Anticipation melded with amusement in him, rising up fast. “I have no problem going a round or two with you, Leannain, but how about we get you up to par first?” When she still fought him, he didn’t relent. “You won’t win, Grace.” The last thing he wanted to do was bruise her pretty lips, especially when she was already hurting. So he relaxed the pressure and waited a beat. “After this, I shall have to lock you down in Scotland. Period.”

She sucked in air through her nose, her temper igniting in front of his eyes. The second she opened her mouth to let him have it, he shoved the bleeding side of his hand between her lips and applied pressure with his hand on the back of her head. Then, just to end the scuffle, he reached around and pinched her nose so she couldn’t breathe.

Her mouth opened, and he forced the liquid down her throat, making her take several drinks.

She struggled against him, keeping her injury immobile, and he could swear she growled. Finally, he relented, releasing her head and drawing his hand free to heal.

Her lips, coated in his blood, closed. She swallowed and color burst across her face. Then she gave a small moan and licked her lips.

This was why he’d stayed away from her. He shot from amusement to full on arousal so fast his ears rang.

* * * *

Grace’s throat felt like she’d swallowed a sparkler from a fourth of July party. The heat flushed through her, uncoiling and landing in her abdomen. That fast, awareness of the incredibly hard thighs beneath her butt caught her attention. His blood tasted like fire tinged with something sweet. The throbbing in her wrist diminished almost immediately.

His eyes had turned a liquid onyx rimmed with silver. How did anybody coming across him think for a second that he could be human? There was nothing human about Adare. He was something more. Much more.

She moved to scoot off his lap.

“Oh, no.” He wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her in place with almost no effort. “We’re doing this. Put your wrist on your thigh.”

The torture of pain turned to another, entirely different, torture. Desire rippled through her, stopping at every place she didn’t want associated with the arrogant Highlander. “Fine.” She set her damaged wrist on her thigh.

“Good. Now imagine my blood, full of healing cells, going right to that broken bone.”

She closed her eyes to concentrate. As soon as she healed herself, she could get off his lap. So she followed his directions, imagining bossy marching little cells going toward her wrist. The bone snapped back into place, and she jumped, crying out.

“It’s okay.” His rough voice became soothing. “That was the difficult part. Now send more cells, and they’ll take care of the swelling and bruising. Those won’t hurt at all.”