Page 48 of The Highlander Who Loved Me
“Nothing like that. Probably just a mouse.”
His other brow lifted. “After all ye’ve been through, a mouse sends ye running?”
“I detest the filthy little creatures.” That, at least, came out with the conviction of truth. “I thought you’d gone to sleep.”
“Not yet.”
Damn him, the Scot made no move to put on a stitch of clothing. Not so much as a towel. Unable to help herself, her gaze dipped lower to the etched, muscular plane of his abdomen. A line of sable hair traced a decadent path from his navel lower, to a thick patch of hair even darker than that on his head.
She snapped her eyes up. He caught the motion, his mouth twisting with wry amusement he made no effort to hide.
“Am I to believe ye entered my chamber—searching for me, no less—because you feared a rodent might launch an attack?”
“I feared no such thing,” she countered. Her pride chafed at the incredulous humor in his voice. “I was alarmed. Nothing more.”
He folded his arms at the waist and rocked back on his heels, infuriatingly casual for a man who stood without a stitch to cover him. “By the saints, I’m the one should be alarmed. ’Tis not often that I emerge from my bathing chamber to find a comely lass beside my bed, threatening to compromise my fine reputation.”
“Compromise…your reputation?” The words plopped from her tongue like the last stubborn drops of molasses in an upended jug.
“Aye. I am an unmarried mon. What would anyone think, finding me alone in this room with a bonny lass who’s gone to such lengths to seduce me?”
“Seduce…seduce you?” Dash it all, she sounded like a parrot that had fallen off its perch and landed on its head.
“I can think of cruder terms. Would ye enjoy that?” He prowled toward her, his toes sinking into the plush carpet with each step. Lamplight gleamed over the contours of his chest, warming his skin with soft, golden rays.
She gave her head an urgent shake, as if to clear it. Stiffening her spine, she held his gaze. “I assure you there’s no need.”
His head moved slowly up and down in agreement. “Verrae true. Who needs talk at a time like this?”
A time like this? She pulled in a breath, willing her heart to slow its beat, and cocked her chin. She would not let this man intimidate her. “For heaven’s sake, put on some clothes.”
“Have ye forgotten ye’re the one who snuck into my chamber? Getting a man’s hopes up, only to crush them.” That arrogant smile quirked his mouth as he watched her intently. “If you dinnae anticipate my state of undress, lass, why are ye in my room?”
Cotton filled her mouth. If only he’d put on a dressing gown or a shirt. Even one of those lengths of cloth he called a kilt would’ve helped her order her muddled thoughts.
She swallowed hard. “I suspect you know full well why I’m here.”
He gave a slow nod. The piercing sharpness in his gaze left no doubt he’d deduced her motives. But still, a teasing twist played on his lips. “To lead a man astray, no doubt.”
“Lead you astray? What rubbish.”
“Och, ye wound me with yer teasing ways.”
“Will you please get dressed?”
Her breath caught as he reached for a length of plaid that lay carelessly strewn over a quilt rack.
“As ye wish.” With a bold wink, he wrapped the fabric around the lower half of his body.
“That’s better.” The words burst from Johanna. Suddenly, she could breathe again.
He leaned back, and his gaze sauntered over her. The heat in his eyes, nearly a physical touch, warmed her. Once again, her defiant heart beat a wild dance. Definitely not a waltz. No, this was a tarantella. Exhilarating. Thrilling. Utterly rebellious.
“Aye, ye are indeed a temptation. I’ve seldom seen a more appealing sight. Most women would don silk or satin or some ridiculous lacy get-up that left them half bare. But you…you, Miss Templeton…have chosen cotton from head to toe.”
“Oh my.” Had the whisper actually made it past her lips? Mortification spiraled through her veins. She’d forgotten the matronly nightdress she wore.
“Ye’ve decided to maintain yer mystery.” The mischief in his eyes transformed into something far more dangerous, laced with desire and unspoken promise. He slipped his hands over her shoulders. The low rumble of his voice stirred a deep, languorous need deep within. “I like it.”
