“This laird of yours,” Lachlan says. “Is he handsome?” With a start, I sit up straighter. “What?” “It’s only that, when you speak of him, the blood rises to your face, just here . . .” He leans toward me, one cool finger grazing the air by my cheek as if in a restrained caress. “How pretty you are when you blush. Should I be jealous?”
