longer than that. He preferred it that way. Easier to remain unattached. Easier to remain free of messy obligations.
Perhaps that was why Dillie always referred to him as an idiot.
He was one, but not for the reasons Dillie imagined. He was an idiot because he couldn’t seem to get her out of his thoughts. Going on two years now. No doubt because she, unlike all other women, found him completely unappealing. Where others would shamelessly proposition him, would flirt, swoon, scheme, or find any reason to gain his attention, Dillie usually cringed when she saw him coming.
She was a challenge, a beautiful, dark-haired, blue-eyed challenge. Where others succumbed, she resisted. But he knew better than to take up the gauntlet against Dillie. He wasn’t certain he could win. She was different. She was dangerous. One look at the girl and all blood drained from his head to amass in a hot pool between his thighs.
He couldn’t think straight when his loins were on fire. Could any man?
Unfortunately, Dillie managed to set him ablaze every time she looked at him. Didn’t have to be much of a look, just a glimpse was enough. Sometimes the mere sound of her voice got him hot. He even knew her scent, that refreshingly sweet trace of peach blossoms wafting in the air.
When it came to Dillie, he was like a damn bloodhound, able to recognize her presence even amid the heavily perfumed odors that permeated a room. He didn’t know why the girl had that effect on him, for she wasn’t the sort of woman who usually gained his notice. He liked elegant, more worldly women. He usually sought out the married ones who were bored with their husbands, for such women were interested in mere dalliances and expected no promises.
Dillie required faithfulness and heartfelt promises.
Dillie demanded everlasting love.
She disapproved of his scoundrel ways and never hesitated to tell him so. She didn’t give a fig that he was a rich-as-Croesus duke. She wasn’t impressed by his wealth or title.
She wasn’t impressed by him.
Ian moaned.
Dillie must have heard him, for her eyes fluttered open. Those big, soft blue eyes that stole his breath away every time she looked at him.
“Ian, you’re awake. Thank goodness.” She cast him a beautiful, openhearted smile.
He closed his eyes and sank back against his pillow, drawing his hand away before she noticed that it had been buried in her luscious hair. “I feel like hell.”
She laughed lightly. “You look like it, too.”
“Ah, I knew I could count on you for compliments.” He opened one eye.
Her smile faded and she began to nibble her lip. “You’ve been unconscious for three days.” As though to prove her point, she leaned forward and ran her knuckles along his chin, gently scraping them against his three-day growth of beard. “If it’s any consolation, you look wonderful for a man who’s spent that much time fighting at death’s door.”
“Was I that bad?”
She nodded. “Let me feel your forehead. You were running a very high fever.” She placed that same hand across his brow. “Oh, thank goodness. No longer hot.”
He was hot. She wasn’t looking low enough.
“Have you been by my side all this time?” Both his eyes were now open and trained on Dillie. Her morning gown was a simple gown of gray wool, its only adornment a velvet ribbon of a slightly darker gray trim at the sleeves. Her hair was long and loose—as he well knew, since he’d just run his feverish fingers through it. She had a sleepy look in her eyes, slightly tousled hair, and a smile as beautiful as a moonbeam.
She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever set eyes upon.
He wanted her badly... naked and in his bed.
It was one thing to have those desires, but another thing altogether to act on them.
“Yes, I’ve been beside you most of the time,” she replied, unaware of the depraved path of his thoughts. “Uncle George had to tend to that important patient of his, so he hasn’t been around
Perhaps that was why Dillie always referred to him as an idiot.
He was one, but not for the reasons Dillie imagined. He was an idiot because he couldn’t seem to get her out of his thoughts. Going on two years now. No doubt because she, unlike all other women, found him completely unappealing. Where others would shamelessly proposition him, would flirt, swoon, scheme, or find any reason to gain his attention, Dillie usually cringed when she saw him coming.
She was a challenge, a beautiful, dark-haired, blue-eyed challenge. Where others succumbed, she resisted. But he knew better than to take up the gauntlet against Dillie. He wasn’t certain he could win. She was different. She was dangerous. One look at the girl and all blood drained from his head to amass in a hot pool between his thighs.
He couldn’t think straight when his loins were on fire. Could any man?
Unfortunately, Dillie managed to set him ablaze every time she looked at him. Didn’t have to be much of a look, just a glimpse was enough. Sometimes the mere sound of her voice got him hot. He even knew her scent, that refreshingly sweet trace of peach blossoms wafting in the air.
When it came to Dillie, he was like a damn bloodhound, able to recognize her presence even amid the heavily perfumed odors that permeated a room. He didn’t know why the girl had that effect on him, for she wasn’t the sort of woman who usually gained his notice. He liked elegant, more worldly women. He usually sought out the married ones who were bored with their husbands, for such women were interested in mere dalliances and expected no promises.
Dillie required faithfulness and heartfelt promises.
Dillie demanded everlasting love.
She disapproved of his scoundrel ways and never hesitated to tell him so. She didn’t give a fig that he was a rich-as-Croesus duke. She wasn’t impressed by his wealth or title.
She wasn’t impressed by him.
Ian moaned.
Dillie must have heard him, for her eyes fluttered open. Those big, soft blue eyes that stole his breath away every time she looked at him.
“Ian, you’re awake. Thank goodness.” She cast him a beautiful, openhearted smile.
He closed his eyes and sank back against his pillow, drawing his hand away before she noticed that it had been buried in her luscious hair. “I feel like hell.”
She laughed lightly. “You look like it, too.”
“Ah, I knew I could count on you for compliments.” He opened one eye.
Her smile faded and she began to nibble her lip. “You’ve been unconscious for three days.” As though to prove her point, she leaned forward and ran her knuckles along his chin, gently scraping them against his three-day growth of beard. “If it’s any consolation, you look wonderful for a man who’s spent that much time fighting at death’s door.”
“Was I that bad?”
She nodded. “Let me feel your forehead. You were running a very high fever.” She placed that same hand across his brow. “Oh, thank goodness. No longer hot.”
He was hot. She wasn’t looking low enough.
“Have you been by my side all this time?” Both his eyes were now open and trained on Dillie. Her morning gown was a simple gown of gray wool, its only adornment a velvet ribbon of a slightly darker gray trim at the sleeves. Her hair was long and loose—as he well knew, since he’d just run his feverish fingers through it. She had a sleepy look in her eyes, slightly tousled hair, and a smile as beautiful as a moonbeam.
She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever set eyes upon.
He wanted her badly... naked and in his bed.
It was one thing to have those desires, but another thing altogether to act on them.
“Yes, I’ve been beside you most of the time,” she replied, unaware of the depraved path of his thoughts. “Uncle George had to tend to that important patient of his, so he hasn’t been around
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