Love by the Stroke of Midnight by Raven McAllan (best historical biographies .txt) 📗

not,” she retorted furiously. “How could I? Why would I? You’re irritating me. An irritant, not an aide to whatever.”

He just smiled. “I came and met you, though, didn’t I?”

The lights blinked as if in agreement.

She had to give him that. “But why? How?”

“Love, you’ll get it eventually.” He stroked her cheek and lifted some hair to tuck it behind her ear. “Like liquid fire,” he said conversationally. “From your heritage. I heard you, I came. If you let yourself accept it, it will always be thus. Morven decreed it all those years ago.”

What an archaic way of saying it. Marcail shook her head to clear it. He’d misunderstood her.

“It will.”

“If you say so. I’m just trying to get my head around it all.” Plus after each occurrence she was more open to believing something was up… Just what, she had no idea.

He nodded. “I understand. It’s taken you this time to accept things are more than they seem. That you are more than you realise.”

“That annoys me.”

“And I annoy you?” Paden replied with a grin.

“You said it, mate.” Why didn’t he back off? “Why can’t I just have my normal happy birthday, then go back to my normal happy life?” It was a plea from the heart. “You could be a part of it if you wanted. As a standard everyday run-of-the-mill friend.” Okay, as more, but she wasn’t telling him that.

“I’m never run-of-the-mill.” He sounded offended, but then he winked. “Define normal.”

Marcail clenched her fists and counted to ten. Never before had she had such a strong urge to thump someone. Not even her brother, and he had the ability to send her annoyance tolerance plummeting below zero. “Not you, poking your nose in, anyway.”

“It enjoys poking.” He flicked her nose with his pinkie. “Not as cute as yours though. What are you doing here?”

His question irked her. “Why?” What did it matter? It was her house. Well, her parents’ house, but as she was coming to understand, her home, her safe place. “What’s it to you?”

“I…” He hesitated. “Sod it, Marcail, why are you so, so negative at times and unwilling, or scared, to believe what you ought?” he exploded and hit his hand on the wall. “Shit, that hurts, why did no one tell me?”

She jumped. Where was the softly spoken, seemingly laid-back persona he’d presented before? Tell him what?

“That hitting the wall is bloody sore.” He answered her unspoken question.

Marcail realised that didn’t seem quite so weird anymore.

“Go into the kitchen and put your hand under the cold tap,” she said in a practical manner. “I’m scared in case I can’t do what’s asked of me. I can’t sense. Don’t you think I’ve tried? I have over and over and nothing.” She bit back a sob.” Not a Scooby, I’m different from the rest and it hurts.”

“You can and you will when you believe, on my oath.”

“And pigs might fly.”

“They could do if you wanted.”

“No thanks.”

“Marcail, you will be fine, I promise you.”

She’d been so deep in thought or whatever she’d forgotten Paden, who still nursed his hand. Was he her voice or was it coincidence he and her voice sounded similar?

“If you say so. Oh bugger it all, I’m having wine and chocolate. Want some?”

Well, that popped out, didn’t it?

“A strange combination, but why not.” He gestured towards the sink. “Do I turn the tap on?”

“Wh…argh, clever clogs.” She glanced at his amused expression. “Up to you.”

He laughed. “At least you don’t look so angry now. I do seem to rub you up the wrong way, don’t I? Have you ever wondered why?”

Marcail shook her head. “I have better things to think about.”

He winced theatrically. “Ouch. Wounded, you cruel woman.”

She couldn’t help sniggering at his over-the-top response. “Go and put your hand under water. I’ll hunt out some wine.” Then she intended to find out what all his cryptic comments were about.

Which meant, ten minutes later, she dragged the two old chairs that lived in the kitchen closer to the Aga and waved Paden to one of them. “Have a seat. I’ve gone for red wine, that suit you? And dark chocolate.” She threw him a towel, which he caught one-handed as he turned the tap off with the other.

“Thanks, love. How’s it looking?” Paden held his hand up for her to inspect. “Seems okay to me.”

Marcail leaned closer to see. He used endearments so casually. What did he mean by them? Should she ask?

“Only if you truly want to know the answer and act on it.”

Maybe later.

Paden moved so his hand curved around her neck and dipped his head so their lips were almost touching.

“So, mo ghaol, do I? Shall we give in, just for a second, and see what all this reaction between us is all about?”

The fact he was happy to leave the decision to her should have pleased Marcail. Perversely, it didn’t. Why couldn’t he do the Rhett Butler thing and sweep her off her feet?

“No coercion, persuasion or auto suggestion, mo ghaol. It has to be mutual.”

Couldn’t he tell it was? And why was that voice saying all this?

Paden’s breath feathered over her ear and put her internal voice out of her mind.

“You need to tell me,” he said, in a deeper voice than normal. “Show me. Pretend I can’t read your mind.”

“You can’t, no one can.”

Why did one comment immediately make her refute what she was coming to believe?

“Sheer perversity?”

“Shut up.”

“Then tell me.”

It went against everything she knew. She’d been told ad nauseam that men preferred to do the running and make the decisions, but… Sod it. Marcail took a deep breath and tugged on his ears. Paden moved his head so their lips were once more almost touching.

She moved forwards until…

The kiss sent her heart rate sky high and her libido soaring. How the hell could something so simple get her so aroused? She didn’t have time to think about it, not while Paden’s tongue meshed with hers. She wriggled so their bodies were touching in