The Highlander's Thief

Chapter Fifteen

"Rosa. Rosa." Gentle hands shook her awake.

She jerked upright, her pulse pounding. It took a moment to work out where she was—in her own bed. Alone. With a dark figure leaning over her, demanding all her attention.

"Lord Laird?"

"Ye were dreaming again." He plonked down on the edge of her bed, nudging her over so he could fit. The bed sagged under his weight, and she slipped towards him. This time, he didn't push her away. "Was it Emily again? You were thrashing around and groaning."

Rosa felt her face heating. No, this time it certainly hadn't been Emily. Thank goodness it was too dark for McWilliam to see the flush burning up her face. Even her ears felt hot.

She let out an unsteady breath, keeping her eyes averted from his face. Thrashing around? Moaning? Anndrais McWilliam—his callused hands touching, caressing, while his lips— Oh sweet heaven! Where had that come from? It had been so real, so lifelike. Heat continued to pulse beneath the surface of her skin. The absence of his touch was a palpable thing, and she craved it like she'd never craved anything in her entire life.

Rosa shoved her hands under the counterpane, trying to smooth down her nightdress which had become tangled between her thighs.

She never knew she could feel like this. She was an innocent as far as the actual act between a man and a woman was concerned, but she'd read more than her fair share of newspapers—and during a particularly adventurous month when she was still living at her uncle's—half a dozen biology books, so she knew exactly what was supposed to happen.

But no book or words could ever have described how it felt. It was exciting and dangerous and... And it was entirely Anndrais McWilliam.

He was Scottish. And stubborn and arrogant. And large and muscular and hot. He was fire. And he wasn't supposed to make her feel like this.

It was just a dream. Just a dream. She repeated it back to herself like a mantra. A dream. Nothing more.

* * *

McWilliam narrowed his eyes, his gaze caught on the unsteady rise and fall of Rosa's chest. The blankets were tangled around her legs and she was staring at the end of the bed as though to avoid looking at him.

Hold up. Was it possible Rosa Blair had been dreaming about him?

Her hair was knotted at the nape of her neck, unmissable evidence that she'd been thrashing in her sleep. And he'd seen it with his own eyes. Heard her moans with his own ears.

His soldier surged to attention, and need roared in his ears, taunting him.

He fisted his hands in the counterpane. He could control this.

But, another part of his brain argued, if she'd been dreaming about him, didn't that mean she wanted him to kiss her? The hitch in her breath certainly suggested she wouldn't push him away if he pressed his advantage.

But a hundred times more important was the fact that the temptress refusing to meet his gaze at that very moment was Miss Rosa damn Blair, sworn enemy to his family and his clan.

Hell's teeth, he had to get out of here. He pushed himself away from the bed, and was half way across the room before she could blink.

"Where are you going?" She almost sounded disappointed.

"I've recently taken up midnight swimming."

"Swimming?"

"In the loch."