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Liam turned as she burst into the tower area. Then he leaned against the cool stone and watched her.
’Twas the gloaming time, his favorite, when the night had just begun and the dawn was still so far away. Difficult to see in the gloaming. At least for her.
The woman’s gaze darted around the small space, skipping over Liam without pause. It appeared he hadn’t lost his talent for blending into the shadows.
From the way she scanned back and forth, back and forth, a bit frantically he figured she thought him a ghost. It wouldn’t be the first time.
But she didn’t run; she didn’t even call out. Instead her eyes narrowed on the place she’d seen him watching her, the place he yet remained.
Liam kept still and quiet, wondering what she would do if she saw him, or what she would do if she did not.
So he wasn’t prepared when she suddenly set down her camera and strode forward—full speed ahead! Damn the torpedoes! Typical American—and nearly slammed into him as he straightened away from the wall.
“You’re…” She lifted her chin, and the warmth of her breath in the chill of the night sent a puff of mist across his face. She smelled like spun sugar and cherries. He wanted to dip his head and steal a taste.
Frowning, she reached out and placed a palm against his chest. His body reacted with embarrassing swiftness. The last time a woman’s hand had touched him he’d—
Liam snatched her wrist and jerked her fingers away. Those large brown eyes widened.
“Ye should not touch a strange man in the dark of the night, lass. Ye may get what ye are not askin’ for. Unless, of course…” He tightened his grip, drawing her closer. “Ye were askin’.”
“You’re … real?” she murmured.
He couldn’t help it. The coming moon, the promise of stars, the scent of the loch in her hair, and that husky, take me voice … He kissed her. What better way to prove—to her and to himself—that he did yet exist?
She tasted as she smelled—sugar, cherries, and the freshness of the water on the wind. Her lips parted as she gasped, and he would have let her go, except her hand flexed, nails scraping his shirt as she gathered it into her fist and held on.
When her tongue darted out, just a flick along his lower lip, he was lost. He kissed her as he hadn’t kissed a woman in aeons, and she kissed him right back.
She was nearly his height; he didn’t have to bend even his neck to delve. She continued to cling to his shirt as if he would run away. As if he could.
She should have slapped him. That she didn’t only made him crave more.
He tasted her, and she was sweet, warm, and willing. Everything he’d missed in a woman.
He continued to kiss but nothing else, afraid if he let himself touch, he’d do so much more than that. As he’d been told, as he’d been shown, men were beasts, and right now Liam Grant was all man.
So he let his mouth do the ravaging; she didn’t seem to mind. However, he didn’t sink his fingers into her glorious hair. Didn’t fill his palms with her firm, soft breasts. Didn’t open his trousers, pull down hers, and—
Dìteadh. He was a beast.
On the loch, something splashed, and she pulled her mouth from his, releasing his shirt at the same time. However, she remained close enough that he was drawn to the heat of her body amid the ever-increasing chill.
She stared at him, brow furrowed. “Why did you kiss me?”
Was she really that naïve? If so, she shouldn’t be out here alone. Hell, she shouldn’t be anywhere without her keeper.
She continued to stare at him, waiting for an answer. Why had he kissed her?
“Ye asked if I was real.”
She shook her head, laughed a little, stepped back. He had to clench his hands to keep from reaching out. “Of course you’re real. What else could you be?”
“The ghost of Urquhart Castle?”
She tilted her head. “Is there a ghost of Urquhart Castle?”
“In Scotland, lass, there’s a ghost of every castle.”
