He kissed her.
Hard, demanding, wet, deep and thorough.
It was a great kiss.
Of their own volition (not that she had the will to stop them) her hands slid up his shoulders, around his neck and she melted in his arms.
After he was done and she was putty in his hands, he lifted his head and his eyes bored into hers.
“That’s what I would have done if you’d have woken up in my arms,” he told her.
Her breath caught and her body trembled.
“Or part of it,” he finished.
“Prentice –” she started.
“I changed my mind,” he cut her off. “I don’t want to talk. I don’t want any explanations. I don’t give a f**k. I just want you.”
Her heart turned over and her belly clenched.
She tried to pull away.
He yanked her back.
“No, you don’t,” he warned, his voice low, his meaning crystal clear.
“Prentice, you don’t… you can’t…” She couldn’t think then she blurted, “Fiona.”
“Aye, we’ll talk about Fiona when the time is right.”
“But –”
His face dipped close to hers, his eyes went gentle and his voice went soft. “I told you, baby, when you came back to me, I’d make you work for it but I’d take you back. You may not want to be back but I don’t give a f**k. I’m keeping you this time.”
He remembered.
He remembered what he said.
She remembered it too. Every single word.
She felt tears sting the backs of her eyes.
“I –”
He touched his mouth to hers and she went silent.
Then he rested his forehead against hers and for some insane reason he was grinning.
“Don’t cry, Elle. Save it for when Dougal and Annie say, ‘I do’.”
“Pren –”
He kissed her silent again, this time with more than a brush on her lips.
When his mouth released hers, he didn’t give her the chance to speak; he took her hand and dragged her around to the front.
Dazed and panicked now for a different reason, Isabella noted that Clarissa and Dougal’s Mum, Jennifer, had arrived.