She winces, eyes still firmly shut.
Naturally, she expects me to be horrified or…something. The bonnie, barmy lass really doesn't understand me yet, does she? I chuckle. "You masturbate."
Opening one eye only, she peeks at me.
I can't help grinning while my body quivers with contained laughter. I'm not laughing at her. I'm laughing because she's so bloody adorable that I want to pull her into my arms and kiss her.
With both eyes open now, she makes a peeved face. "You think it's funny?"
"No." I brush the backs of my fingertips down her cheek, no longer laughing, and smile softly. "I think it's charming."
Her brows snap together. "Charming? I intend to stay a virgin for the foreseeable future, but meanwhile I—do naughty things to myself in the privacy of my bedroom. How can you not think I'm demented?"
I shrug one shoulder. "I knew you were a passionate woman the night we met. And I was right."
"It's not passion when you're alone."
"Of course it is." I lean in close to murmur in her ear. "I plan to take full advantage of your secret passion."
"Remember the rules, Aidan. No sex, no love, no marriage."
My breaths fan over her ear and cheek, reflecting onto my face, while I murmur, "Ye cannae stop from falling in love."
"Yes I can." She sits forward, clasping her hands on her lap. "I can control my feelings, the same way I control my behavior."
I shake my head. "Emotions are uncontrollable. You can't keep from feeling."
"I disagree."
"Maybe you are daft," I say with a teasing smile. "But since you can't control your behavior, that doesn't bode well for your no-love plans."
"What do you mean I can't control my behavior?"
"The other night. At the club." One corner of my mouth lifts. "You molested me."
"I did not—Well, maybe I did. But you started it, begging to kiss me like that."
"Guilty. I wasn't begging, though." I move back just enough to see her face. "You've been honest with me about your rules. I should be honest with you about what I want."
"Okay," she says slowly, like she's unsure if she wants to hear it.
"I came to America to find a wife."
"Don't they have women in Scotland?"
"Been dating in Scotland since I was fifteen, but I've never met the right kind of girl."
She draws her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. "Doesn't explain why you came all the way to America."
"Ah…" I bow my head briefly, then give her a tight-lipped smile. "My brother Lachlan found an American wife. Met her at Dance Ardor. If it worked for him, why not for me?"
"Let me get this straight." She taps her fingers on her crossed arms. "Your brother, the one who told you every Friday is kilt night at the club, met his wife in that very same club."
"Aye."
"Was he, by any chance, wearing a kilt at the time?"
Clearing my throat, head down, I peek up at her. "Yes. It was kilt night then, which is why I believed him when he said every Friday was for kilts."