Oh, she knew why she’d really come to Scotland—she needed to know if love really was an illusion. She was desperate to change, to find something to shake her up and make her feel.
Well, this certainly qualified. If she wanted to become a new person, what better way to start than to force herself to completely suspend disbelief, throw caution to the wind. To toss aside all that she’d been raised to believe and plunge into life, messy as it was. To rescind control over what was happening around her and entrust that control to a madman. Raised in an environment where intellect was prized above all else, here was her chance to act impulsively, on gut instinct.
With a gorgeous madman, at that.
It would be good for her. Who knew what might come of it?
She could feel a perfectly vicious cigarette craving coming on.
“Come,” he said, when she returned. He’d built a fire in her absence, and she considered asking for her lighter back but was too exhausted to summon up the energy for a potential ownership dispute. Violating her privacy utterly, he’d rummaged through her pack and created a paltry bed by strewing her previously clean clothing upon the ground. A recent acquisition—a vibrantly crimson thong, adorned with black velvet silhouettes of romping kittens—poked out from between a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. She spent a moment calculating the odds that he would pull out the only thong she’d bought but never worn—the thong she planned to wear when she lost her virginity.
Inconceivable. She glared suspiciously at him, certain he’d displayed her panties on purpose, but if so, he was the picture of innocence.
“I cannot procure food for you this night,” he apologized, “but we will eat in the morning. For now, you must sleep.”
She said nothing, merely cast an irritable glance at her clothes, strewn across twigs, leaves, and dirt. Further irritating her, he was standing at the perimeter of the light cast by the flames, making it difficult to see him clearly. But she didn’t miss that lazily sensual, lionlike toss of his head that sent his silky dark hair falling over his shoulder. It screamed come hither, and pissed her off even more.
He met her glare with a provocative smile and gestured toward her clothing. “I made you a pallet upon which to sleep. In my time I would spread my plaid for you. But I would also warm you with the heat of my naked body. Shall I remove my plaid?”
“No need to bother,” she sputtered hastily. “My clothes are fine. Wonderful. Really.”
Despite the abysmal lowlands of her emotions and feverish highlands of her hormones, she was bone-weary and desperate for the plateau of sleep. She’d gotten more exercise today than she got in a month at home. The small pile of her clothing near the fire suddenly seemed as inviting as a down bed. “What about you?” she asked, reluctant to sleep if he was going to be awake.
“Although you doona believe me, I slept for a very long time and find I am most reluctant to close my eyes again. I shall stand watch.”
She regarded him warily and didn’t move.
“I would be pleased to give you something to help you relax,” he offered.
Her brows furrowed. “Like what? A drug or something?” she asked indignantly.
“I have been told I have a calming effect with my hands. I would rub your back, caress your hair until you drifted peacefully.”
“I don’t think so,” she said icily.
A quick white flash of teeth was the only indication she had that he was amused. “Then I bid you, lie down before you fall down. We must cover a great deal of ground tomorrow. Although I could carry you, I sense you would not appreciate it.”
“Damn right, MacKeltar,” she muttered, as she relented and dropped to the ground near the fire. She bundled her button-down into a pillow of sorts and stuffed it under her head.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked softly out of the darkness.
“I am downright toasty,” she lied.
And in truth, she shivered for only a short time before inching closer to the fire and falling into deep and dreamless oblivion.
Drustan watched Gwen Cassidy sleep. Her blond hair, streaked with darker and lighter highlights, shimmered in the firelight. Her skin was smooth, her lips lush and pink, the lower one quite a bit fuller than the top. Kiss-ably full. Above almond-shaped eyes, her dark-blond brows arched upward at the outer edges, adding an aristocratic disdain to the scowl she so frequently wore. She was lying on her side, and her plump breasts pressed together in dangerously tempting curves, but it wasn’t her physical attributes alone that stirred him.
She was the most unusual woman he’d ever encountered. Whatever had shaped her temperament, she was a curious blend of cautiousness and audacity, and he’d begun to realize she had a clever and quick mind. So wee, she was unafraid to thrust her chin in the air and shout at him. He suspected that audacity was more her nature, while her cautiousness was a learned thing.