Her Highland Fling Read Online Free PDF Page B

warmed. “Must we g-go quite yet?”
    He smiled down at her, shadowed by moonlight. “Waiting for a water dragon, then?” She felt the air stir as he stepped nearer, and his low, earthy chuckle brushed tantalizingly against her ears. “Or perhaps a brollachan ?”
    Her knees quivered at the sound of the unfamiliar word. “What is a brollachan?”
    “A shapeless creature of the night.”
    Pen’s gaze swept down his moon-soaked frame, and a shiver snaked its way up her spine. She was a journalist. A manipulator of words. And “shapeless” was not a word she would ever reach for to describe William MacKenzie.
    In his plaid, he had been fiercely magnificent.
    In moonlight, he was devastating.
    “I j-just want to enjoy the moment,” she whispered. “The n-night is lovely, after all.” She flushed to hear her stammer was worsening, but there was no denying she felt anything but calm and serene. She had come down here for a reason, and despite the beauty of the surprise he’d offered her, that reason had not yet been realized. “Did you really just bring me here to see your c-cattle?” she blurted out.
    Dark eyes glittered down at her, nearly handsome in their unswerving focus. “I thought you might like to write about them. They are part of what make the Highlands special.” He paused. “Why? What else did you hope to see, Miss Tolbertson? I would be happy to show you anything you wish during your time here.”
    “I p-prefer to explore on my own.” It was said before Pen had time to think. Though it was the truth, she regretted her haste. She could think of worse ways to spend her days in Moraig than strolling the picturesque streets on this man’s very muscular arm.
    “Aye. I’ve noticed,” he said with a tight smile. “But you might consider using a guide. There is a good deal of history in the town, and we want you to have a favorable impression, after all.”
    Pen swallowed. In truth, her impression was improving with every passing second, and not only of Moraig. She thought of how this man’s body had felt pressed against hers, when she had thrown herself against him. Safe and disturbing, all at once. But he seemed to have no intention of kissing her. And why would he? The buxom serving girl in the Gander had offered him far more than a kiss, and she didn’t have a stammer.
    Worse, he had brought her here, shown her these mysterious, moon-soaked creatures, only because he imagined she would want to write about it. And she should.
    She would.
    But for Pen, it was a night of firsts, and she couldn’t see ending it without reaching for the experience she most desired. And after all, he’d just offered to show her anything she wished.
    She stepped forward, going up on her toes, and fisted her hands in his shirt. Her lips bumped against his. And then she threw herself into her very first kiss.
    He stilled, as though wrapping his head around what she was offering.
    Dim as a rock , she thought, closing her eyes. How could he not see what she wanted?
    But then his arms came up around her, and that was when her thoughts became muddled. Because the kiss she had sought—the kiss she had taken, really—shifted into something no longer under her control. She was pulled against his chest with a solid, welcome thump, and then his mouth moved over hers, murmuring in a soft brogue that made no sense but turned her into little more than a quiver.
    And his kiss . . . He might be a bit dull about the edges, but in this area he was proving well educated. It was clear the man knew how to kiss a woman properly. It was impossible to do it justice with mere words. She turned herself over to the sheer feel of it. Every sense she possessed—and some she hadn’t realized she had—felt plundered by the contact of his mouth on hers. Stripped bare.
    Reformed in the shape of this moment.
    He tasted of Scotland: dark and smoky, heat and salt. The scrape of his whiskered jaw and the solid strength in his body made her hum with