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“What are ye doin’?” she asked.

“It’s late. We need to sleep,” he said, carrying her out of his study.

“Where?”

“Me room.”

He took the stairs up to his chambers. Once inside, he laid her down on his bed.

“Me wife will sleep in me bed,” he murmured.

Isla nodded and let sweet slumber pull her under.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

BORROWED WARMTH

Sunlight played against her closed eyelids, and she stirred awake with a soft sigh. She felt warmth against her skin and smiled. Until she realized it was not the sun warming her at all. It was a heavy, long, muscular arm draped over her waist.

Her cheeks flushed as the memory of the night before came flooding back. She had never felt pleasure like that before. Never known a man’s touch could undo her so completely, or that she could get so thoroughly lost in wanting.

The feel of his body against her back was irresistible. She turned slowly to look at him, and her breath caught. Here, in the morning light, still asleep and wrapped around her, the mask of the hardened Laird had finally slipped. The lines of his face were smooth, his lips relaxed. He looked younger and softer.

She shifted slightly, only for his arm to tighten around her. She gasped as he pulled her closer to him, his eyes fluttering open.

“Where are ye going, wife?”

“I wasnae going anywhere.”

“Good. I think ye werenae done starin’ at me.”

Isla blushed and swatted at his arm, but he just smiled and pulled her over him, draping her over his body. His fingers slid into her hair, and his thumb caressed her cheek. His lips curled into a devastating smile that was brighter than the summer sun.

Isla gasped. “I almost believed that ye cannae smile,” she said, tracing his lips with her fingers.

“I do smile!” Alisdair protested.

“But I only just witnessed it. I thought ye werenae capable of that particular expression. In fact, I thought ye had a permanent scowl on yer face.”

Alisdair chuckled, low and warm, and the sound alone drew her eyes back to his lips. He rolled them over so she lay on her back, his arm cushioning her head. The air between them thickened, their bodies pressed so close, the morning sun somehow every bit as seductive as the dark had been the night before.

He leaned in. “Ye didnae see me smile,” he whispered in her ear, “because ye were too busy arguin’ with me.”

“I wasnae arguin’,” Isla said, smirking. “I was tryin’ to teach ye manners.”

His body covered hers, settling over her without crushing her, one hand bracing on the mattress. Isla gasped at the intimacy of it, her toes curling.

“And how do ye find me manners now, me little rebel?”

“Appalling,” she breathed.

His chuckle traveled all the way down to her core.

“Good,” he murmured, and licked her earlobe.

A knock on the door interrupted whatever was brewing between them.

“Me Laird,” a maid called from outside, “yer breakfast.”