Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

" D o not fret," Alistair told her, enjoying the look of shock in her eyes, and the slightly parted, luscious lips. "As ye ken see for yerself, me family is of the meddlin' lot. They will come back in a few hours most probably and unlock the doors."

"A few hours!?" Hannah exclaimed, looking even more shocked now. He relished the slight addition of crimson to her cheeks.

"Aye, a few hours," he nodded indifferently, walking over to the bookshelf and putting the book in his hands back to its place on the shelf. He had lost any desire to read anyway. The afternoon had suddenly become more intriguing. "Ye ken, if ye are frightened of me, I could try and break down the door, so ye could leave. Although, the frame around the door is old and Mother is rather fond of it. It would be a shame to ruin in on account of someone bein' afraid." His eyes dared her to speak.

"I am not afraid!" she spat back. "Especially not of someone like yerself."

"Is that so?" he asked, tilting his head a little, as if to take a closer look at her. And he had to admit, he liked what he was seeing.

She refused to reply, and instead turned her attention to the door again. She was obviously trying to come up with a way of getting out of the room, without asking him for help. Yet another reason why he liked her feistiness so much.

"It is locked," he reminded her.

"I know," she turned to him to reply, her nostrils flaring. She gazed somewhere behind him. "The window?"

She ran over to it, fumbling with the latch, until she finally managed to open it. He knew well what she saw down below, but he took special pleasure in voicing it himself.

"We are on the second floor," he pointed out. "The window overlooks a thorny bush of roses, which although very pretty, it isn't very gentle on the skin."

He could hear her breathing heavily as she closed the window, then stood right in the middle of the room, thinking. Her hands were resting on her thin waist, which spread into the most fertile-looking hips he had ever seen, underneath that pink gown she was wearing.

He had to admit that seeing her all riled up like that was amusing, but he didn't want to keep agitating her for the next two hours, as that was probably the smallest amount of time they would be spending in here, if not more. Perhaps it would not hurt to at least try to get along, seeing they could not avoid each other within the four walls.

He remembered something. He walked over to a small writing table in the corner and extracted a small deck of cards from the drawer.

"Do ye play piquet?" he asked.

The expression on her face was priceless. She seemed as if she didn't hear him properly. So, he repeated the name of the card game he had in mind.

A flicker of defiance inflamed her eyes. "Are ye not afraid of losing to a woman?"

"That is impossible," he shook his head.

"Ye being afraid or ye losing to a woman?" she teased, as she walked around him and took a seat on the chaise lounge. He followed suit and sat down opposite her, not taking his eyes off of her for a single moment.

"Both," he replied.

He usually wasn't this overconfident. And he certainly had no issues losing a card game to a woman. His own mother was quite skilled at card games, and beat both her father and her son regularly. But being beaten by Hannah… that was different.

"Deal the cards," she dared him. "Let us see who shall emerge as the victor."

"Gladly," he replied, doing as she told him.

He didn't take his eyes off her, and she in turn, kept occasionally glancing about the room. He knew that his family's library was unusually refined and sophisticated, incorporating classical themes in the form of paintings and sculptures. Every single piece in this room was carefully selected by one of his ancestors, and they all had one common goal: show knowledge, refinement, and taste.

He could tell she was impressed not only by the nearly endless rows of books, but also by the ornate molding and high ceiling. He expected her to say something, but the moment she noticed he was watching her, she stared back at him, definitely, focusing on the game at hand.

Silently, they played the first round, acquiring points through sets and sequences. When all the cards were revealed, he realized that she won.

"Yer arrogance is matched only with yer lack of skill in cards," she said, but he could immediately notice that the corner of her lip was dancing in an effort to smile at her own words. She was taunting him, and worst of all, she was having fun doing so.

"I simply need to warm up first, that is all," he retorted. "We have several hours to see who will be the victorious one. That gives me more than enough time to make up for one lost game and to make ye the one retiring from this library in defeat."

"Somehow, I doubt that," she replied, as she grabbed the deck which consisted of two and thirty cards, and dealing. "I've been told I have the devil's luck when it comes to cards."

"Is that so?" Alistair's curiosity peaked, despite his conscious effort at keeping himself calm and composed "In that case, I shall be happy to put that to the test."

"I feel it only fair to warn ye," she suddenly said in a conspiratorial manner, leaning a little closer to him over the small table that separated them. "I play to win."

The words seemed to explode all around them, filling the air with tension that could be cut with a knife. But there was something else in the concoction as well, something Alistair was desperate not to identify, not to give a name to.

"As do I," he immediately replied, picking up the cards, and searching for a winning combination, which after a few minutes, graced him with its presence, much to Hannah's chagrin. "It seemed that luck favored me this time," he relished telling her.

"Luck favors those who do not brag," she pointed out.

"In that case, it does not favor either of us," he couldn't help but chuckle at his own words. Surprisingly, she did the same.

He dealt another round, and they kept their cards hidden from each other. He couldn't remember the last time he had so much fun during a card game.

