The proprietor had told her so.
Which could only mean . . .
Lindy grabbed a pillow and held it before her. “I don’t have any money,” she stammered, wishing his searing gaze wasn’t so unsettling. “I’m at the end of my trip and—”
“Och, lassie.” Mr Medievalwas suddenly right in front of her. “If I wanted your coin—” he plucked the pillow from her hands and tossed it aside “—any sillers you might have would already be weighing down my purse.”
He grinned and patted a small leather pouch hanging from his sword belt. Then the look on his face turned wicked as he grabbed her and pulled her to him, holding her so tightly that she could hardly breathe.
“I’m that fast, see you?”
“I see you’re a mad man.”
“Aye, that I am, true enough!” He released her, his gaze absolutely smouldering now. “So mad for you that if you dinnae cease calling me Lore each time I kiss you, I may have to kill an innocent man.”
“Kiss me?”The absurdity of his words gave Lindy the energy to dart away from him.
He caught her, his big hand gripping her arm, before she’d gone two steps. “You’ll no’ be denying our passion?” His gaze went meaningfully to the bed and Lindy was horrified to see that it was no longer the narrow, plaid-covered twin bed she’d been sleeping on.
It was a huge richly carved four-poster, its sumptuously embroidered curtains pulled back to reveala welter of furred throws, tangled sheets and a sea of tasselled cushions piled near the massive headboard.
Lindy blinked.
Rogan MacGraith’s grip tightened on her elbow. “You are mine, sweetness. I’ll no’ be sharing you with any man. Especially no’a foolnamed Lore.”
“Lore doesn’t exist.” Lindy couldn’t take her gaze off the bed. It looked so real. “I made him up. He’s fiction. Just like that bed and—”
“And what?” Rogan arched a brow, pulling her to him again. “This perhaps?”
Without warning, he lowered his head and kissed her, taking her lips with all the intimacy of someone who’d kissed, noplunderedher mouth, many, many times. It was a hard, ravenous kiss, full of breath and tongue. Rogan held her tighter and deepened the kiss. Lindy’s pulse raced and her knees almost buckled.
The kiss was much better than any she’d ever written.
In fact, no real man had ever kissed her so masterfully either.
Whoever – or whatever – Rogan MacGraith was, he knew how to curla woman’s toes.
She wound her arms around his neck and leaned into him, not caring about anything but the delicious tingles whipping through her. His shoulder-length hair felt thick and smooth beneath her fingers, almost cooland sleek like the pages of her map. But she ignored that incongruity and concentrated on how wonderfully his tongue swirled and slid so hotly over and around hers. Or so she tried, until running footsteps sounded on the landing outside her room.
Lindy woke at once and peered into darkness. Her heart was pounding and – dear God – she still felt all tingly and roused.
Rogan MacGraith was nowhere to be seen.
And the narrow bed she was lying in wasn’t anything as magnificent as the curtained, black-oak monstrosity she’d glimpsed over his shoulder.
It’d all been a dream.
Except, perhaps, the hurrying footsteps she’d heard outside her door.
“Miss Lovejoy!” The innkeeper appeared at her doorway, proving that much. “Have you been disturbed? The storm blew out a window on the landing and—” he glanced over his shoulder, at the shadows behind him “—I’m checking for damage to the rooms. Looks like the gust threw open your door. I’m sorry if your sleep was—”
“I’m fine.” Lindy noticed that her Landranger 9 map was stillspread across the bedcovers. “I fell asleep studying my map and didn’t hear a thing.”
“Right, then.” The innkeeper looked relieved. “The missus and I will be up a while yet if you’ll be needing aught.” He gave her a nod, glanced quickly around her room, and was gone, disappearing as quickly as he’d come.
His footsteps faded into the distance, the night wind howled and shook the window glass, and Lindy fought the urge to laugh hysterically.
She’d lied when she’d said she was fine.
