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level-headed.”
    “You are hardly level-headed, no’ when you wish to tangle with me.”
    A low growl rumbled from his throat and his claws sliced out.
    “Your bear doesn’t approve of my estimation?” She fluffed her pillow and tucked it more securely under her head.
    “Ignore my bear.”
    “Your bear is impossible to ignore. He’s both sizeable and pushy, as is the man.”
    “I haven’t even begun to get pushy with you yet.” He leaned closer, claws retracting as he touched his nose to hers. “But when I do, you’ll know, because I intend to enjoy a bite or two of you.”
    Gilleoin was always biting Aunt Sorcha, and now Kenneth, her cousin and Gilleoin’s firstborn son, had mated with Elizabeth, a good friend of hers from the village and since that day, her friend too had sported red marks on her neck. Love bites, Elizabeth had called them.
    “Have you ever bitten a lass afore?” she asked him.
    “When a shifter bites his mate and his mate bites him, it is a mark of claim. It’s also an aphrodisiac to both the giver and the receiver.” His hungry gaze slid to her neck. “The need to bite you is strong.”
    “An aphro-dis-iac?” She stumbled over the unknown word. “What exactly do you mean?”
    “Our bite excites sexual desire, which means we only ever bite our chosen ones.”
    She smoothed her palm over her neck and her now throbbing pulse. Warmth rippled out from the spot and made her heat in places she had no wish to heat. “Biting sounds barbaric.”
    “Would you like to see if it is?” Another glimmer of challenge lit his eyes.
    “You are a terrible tease.”
    “As are you.” He curled his hand more firmly around her hip and sighed in complete contentment. “Thank you for allowing me in your bed.”
    “I hardly had a choice.”
    “And that likely won’t change.”
    Goodness. How was she to argue with him when he was like this?
    Instead, she closed her eyes and breathed out, silently seeking a much needed reprieve.
    “Rest well, my sweet.” His possessive hold tightened. “I shall be here when you awaken.”
    Since she couldn’t argue with him, she allowed the dark to envelope her and slowly flittered toward sleep, his hold so heavenly warm. How frustrating.
    * * * *
    The early morning sunshine beamed through Arabel’s narrow window and stirred her from her slumber far sooner than she wished. She stretched and burrowed her nose deeper into the covers, which had suddenly become more like firm flesh with a delicious pine and fresh water scent. She lifted one eyelid and gasped.
    Her legs were tangled with Finlay’s and she lay half over top of him. She should move away, only her heat hadn’t arisen at this very intimate contact when it should have. Unable to help herself, she spread her hand fully over his solid chest and reveled as his muscles flexed under her touch. He looked so rumpled and delicious with a razz of stubble on his jaw and his black hair catching the morning light and gleaming like silk. “Finlay?” she whispered.
    No answer. He slept soundly, his tunic gaping at the top and half off his shoulder. A stunning Celtic mark etched upon his bicep peeked out.
    She slid her hand under the fabric and eased his sleeve farther down his arm. With one finger, she gently traced over the woven mark. So beautiful. Oh, and so was all the golden skin she’d exposed. She caressed his flesh, her heartbeat pounding as she did. ’Twas wonderful to touch him so freely. She leaned in, pressed her lips against the woven mark then nibbled up and over his shoulder toward the delectable looking hollow where his shoulder met his neck. Mmm, he tasted delicious too, an intoxicating mix of hard man and smooth skin. She razzed her teeth back and forth over his flesh then sucked his skin between her lips.
    “Arabel?” He spoke her name, so softly, so sensually. “Hell, I love the feel of your mouth on me. Do it.”
    “Do what?” she murmured.
    “I want your mark.” His long black lashes