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made so prettily that I cannot forget it.”
    “I am at your disposal, my lord.” She meant it. Even though Rossie had brought her some clothing late that afternoon, she wore nothing under her dressing gown in anticipation of the laird’s visit, her long hair brushed to a fine sheen and hanging loosely down her back.
    Revenge. She planned to be as experienced as a whore by the time Frankton arrived to claim her.
    “Come.” Ian held out his hand.
    She rose and approached him, her brows arching in question.
    He swept her up into his arms, giving her that dark, mesmerizing smile she remembered from the morning. “My bed is bigger,” he explained with a low, masculine laugh, his breath warm in her ear. “I anticipate we’ll need the space, lass.”
    His room, she discovered, was just across the hallway. It was larger than the one she’d been given, and furnished plainly, but he was correct: The bed was massive, dominating the space. He laid her down there, untying her robe and swiftly stripping her bare, his gaze intent as he tossed the garment aside and stood staring at her with clear predatory lust. “You are incredibly beautiful, my lady.”
    “Which has brought me nothing but trouble,” she responded bitterly, without thinking.
    His brows shot together. “Did you not enjoy this morning?”
    He knew she had. She blushed when she recalled how she had cried out loud during those peaks of intense pleasure. “I enjoyed it, my lord.”
    “Your beauty pleases me. It makes me very . . . hungry.” His grin was wickedly charming, and he began to disrobe.
    It unfortunately pleases Baron Frankton too. She watched Ian as he quickly and efficiently removed his clothing, his long fingers gracefully male as they moved. But if it had been the baron there undressing, she would be filled with disgust and repulsion instead of feeling the curls of unmistakable excitement in her stomach. Reposed against the softness of the bedding, she realized that her breasts were changing too, feeling full suddenly, and heavy, and that a small ache had begun between her legs.
    McCray was aroused as well. When he removed his breeches, she could see the stiffening of his erection, his large penis lengthening under her fascinated gaze, the tip distending and pulsing slightly, pushing against the flat plane of his stomach. Underneath, the sac of his testicles looked heavy and full in a nest of black curly hair.
    He was a very handsome, very virile man—of that there was no doubt—and a skilled lover.
    He was going to make love to her again.
    Now.
    She shivered.
    The mattress dipped as he joined her on the bed, one of his hands immediately moving to cup her breast. His fingers glided over the weight of it, stroking lightly, toying with her nipple as he leaned forward to kiss her. One large male thigh slid possessively over her legs. She could feel the hard ridge of his erect shaft against her stomach, his mouth persuasive and seductive as he stroked her tongue with his in the same way his hand stroked her breast.
    Allowing him whatever liberties he wished, she parted her lips to his intrusion, sliding her arms up around his neck, his skin hot under her fingers. She felt dwarfed by his size, his body so much larger, so different from her own. Corded muscle bunched under her clasping fingers, his heat palpable, as was the insistent throb of his desire next to the softness of her belly. His hair brushed her hands, dark and silky.
    “You taste like heaven,” he whispered against her mouth. “So sweet. Tell me, are you sore?”
    “No,” she denied, hoping Rossie was correct about the ointment. “You can take me if you wish it, my lord. I want you to do so.”
    For a moment, he lifted his head, his hand still holding her breast, his dark eyes direct and questioning. “I am your abductor and I want only the same thing from you that Frankton wants. Yet you give yourself so easily to me, just to spite him. I confess, I am not sure how to feel. I have