And now—thank you Gwen MacKeltar—she knew that he was a man of both immense appetites and stamina, and had been known to spend, not a few hours, but days in bed with a woman. Oh, Gwen hadn’t actually come out and said those things, but she’d made her point clear enough in bits and pieces that she’d dropped.

Days in bed? She couldn’t even begin to imagine what that would be like.

Oh, yes, you can, a snide little voice poked, you dreamt about it a few nights ago, in shocking detail for a virgin.

Scowling, she pushed her curls out of her face and swung her legs over the side of the massive, antique bed piled with down ticks. Her toes dangled a foot above the floor and she had to hop to get out of it.

Shaking her head, she grabbed her clothes and headed for the shower. She didn’t really need to, having showered late last night, but this morning she suspected she might benefit from a cold one.

When she stepped out into the corridor a half an hour later, she stopped abruptly, bristling. She’d taken a chilly shower, forcing herself to think about the artifacts she might get to see, and what she’d like to explore first. It had taken her nearly the entire half an hour to get him off her mind, and now he was right back on it.

“What are you doing?” she asked grumpily, feeling that dratted, instant surge of attraction that demanded plaintively (and incessantly!), Would you just jump on him and to hell with the consequences? The man of her dreams—literally—was sitting on the floor, leaning against the door across the corridor from hers, his long legs outstretched, his arms folded over his chest. He wore black trousers and a charcoal crew-neck wool sweater stretched over his powerful torso, showcasing his perfect physique. He’d shaved, and the skin on his face looked smooth and soft as velvet. Coppery eyes met hers.

He rose, towering over her, his sheer masculinity making her feel small and feminine.

“I was waiting for you. Good morrow, lass. Did you have pleasant dreams?” he inquired silkily.

Chloe kept her expression bland. He looked immensely pleased with himself this morning, and there was no way she was letting him know she’d had even one nocturnal thought about him. “I can’t remember,” she said, blinking guilelessly. “In fact, I slept so deeply I don’t think I dreamt at all.”

“Indeed,” he murmured. When he moved forward, she nearly jumped out of her skin, but he simply reached behind her and pulled the door to her bedchamber shut.

Then backed her against it.

“Hey,” she snapped.

“I sought but to give you a good morrow kiss, lass. ’Tis a Scots custom.”

She craned her neck, scowling up at him, and gave him a look that said Yeah, right, nice try.