His nostrils flared as he caught her honey-sweet scent.
She deserved whispered promises and gentle strokes and indulgent caresses.
On the other hand, when she was glaring up at him with fire in her eyes, like now, he was willing to admit perhaps he didn’t know quite as much as he thought he did about women.
“Och, aye? And what do women want, Brodie?”
The way she said his name, whipping it out like a weapon, made him uncertain if ‘twas a challenge, or an invitation to call her by her Christian name rather than her title.
Uncertainty didn’t sit well with him, despite the knowledge he’d been little but uncertain since waking up in pain in Oliphant Castle. But with her…
His gaze darted about, looking for an answer she’d accept, which wouldn’t anger her. “Scallions,” he blurted.
One red brow arched. “Scallions?”
He couldn’t let her know he was making this up as he went.
“Scallions,” he repeated, nodding firmly. “Everyone kens lasses like scallions.”
“That’s—”
“Do ye ken a single lass who doesnae like scallions?” He prayed none of her sisters were allergic.
“Well, nay. But I ken plenty of men who like scallions as well. They’re used in many dishes. Practically universal!”
“See?” He nodded imperiously. “Women like scallions. What are ye going to use them for?”
Flustered, she glanced down at her basket, as if she’d forgotten her purpose for coming to the garden. It took her a few moments before she finally blinked and answered, “Oh, tarts. Bread.”
“Tarts bread?”
When she lifted her eyes, she was blushing again, but she didn’t seem timid, just embarrassed as she shook her head. “Tarts is just something we say— Och, I just meant I’m making bread!”
“From scallions?” God’s teeth, but she was fun to tease!
With an exasperated huff, she rolled her eyes. “The scallions are for seasoning. After the loaf has been baked.”
“What?” He felt the corners of his lips tug down just slightly. “After? Ye should mix it with the dough afore it goes into the oven.”
To his secret delight, the stubborn woman planted her free hand on her hip and frowned fiercely up at him. “Ye think ye ken everything, Brodie? This is part of the topping. I score the baked bread and pour the butter and scallions—”
He was shaking his head, loving the way his arguments made her glare fearlessly. This was the lass he recognized from the kitchens! “Everyone kens rosemary is the best herb for bread. Rosemary and chopped garlic, pressed into the dough afore it bakes, or brushed atop mayhap.”
“Rosemary?” With another huff, she threw up her hand, half-turning, as if to open this argument up to the garden around them. “Rosemary?”
“What do ye have against rosemary, lass?’
“Naught! I love it! But there’s more herbs than just rosemary, ye ken, and scallion butter and cheese can make a loaf—”
“Och, cheese? Ye’re bringing cheese into it now?” he managed to interrupt, treading dangerously close to a smile.
In her irritation, she actually stamped her bare foot against the packed dirt of the garden path. “Are ye determined to anger me?”
“Aye, lass,” he drawled, his free hand rising to brush one of her red curls away from her cheek. “I like yer fire.”
At his touch, she froze, but her eyes never left his. It was the merest brush, but he still felt that warmth, that spark…but it wasn’t enough.
They were this close, and there was this—this—heat between them. So his fingers continued down her jaw to her throat, and then his hand reached around and cupped the back of her neck, and he was tugging her nearer…