Page 6 of What a Highlander’s Got to Do

An odd recognition had flooded him. It was as though he’d known her somehow, though they’d never met.

It was as though he knew her.

Her bold demeanor, her fearlessness, the humor hiding in her eyes.

And then she’d spoken and stunned him again.

She was a Scots lass. Here. In Newcastle.

And his certainty grew.

Oh, he’d wanted her, but he’d been happy to play her game. Until . . . she’d run again. And urged him to pursue.

As thrilling as that had all been, it was nothing to this.

This kiss.

He threaded his fingers through her hair and held her still as he nudged his tongue into her mouth, promising another invasion, one he ached for. When she closed her lips on him and sucked, he nearly swooned.

Hardly a manly thing to do. Especially on a horse. But all the blood left his brain and shot downward.

He groaned in agony and delight.

“You are a wild lass, aren’t you?” he murmured against her lips.

“Aye. I am.” She stroked the skin at his nape, as though she couldn’t get enough, and a shiver shot through him.

“We should get off the horse,” he suggested, wishing he’d brought a blanket. Yet how could he have known he’d find her on his ride? How could he have ever expected that such a perfect collection of womanhood would appear before him today?

The accent that made him weak at the knees, the alabaster skin he craved to caress, the long, luscious white-blond locks flowing wild and free over her shoulders. Her laugh. Her smile. Her kiss . . . It was . . .

A nudge came to his side. One that nearly toppled them both.

She laughed and turned to pat her stallion, who, apparently, was feeling left out. “I should be going,” she said and then—horror of horrors—she slipped from his arms to the ground.

“What?” He gaped at her. “We were . . . just getting started.” Surely he didn’t sound like a petulant child. Or perhaps he did.

She studied him for a moment and then gave some secret smile, the kind of smile women were so good at that left men befuddled. “It was a lovely kiss, do you no’ think?” she asked, taking the reins of her stallion.

“Yes,” he sputtered. “Very nice.” He should like some more, please.

“Surely nice enough to serve as your reward, then?”

Blast. She’d gotten him there.

“But . . .” What? Anything to keep her here. If only for a moment.

“But, what?” In a fluid motion, she mounted, making him envy her horse.

“I, ah. I don’t even know your name.”

“Nor I, yours.” It was a teasing comment. A question that was not one.

“Nick. Nicholas. And yours?”

She smiled, sending warmth sluicing through him. “Nick. Thank you for saving me,” she said. And then, without hesitation, she turned and started down the road.

His heart sank. He had no idea why.