she not see that?
Still, she wanted to play with fire.
This woman . . . Lash was out of his depth with this woman.
Did he believe in fate?
God help him, but he did. And for whatever reason, fate had put him on her path even though theirs wasn’t a future that could possibly intertwine.
He fought for distance, stepping away from her, arms falling to his side. His gaze traveled back to the castle. “Have you always lived here?”
“Aye, every memorable thing that has ever happened to me started within these walls.”
“Memorable things?” he enquired and inwardly cursed. Now he was the one playing with fire. The less he knew of her life, the better for him in the long-term.
Honoria shrugged. “When the Jacobite rising came, it was decided in our great hall whether we would fight alongside our fellow Scots in the resistance.” Her eyes crinkled at the sides. “Though I wasn’t born so that did not affect me, I suppose.”
