“Oh, Rowan, I’m so sorry.” I move under his arm, positioning myself between him and the counter. I lift up his head and catch a glimpse of his distraught eyes as lightning flashes outside. “It’s because you talked about what happened, isn’t it?”
He nods. “Yeah, always happens when I bring him up. Haunts me. I relive it. Every sound, smell, and then . . . silence.” He swallows hard. “I was hoping it wasn’t going to hit me as hard as it usually does, but it felt more intense tonight.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I made you talk about it.”
“You didn’t make me do anything.” He wraps his hands around my waist and carefully lifts me up onto the counter, pressing his body against the cabinets so he’s between my legs. I savor the ease, the intimacy of this moment, as my hands float up to his shoulders.
“Still, I feel awful for bringing it up.” One of my hands climbs up to his jaw, and I stroke his sandpaper scruff. What would this feel like between my legs? Probably amazing. Beard burn is a guilty pleasure of mine.
“Don’t, no need to feel bad, lass,” he says. His hands move over the shirt I borrowed and slowly inch beneath the hemline, where his palms scorch my already-warmed thighs. “Did the thunder wake you?”
I nod as his hands climb higher. “It’s probably the loudest I’ve ever heard,” I say just as another crash sounds. “I can feel it in my bones.”
“I used to love the storms here. Now, well . . . it’s truly the one thing I’d change about Scotland, if I could.”
“Because they remind you of your brother.”
He nods.
“Is that why you stayed in last night? You knew it was going to storm?”
He shakes his head. “No, I stayed in because I knew you were going to find me and finish the conversation from the coffee shop.”
“You did not know that.”
He nods. “Aye, I did, and you proved me right.”
I chuckle. “Am I that transparent?”
“I wish.” He sighs and moves his hands up until they reach my hips.
His brow rises, and his eyes meet mine. “Are you wearing knickers?”
It was only a matter of time before he figured it out. “No, I’m not. I was wearing a thong and didn’t feel like sleeping in it.”
“So you climbed into my bed bare-arsed?”
I laugh and poke at him. “Wishing you kissed me now, huh?”
“Wishing I did a whole lot more.”
“Then, what was the holdup?”
“Wasn’t in a good headspace,” he admits, and everything clicks into place.
“You don’t want our first time to be clouded by memories of your brother.”
He nods. “Aye.” One hand comes up to my cheek, and his thumb pulls on my bottom lip. “You’re special, Bonnie. Annoying and irritating and stubborn—”
“Uh, is this going to take a turn down Niceville? Because those aren’t compliments.”
“If you’d let me finish,” he snaps, making me laugh and rest my head on his chest. Still grumpy, will probably always be grumpy. “As I was saying . . . irritating, stubborn, sassy, but you also have a warm heart, and I hate to admit it, but you’re funny too. You deserve a kiss that isn’t just something to do on a rainy night, but because it’s backed up by a special moment.”
“Like right now?” I ask, wrapping my legs around him and pulling him in even closer.
His eyes search mine, indecision weighing heavily.
Right now could be perfect.
Middle of the night.
Confessions falling past both of our lips.
The need to be close.
The air seems to stand still.
His eyes caress mine.
His breaths are short . . . yearning.
And right when I think he’s about to pull away, he lowers his head, drawing closer, making my heart lurch in my chest.
Please don’t let this be fake, please let this be a moment—the perfect moment.
Lightning flashes, and there is only a breath between us.
Thunder booms, shaking everything beneath us.
Then, his lips press against mine.
I suck in a sharp breath and instantly run my hands up his neck to his cheeks, where I hold him, not wanting him to pull away but to stay locked like this, his soft lips moving gently over mine, exploring, testing . . . tasting.
For such a brute of a man, he kisses with impressive intention. There is no sloppiness or driving need to prove something. Instead, he’s careful but intense.