Page 17 of What a Highlander’s Got to Do

Lust twined with mortification. Surely he was a better man than that? He’d never believed that men of power should take undue advantage. He abhorred men who did.

But when he looked into her eyes, he forgot himself.

He found himself suddenly swamped with all manners of justifications to take what he wanted for himself.

Not the least of which was the fact she wanted it as well.

His cock lurched at the thought.

But first to business. He’d kissed her—in the most intimate way—and yet he didn’t know her name. He took her wrists in his hands and levered over her again. “Tell me what to call you,” he demanded. “I must know.”

“Your Majesty?” she said on a laugh.

“Do stop. I told you my name. You must tell me yours. It’s driving me mad.”

“Is it?” Her playful tone was suddenly a tad annoying. He feared she might never tell him. That he would never know her—

“Isobel.”

Ah. Isobel. It fit her perfectly.

“Isobel.”

She chuckled. “Why do you say it like that?”

“Like what?”

“All . . . breathy.”

He brushed her hair from her cheek. “I am not breathy in the least.”

“You said it that way.”

“Well, I had been wondering what your name was.”

She frowned at him. “Did it occur to you to ask?”

“I did once. You didn’t answer.”

“Did I no’?”

She knew damn well she hadn’t. She’d just smiled.

“Anyway, it suits you. I like it.”

“I am so gratified.”

He flopped down beside her on the blanket and they stared at the sky through the lacy leaves. After a moment, he rolled toward her.

“So . . . my darling Isobel,” he said, toying with a blade of grass. “How long are you staying in Newcastle?”

She shrugged. “I doona know. Not for certain.” And then she smiled. Something fetching and coy. “Why do you want to know?”

He grinned back at her. “Why do you think?”

“Because you want to see me again tomorrow?”

“And the next day.” Every day, in fact. As often as he could.