Page 22 of What a Highlander’s Got to Do

The lean-to was large, but she still had to stoop. She loved that he’d put several blankets on the floor and there were more folded in the corner. A ragged bouquet of daisies lay on what might be construed as a pillow. “Daisies,” she sighed. “My favorite. How did you know?”

“A guess.” He grinned. “Also they were all I could find.”

Of course, she had to laugh. “This is quite nice,” she said as she sat.

“I’m glad you approve. Unfortunately, the day is not ideal for what I had planned.”

“Oh? And what did you have planned?”

His eyes glimmered. “I’m certain you know. But I’m happy if we just . . . talk.”

It surprised her that she would have been happy, doing just that—just talking to him—but to be honest, she really wanted more. More of what she’d had yesterday. And perhaps even more still.

Not that she’d spent the night imagining seducing him, urging him to forget about his nonsensical standards, but she had.

Since she didn’t know if he would consider her too forward if she just asked, she decided on another route.

She faked a shudder.

He was immediately contrite. “Oh, my goodness. You’re cold.”

“It’s probably because of these wet clothes.”

His nostrils flared. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Probably.” A croak.

“I should take them off. Can you hand me a blanket?”

Mutely, he nodded, and did so.

“Thank you. Now turn away. No peeking.”

It was a testament to his character that he did, though Isobel could tell he really wanted to watch. That something, in fact, pained him.

It took a while to get her wet habit off, especially with all her underskirts, but she finally did, and wrapped herself in the blanket. The warmth was divine and she moaned.

His gaze snapped back to her, his eyes wide, a thread of panic in them.

“Now you,” she commanded.

“Uh, yes . . .” He ripped off his shirt and worked the buttons of his breeks, which got caught on his boots so he had to pause to undo them.

Isobel didn’t look away. She couldn’t. His chest was magnificent. Muscled and brown. A ribbon of fascinating dark hair marched toward his navel and beyond. His legs were well made, too, long and lean. There was a large bulge in his smalls, which he did not remove.

Perhaps he’d left that for her.

How thoughtful.

“Don’t forget the blanket,” she suggested helpfully.

“Oh. Right.” He wrapped it around his shoulders and then looked back at her.

“Better?”

“Yes.”

He stared at her some more and she stared at him.

So much for the conversation he had in mind.