Tall, Dark and Kilted by Allie Mackay Page A

her with such burning hunger in his eyes.
    Or set off such a hot pulsing between her legs with nothing more than a glance.
    She swallowed, sure he knew it.
    The slight arcing of one brow said he did.
    “Do you mind?” Her face flaming, she yanked the towel higher up her breasts. “Mister. . . .”
    “Sir,” he corrected, his sensual lips curving oh so slightly. “Sir Hardwin de Studley of Seagrave.”
    “De what ?” Cilla’s jaw slipped. She resisted the urge to poke her fingers in her ears and wriggle them.
    She couldn’t have heard correctly.
    Either that or she’d eaten too much of the haggis filling in her chicken ecosse.
    “Tell me again.” She eyed him, sure it was the haggis. “Who did you say you are?”
    “Sir Hardwin de Studley,” he repeated, his deep burr rolling. “ ’Tis a good Norman Scots name. You won’t hear it much nowadays.”
    “I wouldn’t think so.”
    “Friends call me Hardwick.”
    That’s even worse! Cilla almost blurted, but before she could, he flicked a finger at the wooden tub and it disappeared, his little sleight of ghostly hand making the words lodge in her throat.
    “Since you chose no’ to avail yourself of it.” Sounding as if that were a great shame, he leaned back against the doorjamb and settled himself, his long legs crossed at the ankles.
    Cilla stared at him.
    He looked much too comfortable lounging so casually in her bathroom doorway.
    She couldn’t let him stay that way.
    Especially not when he continued his tricks, this time making a quick flipping motion with his wrist, and his shield appeared in his hand. Holding it loosely at his side, he smiled at her.
    A curl-a-girl’s-toes kind of smile she knew better than to let get to her.
    The man was all smoke and mirrors.
    Walking danger, and she wasn’t even going to think about how his mere presence made her tingle.
    His burr alone could stir a woman to climax.
    She’d been hovering on the edge of one ever since his fingers had slid across her nipples. Heaven help her if those long, skilled-looking fingers ever came anywhere close to her clit.
    “Look here, Sir Hard-whoever-you-are, I’ve already told you that your shield trick doesn’t impress me.” She tossed her hair behind her shoulder. “As for beaming yourself in here when I’m trying to shower, that’s just rude.”
    “Rude?” Hardwick blinked, the heat in her eyes spearing him.
    It wasn’t the kind of simmer he was accustomed to stirring in women.
    “I think, lass”—he pushed away from the door and drew himself to his full height—“that you have no idea what it cost me to be here.”
    “Then why are you?”
    “No’ to see you naked!” The words escaped before he could stop them.
    “Oh!” Her cheeks bloomed red. “I don’t believe this!” she cried, scooting past him out the bathroom door.
    Hardwick scowled after her.
    Good, if he’d vexed her into leaving.
    Unfortunately, he hadn’t meant to do it thusly. And watching her dart across the polished—slippery—floor, grab a robe off the bed, and don it in all haste didn’t feel like the triumph it should.
    It felt rather lousy.
    Never had he seen a lass dress so swiftly. And rarely had he felt such an urge to bite off his tongue. He’d burned to see more of her nakedness. Ever since glimpsing her full, round breasts the possibility had consumed him, unwise as such yearnings were.
    He pulled a hand down over his chin, furious with himself and his plight.
    “You misheard me.” He spoke to her back, trying to make it better. “I meant, seeing you unclothed is the last thing—”
    “So you’re not only rude, but insulting!” She whirled on him, her blue eyes ablaze.
    “Holy heather!” He jammed his hands on his hips and stared at her. “You still dinna—”
    “I understand perfectly well.” She yanked on the ends of her robe’s belt, making a knot. “And I’ll ask you again. Why did you appear in my bathroom?”
    “Because I heard you scream.”
    Her eyes