Page 39 of What a Highlander’s Got to Do

“It’s just,” the latter said, “that we’ve never seen you in such a state.”

“Over a woman.”

“I’ve been in states over women before.”

“Yes. But not like this.” Penny leaned back and studied him solemnly with his dark-brown eyes. “Is she really so fabulous?”

Fabulous? Nick recalled her scent. Her face. The feel of her skin. Her hot breath in his ear—

“That,” Tully said, “is a fierce expression.”

“It certainly is. She must be fabulous indeed.”

“We really need to meet this woman.”

“I say, we certainly do.”

“But how will we know when we meet her?”

Penny nodded. “Indeed. Suppose we meet this fabulous woman and seduce her before we discover she is Nick’s lover?”

“I never said she was my lover.” And, “You’re not to seduce her.”

Both his friends lurched back, as though his command had been feral or something.

But then they laughed.

“You’d better tell us her name, at least,” Penny said. “Lest we wander into a Greek tragedy.”

Hell. He didn’t want to give them her name. He didn’t want to give any bit of her up to them. She was his.

Both men stared at him, and Tully went so far as to drum his fingers on the armrest. “Well?” he said.

Nick glowered at them both and said, “Isobel.”

“Ah. Fair Isobel,” Tully crowed.

Nick’s heart lurched. “Do you know her?” Was that a hint of panic or hope in his tone?

“No, but I can’t wait till I do.”

“She’s Scottish.” He wasn’t sure why he shared this, unless it was to put them off the idea of pursuing her. If it had been, the ploy failed miserably.

“A Scots lass?” Penny said, eyes bright. “Famous.”

Tully chuckled. “I should have guessed. You’ve always had a taste for a wild wench.”

How was it humanly possible for them both to be so thoroughly galling? “She’s not a wench.”

“A Scots lass? Gallivanting around in the British countryside?” Penny pulled a face. “How odd.”

“No wonder he was intrigued.”

“I wasn’t intrigued.”

“Of course you were. Does she have red hair?”

“Don’t they all?” Tully said.