Sisters of Colford Hall 01 - The Invasion of Falgannon Isle by Deborah MacGillivray Read Free Book Online

the lump, she told herself. The knot felt soft, but no blood. Leaning back, she spotted streaks on the back of his white silk shirt.
    “Maniac cat.” She glanced around for the wee beastie.
    As if conjured, Dudley popped up on the bed and began kneading the duvet beside Desmond. She glared at the stupid feline. Glared at the man. No way around it. The shirt would have to come off so the scratches could be cleansed.
    For a sweet second she considered taking pinking-shears up the middle of that Armani silk, as payback for those devastating kisses. For awakening that grinding hunger within her. Conscience whispered it was the coward’s way. Well, she was no bloody chicken—she’d rather not touch him any more than necessary.
    “Who knows, Vikings might have cooties,” she told the cat.
    Rolling him over, B.A.‘s fingers shook as she undid the studs and tugged the shirttails from his slacks. Barely able to draw breath, she stared at his chest. The man was beautiful. His muscles were sleekly defined in a well-maintained pantherlike way; the conformation of his shoulders, arms and upper torso was, to her taste, perfect.
    Another plus—he wasn’t hairy. Men with chests that looked as if someone Crazy-glued a French Poodle there gave her the willies. He had a dusting of hair on his breastbone, then the dark line traveled down to his insy bellybutton and thickened into an arrow below.
    “Mercy,” she said on a sigh.
    She placed a hand on his stomach and trailed it up to his heart. Checking his pulse, she lied to herself. B.A. wanted to touch him. For the first time in years she yearned to stroke warm male flesh, to savor unyielding muscles under her hand. Heat roared through her as she recalled how he tasted—that slow sensual slide of his tongue in her mouth. Desire more than she could bear, she bit back a groan.
    Get a grip, Angel B.A. screamed, you’ll have a bloody orgasm just touching the man! Ignoring her tiny guiding conscience, she flexed her fingers, indulging in the tactile sensuality. After all, The Panther was out cold and had no idea how she enjoyed petting him.
    The heartbeat jolted, startling B.A. Strong and rapid, it pounded under her hand.

    Desmond blinked, then glanced about the room. The one Scot had been right. Pink! Not bad like Pepto, still enough to give him the heebie-jeebies. The only hue worse was yellow. Something about pink and yellow were nails on a blackboard to men. Find one wearing either color b y choice and you could bet he wasn’t straight!
    Focusing on the lovely B.A., he saw guilt flood her face. B.A. Montgomerie had her wicked way with him while she believed him unconscious.
    Talk about Providence! Suppressing a grin, Desmond wondered why the Scots dropped him in the middle of B.A.‘s bed. Since it furthered his plans, he wouldn’t look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth.
    Aware of the Scots’ scheming, he’d been conscious as Wulf hauled him inside her house. Seeing her chin tilted in that lady of the manor mien—even from the upside-down position—Desmond had figured she’d put up resistance if he were awake, so he’d played possum.
    His head throbbed, but the pain was a small price. He’d plot his next move soon. For the present, he was content to play patient to B.A.‘s angel of mercy. He enjoyed her rolling him over onto his back and was tempted to return the favor.
    Sitting up set fireworks off inside his skull. “My head—”
    Desmond considered his memories. Some made no sense, a mishmash of pain, angels, Viking raiders, giant gum-ball machines attacking him—and a wild sexual fantasy about Sean Montgomerie’s granddaughter. The woman who’d haunted his dreams for years. Then, men in skirts waltzed through his mind. He closed his eyes against rising nausea.
    “Och, dunna go to sleep. I need to look into your eyes.”
    Look into his eyes was part of the Benny Hill nightmare buzzing inside his skull. She scooted closer in a small bounce, intensifying his