They couldn’t help that part of their wolf nature, the keen ability to smell subtle scents that a human couldn’t, the way in which they could sense the shift in emotions—fear, lust, excitement, aggression—just from breathing deeply of the air surrounding them.

He had to force himself not to move his hands from her face, not to explore her soft womanly curves, not to taste so much more of her as her tongue danced with his, not to want more. With the greatest regret, he pulled his mouth away from hers, away from the heated exchange that shouldn’t have occurred, away from the raging desire to take this further.

For a moment, he still cupped her face and looked into her dark eyes, reading the confusion there, not wishing to fully break contact with her. Their breathing rapid, their hearts were thumping wildly as if they’d just run a race, yet they were still running for the finish line.

Then he released her, and her cheeks blossomed in color as if she was suddenly aware of just how intimate the exchange had been between two unmated wolves.

Thank God he was wearing a kilt and no adjustments had to be made as he was ramrod stiff and ready to bury himself in her soft feminine folds. If he’d been wearing trousers and boxers, they would have strangled him.

She looked dazed as she gave him a tentative smile, then sighed. “Don’t be sorry,” she said, looking away and drawing closer to the heater to dry her dress. She was no longer shivering. Not after what had happened between them.

For that he was glad. He wanted to ask if she meant not to be sorry about the kiss, when he was not apologetic about that in the least.

When he didn’t move the car—he was still too caught up in the profound moment he’d shared with her—she turned to look at him again and raised her brows. “I meant about the cheek.”

He grunted. “That’s not going to happen, lassie,” he said, pausing and giving her a hint of a smile, “but about the kiss, I have no regrets.”

She gave a little wolfish grin, her cheeks blushing beautifully once more, and he was ready to kiss her again. Then she turned away to pull at her dress, trying to dry it further. Not entirely resigned to leave things between them like that, he finally drove the Mercedes out of the car park and eased onto the road.

She took a deep breath and exhaled. “The wedding was beautifully done. I loved the color scheme—purple is my favorite—the lavender flowers and bridesmaids’ gowns. I enjoyed seeing the men, and even the younger boys, wearing kilts. Despite what happened at the end, I did love everything about the wedding. I��ve never seen a more spectacular sight.”

Cearnach thought he heard regret in Elaine’s voice. Had she wished she had stayed in Scotland so many years ago? That she could have had such a wedding?

“Calla Stewart arranges parties, celebrations, weddings, and the like. She’s very good at it. She has a real eye for artistic design, and she’s great at details.”

“Wow. To do so for her own wedding must have been difficult. The bride’s a beautiful woman. She seemed delighted you were there.”

He nodded. “I was glad I’d made the effort after I saw how pleased she appeared.”

“The groom seemed just as handsome,” Elaine said, not hesitating to voice her opinion. “They looked like an attractive couple. Though some of the family have a violent nature, if that man who accosted us is any indication.”

“Aye, Vardon is the most aggressive of the pack.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, as if pondering something, then finally asked, “Did he have a personal grudge against you?”

He didn’t want to get into this. Not when he was afraid Elaine might misunderstand the situation, but he owed her an explanation after Vardon took his anger out on her. “He didn’t like that I had kissed his mate—the year before he even met her.”

When Elaine didn’t respond, he glanced at her. She was frowning. Probably thinking he kissed all the unmated she-wolves he met. “There was no spark between us,” he said, returning his attention to the rain-slicked road. “Apparently she felt differently.”

Elaine said, “She told the brute who hit me? That she preferred your kissing her to his? Or something like that? Why did they end up mating if she felt that way?”

“She must have said something to him about it. They probably were having an argument about something, and she let it slip. I didn’t tell him. As to why she mated with him, I haven’t a clue.”

He wanted to explain to Elaine that he’d never experienced such a kiss with another woman, although he had the mechanics down pat. With Elaine, all his senses were heightened, clamoring for more of her—to taste and feel every inch of her, to smell her unique scent, to hear her whispered words against his ear.

“Cearnach?” Even the way she said his name with the sweetest American accent sounded seductive and sexy and like she was thinking along the same lines as he was. “So what do you think is wrong with the relationship between Calla and Baird?”

