Funny thing was, she’d just been placing bets with herself about what condition the archaic Highlander would exit in: kilt-clad and modest, in a towel and semimodest, or in-your-face nude and on the predatory prowl.
She’d decided on in-your-face nude. She owed herself five bucks.
He placed his thigh sheath and jeweled blade on the writing desk, wearing two towels: one at his waist and the other wrapped turban-style around his head. It was barely better than nude. In fact, it only made her want to peel those offending towels away.
As if reading her mind, he ducked his head and unwound the first towel, sponging the excess water from his dark mane. Righting himself, he tossed his hair back over his shoulders, metallic beads clinking. Tiny rivulets of water ran down over his magnificent tattooed chest, a thin channel of it slithered over that tattooed nipple. Muscles bunched and rippled in his tattooed biceps.
She moistened her lips, wondering what on earth was wrong with her. She’d never had such an intense reaction to a man before.
She had only to look at him to get all shaky-feeling inside. And it wasn’t as if she’d never dated a good-looking man before. She had. Kenny Dirisio had been a Grade-A-Italian-Stallion-Extraordinaire. Even brainy Ginger, who was every bit as focused and driven as she was, had said, “Jessi-chick, take my advice, drop a few courses this term and hop on that one. They don’t come along like that often.”
But she hadn’t—hopped on him, that was. In fact, she’d volunteered to teach another seminar and they’d broken up over it, and now she knew why. While her brain had appreciated Kenny’s incredible looks, her body had just never quite kicked in. It never really had with any of the guys she’d dated.
With Cian MacKeltar, however, despite the fact that her brain wanted nothing to do with him, her body wanted to do everything with him that was possible between a man and a woman. Her body had done more than kicked in; it was stoking up the oven for the baking of little MacKeltar buns.
With a man that called a mirror “home.” This was not good.
“Did you not send for food, Jessica?”
Jessi blinked again, trying to refocus her thoughts. “Yes, but it won’t be here for a little while yet. Look, I’ve been thinking, what’s your plan, anyway?”
“To bed you.”
“No, I mean, your plan that might actually work.” She bared her teeth in a cool masquerade of a smile.
“Ah, that plan. That would be to cross this room right now and kiss you until you start tearing off your clothing and begging me to f—”
“No, that’s not the one I meant, either,” she said hastily.
How in the world had he moved that fast?
One instant he was across the room, the space of two beds separating them; the next, one big hand was cupping her chin, tipping her head back, the other hot and possessive on her waist. The man was lethally fast. Which boded well for protection—from everyone but him.
He stared down at her with smoldering intensity. He lowered his mouth slowly, lazily, never breaking eye contact with her. Up close, he was beyond gorgeous. Those whisky eyes shimmered with golden depths and were framed by thick dark lashes. His skin was tawny-velvet, darkly stubbled. His lips were sensual, pink and firm, and curved in the hint of a smile.
“Tell me not to kiss you, Jessica. Tell me right now. And best you make me believe you mean it,” he warned softly, a breath from her lips.
“Don’t kiss me.” She wet her lips.
“Try again,” he said flatly.
“Don’t kiss me.” She swayed toward his body, a magnet to steel.
“Try again,” he hissed. “And best ’ware, woman, ’tis your last chance.”
Jessi took a deep breath. “Don’t.” Another deep breath. “Kiss me?”
He laughed, a cocky, rich purr of a sound.
Crimeny, she thought dismally, as he lowered his sexy dark head toward hers, even she’d heard the wrong punctuation there.
* * *
10
Even though she knew it was coming, Jessi wasn’t prepared for Cian MacKeltar’s kiss. Nothing could have prepared her for the mind-blowing, sizzling intensity of it.
This was no gentle brush of a kiss like the one he’d given her in the lobby. This was the real deal. Intense and demanding, it was every bit as raw and unapologetically carnal as it was seductive.
Gripping a fistful of her short dark curls, the ninth-century Highlander slanted his mouth over hers. He cupped her cheek with one big hand and pressured the corner of her lips with his thumb, nudging them apart. The moment she yielded, he sealed his lips over hers, opening wider, deepening the kiss, taking complete possession of her mouth, obliterating any lingering protest she might have thought to make.