The Warrior Laird (2012)
“Over and over, he’d heard the report of their rifles and known they’d murdered his father and brother. He’d seen his poor mother turn blue with the cold, unable to run any farther into the mountains . . .
But Dugan’s nights had never been invaded by a russet-haired beauty who softened his heart as she inflamed his body with lust.
Last night he’d been dreaming of her, of Maura, and the interlude they’d shared earlier in the evening. Even in sleep, he’d been able to feel her mouth on his, but the dream had taken it even further. Dugan had undressed her as every male instinct had urged him to do as they stood together on the veranda, baring every inch of her soft skin to his touch.
And in his dream, he had touched her everywhere.
“Bloody neep.”
“What?” Lachann asked.
“Naught.” Just giving himself a well-deserved scolding.
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