He cleared his throat, trying to get his mind off what Elaine was doing to his libido. “He’s the kind of man who would dictate everything in her life. How and when she slept, what and when she ate. He’s very controlling.”

“Not like you,” Elaine said with a definite sarcastic edge to her voice.

He glanced at her. “Where did you ever get that idea?”

She gave a harsh laugh.

He smiled.

He’d been unable to keep the front of her dress dry with his woolen sash, and now he noted that her dress was plastered to her skin, even more revealing now than when the wind had blown so hard against her dress earlier. Trying to act more noble than he was feeling, he looked away, hoping that the heater would dry her dress so that he wouldn’t have to see so much of her.

“So if you didn’t want him to marry her, why didn’t you object?” she asked.

“I did object. A number of times. Just not at the wedding. If I had wished to mate with her, I would have. Actually, if I had wanted to mate with her, the wedding would never have happened. Not between her and Baird.”

“Why even get married in a church? Is that something all wolves in Scotland do?”

“If we have a title, aye. We need to pass the title down to successive generations. Society expects a public wedding. Though the good citizens don’t know we’re wolves. Invitations are presented only to wolf kind, generally speaking.”

Elaine seemed to mull that over for a few minutes, then she said, “So why did you go to the wedding? Did you think she would change her mind if she saw you there?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” He kept telling himself it was because Calla had asked him to come to the wedding. Maybe secretly he’d thought she might change her mind if she saw him there and remembered all that he’d said to her. She hadn’t heeded his words.

Now it was too late.

Chapter 4

Elaine Hawthorn genuinely liked Cearnach MacNeill and the way the braw Highland warrior wore his kilt, sporran, sword, and a dirk tucked in his stocking. Hot and sexy and dangerous came to mind. Not cute, like she’d said.

But rather than focus on that, she should be thinking about how she needed to contact the cousin she was supposed to meet. She’d use Cearnach’s phone back at his car. Yet, she wished she could delay the inevitable and spend more time in Cearnach’s company. Like that was a good idea. Not after the way they’d kissed and not when she still didn’t know why he’d wanted to protect her in St. Andrews so long ago.

He had to know how appealing he looked to her, so she’d tested him to see how he would respond to being called “cute.” She had been amused by his look of surprise, thinking that he’d be so conceited that he wouldn’t care what she said about his appearance. Then he’d regained his cocky arrogance, probably figuring she had been teasing him. Most likely no one had ever called him cute.

She noticed the sidelong glances Cearnach continued to give her, wolf that he was. Her dress was way too revealing, plastered to her body as if it were a redder version of her skin. The heater was going full blast, but the air still felt cold as it hit her wet dress.

He reached down and took her cold hand in his and squeezed. “Why did you really come between Vardon and me? Did you think you could stop that Neanderthal?”

“I suppose I did. Just like you might have believed you could change Calla’s mind about marrying Baird McKinley if you showed up for the wedding. I didn’t give it much thought. I just instinctively stepped into his path.”

“Do you often risk your neck for someone you barely know?”

She shrugged, not willing to tell him she’d always been that way—protective. She was used to being an alpha, not someone who melted into the background. Not like when her uncles had been hanged for pirating, making her fear for her life, and she had had to find her way back to America alone. That had been the hardest for her—tucking tail and running away.

“Have you ever risked getting hurt for someone who was well equipped to handle the likes of Vardon McKinley?” Cearnach asked, still trying to get her to reveal the truth.

“No,” she finally said. Then she gave him an impish smile. “Not usually.”

“Which means it wasn’t just instinct that propelled you into action,” he said, sounding smugly satisfied, as though he knew she had feelings for him and hadn’t wanted to see him hurt.

She reached up to touch her throbbing face where the infuriated Highlander had struck her, her fingers shying away at the last minute. She hadn’t expected to get a fist in the face, having hoped to stop the man from throwing the punch in the first place.

“If I hadn’t confined you, and you had managed to grab Vardon’s dirk, would you have known how to use it?”

She envisioned Vardon’s dagger poking out of the top of his hose. If she’d been able to pull free, she would have grabbed that dagger and threatened Vardon with it—just to get him to back off.

She had been serious about that. “Or I might have gone for yours.”