She tensed and locked her gaze on the powerfully corded muscles in
the Highlander’s neck. Curses and zounds! She didn’t have the strength
to win against such a brute on a good day. How could she possibly win
while exhausted and fevered?
She glowered and punched his shoulder. “You may have won because I’m so
cursed tired, Lion, but when you take me, you bloody well better keep me
off my back.”
God’s bones, she must be delirious for she couldn’t know what she was
inviting. Her speech intrigued him. She spoke Gaelic with a few English
expletives tossed in. He wondered where an English lass would have
learned Gaelic.
He slipped an arm beneath her bottom and supported her neck with his
other hand. Her fevered brow pressed against his neck, and she went
limp. He realized she had fainted.
Excitement flowed through him. His dream siren had finally come to him,
and he wasn’t about to let her go.
