The aroma of piping hot stew seemed an elixir to Johanna. The savory scent wafted from the kitchen to the tiny nook adjacent to the kitchen where she sat with Connor, nibbling a biscuit and sipping tea as he downed the freshly baked bread with unrestrained gusto.
Brenna placed two nearly overflowing bowls before them, offering a small smile as Johanna murmured heartfelt thanks for the meal.
“Ye’re welcome to be my guest any time.” Brenna slanted Connor a mischievous glance. “I’m trusting ye’ll keep this one out of trouble.”
Johanna hiked a brow. “I doubt that’s possible, but I shall endeavor to try.”
Brianna laughed, a hearty, soothing sound. “’Twill be a challenge. Of that, I assure ye.”
“No one has ever managed that feat.” Connor flashed a grin. “My reckless ways are part of my brash charm, I’ll have ye know.”
“Brash charm?” Johanna bit back a smile. “I don’t recall witnessing that.”
“Oh, ye dinnae, do ye? Perhaps I need to remind ye, lass.”
Connor’s attention fixed on her mouth with bold, uncensored interest. A rush of awareness whipped through Johanna, and suddenly, her stomach did a little flip even as she felt heat flush her cheeks.
As she pulled in a breath, her eyes locked with his. Would he be so brazen as to prove his point, to kiss her until her knees were wobbly as pudding and her good sense lay in tatters?
She drew in a slow breath, willing her logical, oh-so-practical nature to charge to the rescue. What insanity had come over her? It seemed she could not look away from him, from those eyes that seemed to read her every desire.
God in heaven, she wanted to taste that full, oh-so-wicked mouth. Right then. Right there. It didn’t matter that they weren’t alone. If anything, the notion spurred a wanton little thrill, an illicit craving coursing through her veins. She wanted him. Such a wild, exhilarating madness.
Pity there was nothing to be done about it.
Brenna cleared her throat, shattering the moment. Someday, Johanna would thank her for her well-timed intervention.
Connor’s mouth curved at the corners. Amusement danced in his eyes. “Then again, Miss Templeton, it would seem no reminder is needed.”
The hunger in her stomach sated, Johanna accompanied Connor to the room they would occupy for the night. She removed her shoes and plopped onto the edge of the bed as Connor crouched before the hearth, prodding the waning flames with a poker. Rising, he turned to face her. One dark brow hiked as he stared at her stocking-clad feet.
“Looking for a scandal now, are ye, Miss Templeton?” His voice was gruff and teasing. “What’s next, a look at those lovely ankles of yers?”
“Scandal? I hardly think that is a concern in this place. The innkeeper thought nothing of the fact we are not married, yet we’re sharing quarters. And a bed.”
“I won’t leave ye unprotected.” He slanted her a sly grin. “Are ye afraid I pose too much of a temptation to resist? Do I need to be prepared to fend off yer advances?”
She gave a little humph. “I assure you that was not my meaning.”
“Damn shame,” he said, scratching his jaw. “’Tis unsporting of ye, lass, getting a man’s hopes up.”
She folded her arms across her chest, feeble armor, indeed. “I presume this is not your first time at this establishment with a woman who is not your wife.”
Slowly, he came to her. “Ye believe I’m a reckless scoundrel, seducing innocent women along the way?”
“I highly doubt innocents were involved.” She drew in a breath, drinking him in. He’d washed before dinner and donned clean garments, and now, the slight hint of fine Scotch on his breath added to the crisp scent. If only she didn’t find that masculine essence so very appealing.
His hands closed over her shoulders. A wicked gleam lit the jade of his eyes. “They weren’t like ye, Johanna. Ye’re a puzzle a mon longs to solve. Ye pretend ye’re a woman of the world. But I know better.”
“I am not an innocent.” The words sounded defensive as they rolled from her tongue.
“Aye, ye are, sweetling.” His lips brushed her brow, soft and tender. “I dinnae know if ye’ve ever lain with a man. But passion is new to ye. I can see it in yer eyes. I can feel it in yer touch. I can hear it in yer voice.”
For a heartbeat, words failed her. Her mouth went dry. She, who wove words into characters and stories, could not harness a single syllable to refute him. She took a step back. Enough so she could think again.
She met his gaze. “I’ve little use for passion.”
“And that, Miss Templeton, is a blasted shame. And, I suspect, a lie. A woman like ye needs passion.” His large hands settled at her waist and pulled her to him. So close, she immersed herself in his heat, in his strength.