Oliver's hand on Hazel's waist warmed her through her dress as they
walked past the patrons in the taproom toward the stairs. "You're
keeping something from me," he whispered.
Hazel whipped her head up to look at him. She wasn't about to do this now. Not
again. Not here. Not after the conversation with Alec.
"And what if I am?" she asked tartly. "I doona owe ye a thing, my lord. My life
is just that--it's mine. Stop behaving' as though ye have a say in it."
That went well. Oliver berated himself as he watched Hazel stomp off toward the
steps alone. He shouldn't have pushed her. After all, he was the one
escorting her to her room. He should have kept his bloody mouth shut.
But so many questions were nagging him after that uncomfortable dinner that he
was incapable of holding them
