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“Robert Dunyveg’s my name, lass.”
It was hard to rant and rave when one was nude. She eyed the distance between the bed and the bundle of her clothes on the chair beside the fire. If he’d planned to hold her captive and rape her, she figured she would have woken up tied to the bed. Maybe he assumed with the knot on her head she’d be too wounded to escape. Maybe he liked a little violence with his sex. She clenched her teeth, reminding herself that, despite his rugged looks, he had some loose wires in the brain department.
“And you are?” he prompted when she remained silent.
“Ellen Kildonan,” she retorted, sullen. “Could you hand me my clothes?”
He ignored her request. “That’s a fine Scottish surname, though you don’t look the part.”
“Times change.” She’d inherited the name. Lord knows how many generations it’d been since her ancestors laid claim to Scottish soil. Genealogy didn’t interest her. Well, it hadn’t until she’d inherited an island…and apparently a crazy person with it. “My clothes, please.”
“No damage done to your feet.” He winked. “I carried you.”
And no doubt copped a feel while he did so. “You just want to see me naked.”
“I already have,” he pointed out.
Her face flushed.
“They’re probably still wet. You weren’t out that long.”
Long enough to be carried to the crazy man’s home and undressed. “Fine. Do you have something else I can wear until they dry?”
“My plaid.” He started to undo his belt buckle.
Her mouth watered. She held up her hand. “No. No, the blanket’s fine for now.”
He grinned.
Sitting back against the headboard, she sighed. What was she supposed to do? She was trapped on her island in the midst of a storm with a sexy trespassing madman. She turned her head. A glint of iridescent purple caught her eye.
She blinked and surveyed the room again. There!
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