“I’m worried about catching something. Without condoms, our options are—thank God—limited. Saran Wrap and a rubber band? Forget it. For all I know you could be crawling with disease. I could be taking my life in my hands if I let you bone me!”

“Bone you? Crawling—” He got up off her—weep!—and started to pace, shirtless and with an interesting bulge beneath his belt buckle. She struggled to keep her gaze on his face. Well, his shoulders, at least. “First of all, my family—we don’t—that is to say, I’ve never been sick a day in my life, and no one I know has ever had—er—problems in that area. Second, I know for a fact you’re disease free.”

“How?” she asked curiously. He was right, of course, but how’d he know?

“It’s hard to—never mind. And third…third…” He laughed unwillingly and ran a hand through his hair. It stuck up in all directions, but instead of looking silly, it only made him look immensely likeable. Adorably rumpled. “Giselle, you’re unlike any woman I’ve ever known. You—” He shook his head. “There’s just something about you. I can’t put it into words. Come back to Scotland with me.”

She’d been busily arranging the covers over herself, though it was a bit late for modesty, and looked up. “What? Scotland? You mean, like a visit?”

“…sure. A visit.” He grinned. “Starting tomorrow, and ending never.”

“Yeah, yeah. Look, if you still feel like this tomorrow…later today, I mean…I could leave you my phone number.” And never hear from you again, most likely.

“We need Santas in Scotland,” he said seriously. “It can be a verra lonesome place.”

“Oh, come on!” She started to get the giggles and laughed harder when he pounced on her like a big cat. A good trick, as he’d been standing several feet away from the bed. The man was in great shape, no doubt about it. “Now, cut it out…get off, now! I told you, no condoms, no nooky.”

“What if I could prove I wasn’t—er—how did you put it? Crawling with disease?”

“Prove it how?” she asked suspiciously. Part of her couldn’t believe they were having this discussion. The last time she’d had sex had been…uh…what year was it? Anyway, the point was, this was so unlike her.

Well, why not? Why not jump without looking for once in her ridiculously dull life? The most interesting thing about her was her name…Mama Smith had been Jane Smith, of all the rotten jokes, and wanted her kid to be remembered. It didn’t work. Short, plump women with brown hair and brown eyes weren’t exactly noticed on the street.

Until today.