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But the nickname hung in the air between them, like a soft cloud.

“That’s okay. I like it,” she said.

She came closer and stood right next to him, leaning her hip against the table. The scent of cooking reached him, and the clean, sweet smell of her. The woman.

He hadn’t had a woman since a couple of months ago. On the way here, in Germany, a willing widow living next to the blacksmith he’d worked for, had taken a liking to him and took him to bed. She was the first woman he’d had since he’d been enslaved. And although his body had enjoyed it, demanding the release, it had been a soulless connection.

But Katie… Again that nickname. Kate—he corrected himself—even after knowing her for a few days, he felt in his bones there was more to her than just her beauty. She was like this pie. Pretty and ripe on the outside, and a mystery on the inside. But once one tasted, the whole world of flavor revealed itself, juicy, and fresh, and full of life.

“Thank you for giving me this opportunity, Ian,” she said, looking into his eyes. Her hand lay on the table, one of her fingers almost touching his. His skin burned from wanting to take her hand and kiss it.

“I’d be a fool nae to hire the best cook in Scotland,” he said. “And I’m nae fool.”

And he also wasn’t a saint. And he wanted this delicious, golden woman with eyes like blueberries and lips like sin.

He wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her closer, sealing his mouth with hers.

Chapter 9

His lips were surprisingly soft and warm. His whole body was as hot as the oven. He smelled like male musk and a midnight forest. When her tongue touched his, the most delicious cocktail of flavors spread in her mouth. He was delicious. Silky.

A low, sexy growl was born at the back of his throat. He gently sucked her tongue, and a velvet pleasure ran through her body. Her arms wound around his shoulders, and his hands glided up and down her back.

The whole experience was like a triple chocolate cake. Where she remembered the taste and the image from didn’t matter now. She couldn’t get enough of him.

As his tongue lashed against hers, teasing her and urging her to come closer, her bones liquefied, and her body sang.

He was so big, all-consuming, larger than life.

Dissolve with me, was all she could think. Take me.

He stopped.

Released her.

Stepped back.

She staggered and had to hold on to the table. He eyed her from under his brows, his brown eyes almost mahogany.

“I am sorry, lass,” he said at the edge of his breath. “I canna. I shouldna have.”

Kate blinked. The surprise from his withdrawal faded, replaced by a sense of being rejected. She’d enjoyed the kiss. She liked Ian. Clearly, he did not feel the same.

Her stomach hardened, her shoulders slumped, her chest hitched, and she stepped back.

“Thank ye for the pie,” he said.

He opened his mouth as though to say something else but froze, then turned and left without another word.

Kate’s gaze followed his broad back. He walked as though something heavy pressed on his shoulders.

She released a shaky breath and turned to face the table, supporting herself with both arms. Was she the heavy weight? Did he feel like he needed to take her in because she had nowhere to go?

That must be why he’d stopped the kiss. He had Manning, so he actually didn’t need a second cook. He’d hired her out of pity.

She released a long breath to stop tears that threatened to fall.

Better make herself useful then. Manning clearly didn’t do his job well. Maybe she was a burden now, but she could earn her keep by helping. She would finish cleaning the kitchen and then help tidy the rest of the house.