Page 5 of Enchantment of a Highlander

The cloth passed over the sensitive flesh, warm as a mouth, her careful ministrations dangerously close to a caress. There was an edge of pain when she dabbed his wound, but for the most part, he had never enjoyed being injured more.

She pulled the cloth away and his skin immediately cooled. “Are you sure you don’t want some of the liqueur? It’s nothing fine, but it will help take the sting—”

“Are ye a Lowlander?” he asked. He didn’t want to talk about his wound or fighting or his land and certainly not his piss-poor example of a father.

He wanted to know about her. Why a woman from the Lowlands happened upon his father’s land, how long she’d been in the cottage, what she expected of him as laird.

He wanted the caress of her gentle hands on his body and the calming tone of her silky voice in his ears.

She did not answer him. Of course.

Instead he answered for her. “Aye, ye are no from here. But what made ye come to the Highlands? Did ye no find Lowland men to yer liking?”

She lifted the needle. “A Lowlander would never stare at me as you do.” Only when she passed a thread through the eye of the needle did he notice a slight tremor to her fingers. “It’s rude.”

He couldn’t help the grin tugging at his lips. She’d said it without malice, but it was enough to let him know she was aware of his interest.

The woman was full of pride, full of fire, and he wanted to sample every tasty morsel she had to offer.

Her fingers swept across his chest like an angel’s kiss, sweet and whisper soft.

“I want ye,” he said.

She pinched the corner of his wound together and the sharp edge of pain cut through Alec’s awareness. “We’ll see if you still feel that way after I’ve stitched you together.” The point of the needle pressed to his skin. “Now be quiet until I’ve finished.”

• • •

Celia examined the row of pale white stitches against the golden tone of Alec’s skin. They were neat and steady, a miracle considering the way her hand had trembled. She’d never been so out of sorts before, so distracted.

No doubt it had to do with all the man’s questions.

“You’ll need to be mindful of these or they will tear out.” She set the needle aside and placed the soiled cloth in the bowl.

The corner of his lip lifted. “If they tear out, I’ll have an excuse to see ye again.”

“If you let them tear out intentionally, I’ll let you bleed to death for your own stupidity.” She rose from the chair.

He caught her fingers and held tight. His palm was warm and callused like weathered bark. She turned to him in exasperation and found his eyes burning into hers with icy heat. “What I said about wanting ye hasna changed, healer.”

Her cheeks went hot beneath a pulse so strong she could scarce catch her breath. “You would force yourself on me even after I have aided you?”

He rose from his seat and stood over her—no, towered over her. She craned her neck back to look up at him.

“I wouldna have to force myself.” The commanding tone had not left his voice, but it was softer now, more intimate.

Her nipples tightened beneath her homespun gown and warmth swirled eddies in her stomach. “Wouldn’t you?”

“I havena misread the way ye reacted to me, the way yer hands shake.” His jaw tensed.

One large finger slid under her chin, a delicate touch for a man so intimidating. Her head fell back of its own accord, her body obeying what her mind stubbornly fought.

“The way yer nipples grow hard for me.” The skin around his eyes tensed and his gaze slipped toward her breasts, where his effect on her stood proud against the fabric.

His hand cradled the back of her neck and he leaned closer. “The way yer eyes keep drifting to my lips, like ye want to know how I taste.”

She swallowed and found herself staring at the Cupid’s bow of his top lip. He was inches from her mouth. Her heart sputtered.

“No.” She stepped back, pulling herself from his touch. “You misread me.” Even she could hear the lie in her breathy words.