Awaken the Highland Warrior by Anita Clenney

gone before it settled, replaced by something so hot and dark she wanted to run. She started to stand, but his arm snaked around her neck, and he hauled her forward, his mouth covering hers. No playful teasing, no testing the waters, this was kissing, hard core. Her heart pounded like hundreds of River Dancers stomping out a beat. She didn’t care that the side of the tub was digging into her ribs or that she was more in the water than out. She’d been kissing men from the wrong century.
    Or were they just human?
    The shock of that almost made her pull away, but Faelan guided her hand where he wanted it, trapping it under his. To her astonishment, she left it there. How long they kissed, she didn’t know. Seconds, hours. His hand tensed in her hair, gripping hard. His lips stopped moving, open on hers, and he groaned as his body released. Shuddering, he held her close, his forehead buried in the crook of her neck as her heart cried, Romeo.
    She knew if she searched another gazillion years, she’d never feel this connection with anyone else. But she’d been wrong before. Terribly wrong.
    “I’m sorry,” he said, drying her hand with the towel lying on the edge of the tub. He turned off the Jacuzzi, letting his head thump softly against the tile. Wet, dark hair clung to his shoulders, and Bree glimpsed the edge of a tattoo behind his ear. How had she missed one?
    She rose to her feet and tried to think of something to say. What had possessed her? Historians didn’t do things like this. Of course, she’d never had a man like Faelan naked in her bathtub, either.
    Without warning, he stood. Water streamed off his body as he reached for another towel. He swiped it across his face and chest, then stepped out of the tub. For a man from the 1800s, he didn’t possess much modesty, or maybe he figured she’d already seen everything he had. She, on the other hand, might take a shot at swooning.
    He wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped closer. “I don’t know what to say. I was trying to get it out of my system. I didn’t want to take advantage of you.”
    “It’s my fault for barging in on you. You didn’t answer, and I thought you’d passed out… or something.”
    “Or something.” A wolfish grin curved one side of his mouth. “I got you wet,” he said, stretching out a hand, following a strand of hair from root to end. “‘Thank you’ doesn’t seem the right thing to say.” Another step, and the towel brushed her stomach. His hand moved lower, down her neck, past her ticking pulse. His eyes darkened and nostrils flared, as if he could smell her attraction. “Do you want me to take care of you?” he asked, lowering his head.
    “No, I’m good.” Bree scooted back, in case his Superman ears could hear her body begging. She tripped over his kilt again and sat hard on the floor.
    Faelan blinked, bent, and pulled her to her feet, the passion on his face giving way to self-disgust. “I’m sorry. You should ask me to leave. I would, you know.”
    She was torn between desire to bolt out the door and desire to comfort his tortured soul, rip that towel off, and throw him on the floor. “I wish there was something I could do.”
    His eyes flared.
    “I mean, you could see a doctor.”
    “A doctor? What would I tell him? That I crave you—like a starving man craves food? That I’m afraid to get within arm’s reach of the only woman in the universe who knows I’m alive, because I might lose control and rape her?” A muscle jumped in his jaw.
    It wouldn’t be rape. “There are medicines that can affect the sex drive. Herbal supplements. They’re always promising to increase things. Maybe they can decrease as well.”
    “Increase things?”
    “You know… enhance.”
    “Enhance?”
    She glanced at his groin, ineffectively covered by the towel. “The feeling. The parts.”
    “The parts?” His brows climbed higher. “Make it bigger?”
    How did she get into these conversations? “Maybe we