Page 63 of The Highlander Who Loved Me
“And when might that have been?” Tiny crinkles around his eyes deepened with curiosity.
“Surely you’ve taken note that I am still aMissat an age when I’m considered a spinster. The men I’ve known wanted a docile lady, a woman who understands how to defer to her man in all matters. I’ve never possessed that trait.”
“Those men were fools.”
Peculiar, how his blunt words filled her with a wicked warmth. She stood toe-to-toe with him now. He looked her up and down, settling on her mouth. Something carnal marked that look. She should’ve been offended. But to the contrary, a frisson of excitement washed over her.
Never considered petite, she had to lift her chin to meet his gaze. “I cannot say that I disagree. And I’ve never been one to tolerate fools. Nor liars.”
One brow cocked challengingly. “Does that mean ye dinnae consider me a fool?”
“Never a fool. And I am trusting your blunt speech is not intended as camouflage for deception.”
“I haven’t lied to ye. And I dinnae intend to.”
“Good.” She wove her fingers together to still them. “I can only pray your character continues to be strong.”
“I wouldnae go that far.” He riveted her with his gaze. “I’ve done many a thing I’ve not been proud of, but I’ve been truthful with ye.”
My, the man’s gravelly tone generated such heat within her. The barely leashed hunger in his expression spurred her pulse to a gallop.
“I’m counting on you to continue your commitment to honesty.”
“Aye. Now, Johanna, tell me what ye think about the grim legend of theDeamhan’s Cridhe.”
“I believe it is nothing more than a ruse intended to frighten away treasure hunters. Egyptians spun curses to deter grave robbers from pillaging tombs. This is no different.”
“Ye dinnae believe there’s truth to the tale?”
“No.” She dropped her attention to her knotted hands. “I’ve far more to fear than some ancient hex.”
His hand, warm and firm and gentle, cupped her chin and tipped it up. Meeting her eyes, he seemed to look deep inside her, stripping away the armor she had erected around her heart.
“Do ye fear me, Johanna?”
Ah, the sound of her name on his lips, each note colored by the rich Highland burr of his voice. Heat filled her belly, warm and liquid. Treacherous longings infused her, like a slow current through her veins. She pulled in a long draught of air, calming her stuttering pulse, slowing her breaths. Drat it all, such ridiculous stirrings. She must keep her head about her, whatever the cost.
“No.” She spoke the truth. Fright had nothing to do with the tiny tremors coursing through her body.
His eyes narrowed, and he studied her. “Ye’re sure of that.”
“Quite so.” Amazing, how cool the words sounded on her tongue while his nearness kindled warmth throughout her body.
“Come, then. Ye’ve not had the chance to see my prize Arabian. Persian Star is a beauty. Ye’ll seldom come upon a finer filly. Good bloodlines. Swift as the wind.”
“I’d like that,” she said, allowing him to lead her into the stable. Two rows of neatly kept stalls lined the enclosure. The scent of leather and hay and horses surrounded them. Rather than an unpleasant odor, the earthy essences seemed vibrant. Alive.
He stopped at the fifth stall. The horse within whinnied and whiffled, as if preening for her master.
“She’d be perfect for ye.” He turned to Johanna. “Well-trained and fast, that one is.”
She kept her smile controlled, a simple hint of approval. “How did you know I ride?”
“I know a lot about ye, Johanna Templeton.”
Something in his low rasp touched her heart. A note of caring infused his words, as if he’d come to appreciate her as a woman and not merely her connection to some mystical, long-coveted treasure.
“And how might that be?” Such a struggle to keep her tone neutral when her pulse danced a fierce jig.
