“raking a hand through his hair, he forced his attention to the text she'd left on the coffee table, refusing to dwell on the disconcerting fact that a part of him had taken one look at the lass in such proximity to his bed and said simply: Mine”

“He looked blank. “He’s the one who’s been doing the magic against us?”“Duh,” I said.“Doona be ‘duh’ing me, lass,” he growled, his burr thickening.”

“Swallowing hard, she looked at him.He raised his eyes from the frothy concoction on his spoon at the precise moment she looked up, and their gazeslocked over the length of the polished wood table. Where would you drip whipped cream on him, Lisa? The answercame with frightening swiftness and conviction: Everywhere. She wanted to explore his body, the hard ripples, the smooth skin. The candlelight bathed his olive skin with a golden hue, and his dark good looks were set off perfectly by his linen shirt and the splash of black and crimson draped across his chest. He was mesmerizing."Are you hungry, lass?" He licked his spoon languidly. She couldn't tear her gaze away. "No. I've eaten quiteenough," she managed."You seem to be watching my dessert most intently. Are you certain there isn't something else you wish to sate your appetite?"Besides you to remove your clothing, lie on the table, and let me finger paint you with whipped cream, you mean?"Nope," she said casually. "Not a thing." She watched him for a moment; he still had a great deal of dessert left. How was she going to get through this?”

“He swapped the fistful of my shirt for one in my hair, and ground his mouth against mine. I exploded. I shoved at him, and clawed him closer. He shoved me back, and yanked me tighter to his body. I pulled his hair. He pulled mine. He didn‘t fight fair. Actually, he fought exactly fair. He didn‘t extend courtesies, not a single one. I bit his lip. He tripped me and pushed me down to the stone floor of the cavern. I punched him. He straddled me. I ripped his shirt down the front, left it hanging in tatters from his shoulders. "I liked that shirt", he snarled. He rose over me, a dark demon, glistening in the torchlight, dripping sweat and blood, his torso covered with tattoos that disappeared beneath his waistband. He grabbed the hem of my shirt, tore it straight up to my neck, and inhaled sharply. ”

“Daily her tactics grew more sly and underhanded. Last night the audacious wench had picked the lock to hischamber! Because he'd had the foresight to barricade the door with a heavy armoire, she'd then gone to his door inthe corridor and picked that lock. He'd been forced to escape out the window. Halfway down he'd slipped, crashed the last fifteen feet to the ground, and landed in a prickly bush. Since he'd not had time to don his trews, hismanly parts had taken the brunt of his abrupt entry into the bush, putting him in a foul mood indeed.The wench sought to unman him before his long-anticipated wedding night.”

“Drustan raked a hand through his hair and fumbled in the dark for the door. When it didn't budge, a part of him was unsurprised. Yet another part of him met the fact with a kind of glad resignation.She wanted battle? Battle she would get. It would be a pleasure to have it out with her finally. Once he'd ripped the door from the framing, he would exact vengeance upon her wee body with gleeful abandon. No more honorable I-won't-touch-you-because-I'm-betrothed. Nay he'd touch her. Any damn place and any damn way he wanted to. As many times as he wanted to. Until she begged and whimpered beneath him. She'd been trying to drive him mad? Well, he was giving in to it. He would act like the animal she made him feel like being. The hell with Anya, the hell with duty and honor, the hell with discipline. He needed to tup. Her. Now.”

“As he closed the door he said over his shoulder, "Because you're a good lass." A heavy sigh. "And I'm no' a good man.”