A roar broke through the hush—cheers, bagpipes, the triumphant beat of drums.
Wanton sagged, relief flooding her limbs.
Her gaze found Tavish. He stood in the middle of the field, chest heaving.
Just then, a wind swept the glen. Tavish’s kilt caught it. The plaid fluttered, then lifted…
And there it was. Frontal data confirmation. Undeniable. Unfiltered. Highland and…hanging.
Wanton froze. Every rational thought fled. Her mouth opened, then closed.
He smirked. “Ye’ve yer answer then.”
She fanned herself weakly with her notebook. “Field Observation 29.0: Empirical confirmation achieved. Thereissomething (a lot of something) under a Highlander’s kilt. Further study unnecessary but highly desirable.”
Tavish laughed. And Wanton knew, with the perfect clarity of science and sin, that her next experiment would becatastrophic.
Chapter fourteen
In Which Our Heroine Confirms Every Hypothesis (Three Times)
The storm battered the windows like a jealous ex-lover.
Rain traced rivulets down the glass. Thunder rolled over the moors. And in the flickering firelight of the tower room, Wanton trembled from an anticipation so intense it bordered on clinical emergency.
Tavish stood before her, shirtless, soaked, and breathing like a man barely restrained. His chest heaved. His hair clung to his forehead. His kilt… sagged just slightly from gravity and temptation.
She cleared her throat. Adjusted her very-unhelpful waistband.
“Well,” she said brightly, “I suppose I should go now.”
Tavish arched a brow. “Go?”
She nodded, keeping her voice breezy. “Yes. My hypothesis was confirmed.”
He took one step closer.
She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “About the effects of Highland testosterone on mass dynamics and torque displacement. You know. Physics.”
He didn’t blink.
“Also…” she added, eyes drifting to his chest and regretting it instantly, “its impact on...heat transfer and gravitational pull.”
He took a step closer.
She dropped her notebook.
Not metaphorically. She literally let it fall. The leather-bound tome of footnotes, calculations, and suppressed desires hit the floor with a thud, scattering loose pages of “Field Observations” like scandalous confetti.
He moved in a seismic lunge, and gripped her waist, hauling her up, crushing her body to his with a sound—God help her—a growl. Their mouths collided.
Her gasp vanished into him, and when his tongue swept into her mouth, she wrapped her legs around his hips.
“Field Observation 31.1:” she gasped, breaking the kiss, “Tongues can cause fainting.”
“I’m just warmin’ ye up.”
She could feel him—thick, hot, and very much not hypothetical—pressing against her muddy kilt. Somewhere in her brain, a neuron popped like a firework and she forgot every unit of measurement she’d ever known.
