“Of course.” Johanna uttered the words easily, even as the prospect of being alone with Connor sent her heartbeat stuttering.
Brenna led the child from the room. The door squawked on its hinges as it swung closed behind them. Johanna’s brain registered the sound, even though her own pulse threatened to drown out the noise.
“Ye’re a brave lass. Ye took the path that brought the bairn back to ye.” Towering over Johanna, Connor enfolded her hand within his long, warm fingers. “Promise me ye won’t go taking more risks.”
“I highly doubt I’ll ever again be called upon to do anything so adventurous,” she said, rising. “We both know I had no choice.”
He tugged her closer. “Johanna, there is always a choice.”
Her name in that deep rumble of his was so very sweet, but she had to keep her head about her. The memory of his skin against hers was all too fresh. Too decadent. Too tempting.
Her skirts shimmied around her as she wriggled out of his light hold. She needed that separation, that slight distance that made the difference between coherent thought and wanting nothing more than to melt into his arms.
Ah, but the smell of him was enticing. She wanted to bury her face against his strong, sturdy neck and inhale his essence, wanted to wisp her fingertips over the feathering of dark hair on his chest.
Wanted to give herself to him. Night after night.
Forever.
At her evasive movement, recognition glimmered in those green eyes of his. A devilish smile crooked his mouth.
“Ye think I’ll ravish ye? Right here? With the bairn so near, she verrae well might get an education far beyond her years?”
Think? Hoped might’ve been a more accurate word. Johanna forced herself to discard the ridiculous notion.
“Even you would not be so bold.”
“God knows I want ye.” His lips brushed hers, so very gentle. So very delicious. “One night was not enough, my sweet lass.”
Not enough… The words echoed in her thoughts. Not enough to sate his desire? Not enough to quench a fleeting passion?
Not enough to soothe the ache deep in her chest for a man she wanted for a lifetime. A few stolen nights in his bed would never appease her hungry heart.
But still, she wanted him. So very badly.
He’d made a vow. And he’d fulfilled that promise. He’d seen Laurel safely back in her care. He’d done exactly as he’d said. How could she expect anything more?
Connor cradled her face in his big hands. “Ye are a beauty, Johanna Templeton. Ye’ve got spirit, I’ll give ye that.” Once again, he swept a kiss over her mouth. Tender. Hungry. Yearning.
When he released her, her knees wobbled like poorly set pudding. If he asked her to stay, could she muster the strength to refuse him? She had to think of Laurel’s well-being. Secret nights of pleasure in this rugged Highlander’s bed could not trump the need to see the child happily settled with family and friends and a kitten to cherish.
If only the thought of never again hearing Connor’s rugged burr did not slice through Johanna’s heart like a dull knife. It seemed he’d always been a part of her. How had she faced her days without his touch to warm her? How had she lived without the velvet of his kiss against her skin? He’d charged into her life and changed her. Changed everything, really. Forever.
But none of that mattered. Soon, he’d be a delicious memory, a sweet fantasy to warm her nights. And Laurel would be safe and happy.
She could not expect anything other than a fleeting passion from this man. Decadent, wonderful memories of his touch and scent and feel. Passionate images and sensations etched into her heart to ease the lonely nights when she longed for him.
Perhaps, that would have to be enough.
“Come to me tonight.” His voice was husky and raw with need. “When the bairn’s sleeping. Brenna will watch over her. Say ye will, Johanna.”
Her heart thundered. Could she be so wanton? So bold?
Deep within, she knew the answer.
She pressed a kiss to his lips, a chaste little caress. Odd, how the heat radiated to every cell, every pore, even with such a subtle touch. “Yes.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Connor stretched out his legs on the bed and stared at the fire in the hearth. Folding his hands behind his head, he looked up at the ceiling, then shot his gaze back to the flames. He was a bluidy dolt. There was no denying it. Lying here, like some lovestruck lad. Casting glances at the clock on the chest. Listening for the slightest creak of the floorboards beyond his room, craving some indication that Johanna would spend this night with him.
God, how he wanted her. He should go after the lass. He should prove to her that she should never leave the Highlands. That she should never leave Scotland—or him—behind.