Highland Captive (The Sons of Gregor MacLeod, #4)

by Alyson McLayne

“Inner petals? Young rose? I’ve been pining after Isobel for five years, and I’ve ne’er once compared her to a flower.” “Maybe that’s your problem. There’s no romance in your soul.”

Gavin huffed in exasperation. “You’ve been in the sun for too long. Your brain has been cooked like a steaming pile of oats—mushy and stuck together like glue.”

“I love my son, and I’m overjoyed you’ve changed your mind, but when it comes to running all the way home, my heart and my backside are not aligned. ’Tis all right if we put Ewan to bed a wee bit later, so that I can still walk up the stairs when we get there.”

“Doona get involved, Kerr. Or she’ll drag you in there too and have you touching yourself in no time.” “What?” he roared.

“Lower your eyes. I’d prefer you to yell at me and tell me I’m an insensitive ass than lose confidence in yourself.”

“She’s the only decent and kind relative I have! And look at her—she’s the spitting image of me! Beauty personified!” “If by spitting image you mean that you spat on a mirror and then compared the two of you, I agree,”

“Hit him, Deirdre,” Isobel yelled from the sidelines. “You’ll feel better.”