For a long moment, nothing moved. The storm outside raged on, yet inside the cave was quiet. Their breathing was ragged, the only sound between them and the rain fell, steady and wild.
Lily leaned back against the wall, her chest heaving.
Alasdair gently kissed her forehead. “I always kent it would be like this.” He smiled.
She smiled too, though it was forced. She had also guessed it would be wonderful. And it was. That was the problem.
This should not have happened. She should have protected herself.
She swallowed.
Oh, what did she do? This was the worst thing imaginable.
“Christ!” she groaned.
No other words came, only the pounding of her heart and his groan against her skin.
By the time they reached the castle gates, the rain had ebbed to a soft drizzle. Lily wrapped her arms around herself, more to ward off inappropriate thoughts than the cold. Alasdair walked beside her, his hands folded behind his back.
It was hard to imagine that this was the same man who had made her cry out mere hours ago. She hated the satisfied smile on his face. As if he knew he could control her, no matter how hard she protested.
God, she could still feel him. His touch clung to her skin like the damp air, and she refused to think of it. At least she tried to, because every step made her remember.
“We need to speak about what happened,” she said at last, her voice sharper than she meant.
Alasdair glanced down at her. “Do we now?”
Her cheeks burned. “Aye. It can never happen again. What took place in the cave was a mistake. A one-time thing, nothing more.”
His lips curved. “I didnae think it was a mistake. Is that what ye think it was?” His tone was teasing.
She lifted her chin. “Aye. I wasnae… I wasnae succumbing to ye. Daenae think of it.”
“Then what were ye doing, lass?” His eyes twinkled as if he knew she would struggle with the answer. “Just what?”
Lily’s throat tightened. She forced out the words. “I needed heat.”
He laughed, the sound rich and maddening. “Aye. Ye needed one all right.”
Her jaw clenched. “Aye, the storm. It made me wet.”
He pressed a hand to his chest in mock hurt. “Let us nae give the storm all the credit.”
She shoved his shoulder. He winced and hissed through his teeth. Her eyes widened.
“Yer arm,” she muttered. “I’m sorry. I forgot.”
He waved her off. “Daenae think of it. ‘Tis merely a scratch.”
“It isnae a scratch. It is an open wound, and ye will change the bandages before ye sleep tonight. Can ye manage that, Laird MacRay?”
He smirked. “I can. Though I wouldnae mind a softer hand doing it.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So use yer other hand.”
His eyes widened in surprise, and she rolled her eyes and hurried away from him. The quicker she reached the wounded hall, the easier it would be to silence her mind. Yet the silence never came.
How could she have let it go so far?
