Page 37 of A Healer for the Wicked Highlander

There was a pause, and then Cody’s hesitant voice replied, “Aye, Da. I’ll wait for ye.”

Freya’s cheeks burned with a flush so fierce it spread to the tips of her ears. She clutched her satchel tightly to her chest, her heart pounding as though it might leap from her ribcage.

“I—” she began, but her voice faltered. Her eyes darted to Michael’s, and the look he gave her—a mix of regret, longing, and restraint—only made her pulse race faster.

“I should go,” she said quickly, her words tumbling over each other as she stepped toward the door.

“Freya,” Michael demanded, but she couldn’t look back, couldn’t let herself stay in the charged intimacy of the moment.

She slipped out into the corridor, her steps quick and hurried as she made her way back to her chamber.

Her hands trembled as she pressed them to her flushed cheeks, her breaths coming fast and shallow. Her body still burned, a deep ache of unfulfilled desire that left her unsteady. She could still feel the warmth of his touch on her skin, the weight of his gaze, the pull of his presence.

“What am I doin’’?” she whispered to herself, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart.

But even as she chastised herself, she knew the truth… she wanted him. She had never wanted anyone like this before, and the yearning was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Reaching her chamber, she leaned against the closed door, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. Her mind was a whirl of emotions—desire, confusion, and a touch of shame—but one thing was clear: she wanted him more than she was willing to admit, even to herself.

Michael stood motionless in the center of the room, staring at the door that Freya had just disappeared through. The air still felt heavy, charged with the tension of what had almost happened. He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face, his skin still warm from her touch.

He turned back to the mirror, his reflection a shadow of the man who had been moments away from kissing her. His jaw tightened, and he tossed the cloth onto the nearby table beforereaching for his nightshirt. As he pulled it over his head, the rough linen brushing against his still-damp skin, his thoughts remained on her.

Freya.

She had awakened something in him, a wildfire he couldn’t seem to contain. Ever since that kiss in the alley—impulsive, desperate, and entirely unforgettable—he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. It was maddening.

Her face lingered in his mind—the way she’d looked at him tonight, her eyes wide with something he dared to believe was desire. Her lips had parted, as though she’d been waiting, yearning for him to close the distance.

And he had wanted to. God, how he’d wanted to.

But then there wasthe book.

He couldn’t get the damned thing out of his head.

Anemotionless monster.

The phrase echoed in his mind, taunting him, and his hands curled into fists on his knees.

Is that how she sees me?

Did she share her sister’s opinion? It gnawed at him, a bitter seed of doubt that refused to let him rest.

If she truly thought him cold and unfeeling, then why had she come to his chamber tonight? Why had she looked at him like that, her cheeks flushed and her breath quickened? Her presence had been anything but detached. She had lingered, watched him. There had been something in her eyes, something raw, unguarded.

And yet, the doubt lingered.

He couldn’t reconcile it. Freya was a healer, a woman of compassion and skill, someone who brought light and warmth wherever she went. He was the opposite, a man forged by duty, hardened by loss, bound to a life that demanded strength and stoicism.

He clenched his jaw, his thoughts spiraling.

She deserves better than this. Better than me.

But the thought of her with someone else made his chest ache in a way he couldn’t explain. The very idea of her smiles, her touch, her laughter belonging to another man filled him with a quiet, simmering fury.

“She’s under me skin,” he muttered to himself, the words barely audible in the stillness.

He didn’t know how to untangle the mess of feelings she stirred within him. Desire, yes, but something more. Something deeper, more dangerous.