"What do ye say we make it more interesting?" he suggested mysteriously.

"What do ye mean?" she wondered, keeping her cards close to her chest, so he could not even take a quick peek at them.

"We raise the stakes," he clarified.

"How?" she immediately agreed.

He grinned. "I knew there was passion in ye. Ye are not the one to back down from a challenge." However, he wasn't certain if he liked this newfound knowledge or not.

"What sort of a challenge do ye suggest?" she decided not to comment on the compliment. She was obviously not the sort of woman to fall prey to them so easily, which only made him respect her more, much to his own displeasure.

"A secret." The words escaped him before he could even think clearly about the nature of the challenge.

"A secret?" she repeated.

He cleared his throat a little, in an effort to make it seem that he still held the control of the situation. "When the door is unlocked, whoever is on the losin' side in this game is obliged to tell the other a secret, something no one else kens."

He wondered why he wanted to know a secret about her. But there it was. A desire that had revealed itself when he was least expecting it.

When they revealed their cards, she was the winner again. He could feel his teeth grinding against each other, as his jaw tightened. She, on the other hand, was smiling.

"Well, well," she teased, going over the cards with the tip of her finger. "It seems I win again. I am closer to that secret of yers, Alistair."

Her saying his name did something to him, something undeniable, something indescribable.

"Do not get too ahead of yerself, lass," he pointed out, shaking his head. "There is still plenty of time. This game is far from over."

She chuckled again. "Luck will turn, eh?"

"And I shall be ready when it does," he replied, suppressing a smile. "That is why I am keeping me eye both on the cards and on ye."

"On me?" she echoed.

"On ye and yer hands," he clarified.

She tilted her head. "Are ye suggestin' I am cheatin'?"

"I am suggestin' I pay attention to what is happenin' here," he replied, gesturing with his hands at the table, at her and the cards.

"Just because ye're losin' it doesnae mean that I am cheatin'," she replied, rolling her eyes at him dismissively.

Alistair had no idea what happened at that moment, what took over him. He jumped up from his seat, as the cards scattered all about. He was drawn by an invisible force, which made him cage her in her seat, with his hands on either side of her. She was rendered powerless, unable to move, unless he allowed her, which he had no intention of doing.

He watched her chest rise and fall, and it took all of his conscious effort not to focus his gaze on her plump breasts, but rather on her eyes. To be quite honest, he wanted to focus on her entire body. He wanted to trail invisible lines on it, marking every curvature, every line, every rise and fall. He wanted to put it to memory, so he would never forget. However, he knew that he needed to fight this sensation. He could not allow himself to succumb to it. His mind conjured up the image of her brother, and how much he hated him. That soothed him… to a certain extent.

"Ye do nae roll yer eyes at me in this house," he growled underneath his breath. There was something teeming underneath the surface of those words, but it wasn't rage. It was something completely different, something that also burnt in a fiery passion, and that threatened to eat them both alive, if they weren't cautious. "Ye do that again, and there will be consequences."

He could see her nostrils flaring. The defiance in her eyes was tangible. He knew exactly what she was going to do… and she did it.

She rolled her eyes at him again, slowly, pouting her lips at the same time, making them look so kissable. Too kissable.

He grabbed her chin with the tips of his fingers, keeping her face in place, making her look directly at him. He was so close to her that he could feel the warmth of her breath spill over his own lips, which yearned to kiss hers. The desire was unquenchable.

"Do ye mean to punish me now?" she dared to ask, the minx.

He wondered if she had any idea how she tortured him, how she called out to him silently, and he had to remain on guard at all times when he was around her. His body, his mind, his entire being had to fight her allure. It was a difficult job.

"One would think ye need to be punished," he replied. "But… how?"

He looked down at her lips. They seemed to have taken on an even rosier hue, glistening under his gaze, beckoning him.

"Unhand me," she said, although not with too much conviction.

"I will, when ye admit that ye need to be put in yer place," he said, cursing silently for showing himself to be such a brute, but that was the only way in which he was able to keep her away from himself, and the other way around. If she thought he were a brute without any respect for women, she would keep away from him. That would work for them both.

"The same place ye put other disobedient lasses?" she wondered, her lips pouting even more.

The sight was too much. He could tell her lines and lines of what he could do to disobedient lasses, and he was certain that she would relish every moment of it, but this was no time for words. That time had passed.

Now, all he wanted was to kiss her.

He leaned closer to her, expecting her to jerk away from him, to fight him, to show him in any form that his advances were unwelcome. But there was none of it. She wanted this as much as he did, and it was both thrilling and frightening at the same time, as he lowered his head towards her and –

A sudden sound of the doors being unlocked broke the magic of the moment, and Alistair quickly released her from his grip. His body yearned for that closeness, it bit back in despair, but Alistair kept his distance. He vowed never to be that close to her again. It was too dangerous.

A head peered through the door which was only pushed ajar.

"Am I interruptin' anythin'?"