Highland Heiress - By Margaret Moore Page 0,55

was alive.”

“And since then…?”

“Only when he’s upset or distressed. He hasn’t had a drink in several weeks.”

“But you’re worried he’s drinking now, aren’t you, wherever he is?”

“No. He’s away on business. He’s written, so…”

Moira couldn’t keep up the pretence, not with Gordon McHeath looking at her that way. Yet to admit her fears to a man who was still almost a stranger, no matter how he made her feel… “What makes you think my father drinks too much?”

“If it’s true, that’s all that matters, not how I found out. Has he promised to stop? More than once? And broken that promise again and again, until you’ve nearly given up hope—but not quite?”

He knew. However it had happened, he knew what she endured and regarded her with sympathy. “Yes,” she whispered, deciding to tell him. To trust him.

“No one ever gets used to having their hopes dashed, my lady.”

He spoke so quietly, so sincerely, she was reminded of the words he’d murmured when they’d first brought him here. “Do you still have hope, Mr. McHeath, although your heart was broken?”

He stepped back as if the ground had started to shake. “I beg your pardon?”

“When you were hurt, you spoke of a woman named Catriona, who apparently led you on while caring for another.”

When his brows lowered, she said, “You talked about my troubles. Isn’t it fair we speak of yours?”

He frowned, but answered nonetheless. “Catriona didn’t lead me on. She never said she cared for me in that way. It was only my hope that led me to interpret her responses as more than the affection one might have for a friend.”

He could demure all he liked; the pain was there, in his eyes. “Yet your heart was broken just the same.”

He shook his head. “Not broken. Wounded, but not broken. I’ve since discovered that I never really loved her.”

Her heart suddenly felt much…lighter.

“What else did I say?” he asked.

“That you came to Dunbrachie to get away. Instead, you’ve found more trouble, been set upon and almost killed.”

“Whatever happened, whatever the future holds for us, my lady, I’ll never regret coming to Dunbrachie,” he said softly, the sincerity shining in his eyes. “If I hadn’t come here, I would never have met a beautiful, spirited young woman hiding in a tree.”

He couldn’t help it. He had to reach out to take her hand, to feel her skin warm and soft against his own. Now he knew that love wasn’t just an attraction born of admiration. He had learned that affection and desire, respect and admiration, could be combined into a devotion that would last a lifetime.

That was how he felt about Moira. It was more than desire, more than affection.

It had to be love.

As that realization crashed into his mind, it was as if everything stopped. The moon and stars in their course, time, the earth on its axis. He couldn’t even be sure he was breathing as he drew her to him, his wounds forgotten, aware only of her shining, passionate eyes, her soft lips and the growing need within him that he could no longer ignore.

Or fight.

Chapter Fifteen

Moira had been waiting for his kiss. Dreaming of it, even though she hadn’t wanted to admit it. Yet the moment their mouths met, it felt right and good and wonderful.

She leaned forward and responded with an eager, aching need, willingly parting her lips to allow his tongue to venture within and deepening the kiss as desire flowed between them, infusing the very air. His arms around her, his hands roved over her body while she explored his, feeling the warmth of his skin. His shirt the merest of barriers, she could feel the heat of his body, the matching heat of the same impulse that compelled her to stay when she should go, to lean toward him instead of hurrying away, to kiss him and surrender, rather than flee.

With slow deliberation, his right hand slipped around to cup her breast. He kneaded gently, the action increasing her fervent yearning for more. More of his kisses. More of his embrace. More intimacy.

She moved closer, trying to get as near to him as possible, grasping him tighter until she felt his body stiffen and the sharp intake of his breath.

The wound in his side. She had forgotten and put her arm around him, and the bandage there.

At once she pulled away. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispered.

He smiled and caressed her cheek. “If I’m in any pain, it’s not