Meredith had thought he would take her home. "Where are we going?"

"To the castle. We have some talking to do."

She looked like a drenched urchin as she shivered in the scat next to him, and Ian wished that he could comfort her rather than accuse her. He longed to hold her and kiss her as he had last night, but before that could hap-pen again-ever-he had to know who she really was and why she was really here.

He parked as close to the front entrance of the residential wing as he could and helped her inside the castle. "Here," he said, covering her shoulders with a throw that was slung over the back of a sofa. He led her to a chair by the fireplace. "I'll start a fire. It'll help dry ye out.” He saw her trembling uncontrollably and knew a fire wouldn't do it. She needed dry clothing. Now.

“I have another idea, if you're comfortable with it."

She turned her enormous green eyes on him, and he felt his heart go into meltdown. "What's that?" she asked.

"Ye, uh, ye need to get out of your wet things. Obviously, I don't have anything your size, but I do have a large robe ye could wear until your clothes dry out."

"Do you have a hot shower to go along with?" She gave him a shy grin. "I'm freezing."

Ian thought about the plumbing and prayed that it would hold together for her. "Aye, sure. Come along. Ill build that fire while ye bathe." He led her up the stairs to one of the guest rooms, his mind overheated with thoughts of Meredith Wentworth naked in the shower. "There's soap and shampoo and the like in the bathroom. Please make yourself at home. I'll bring the robe and hang it in the bedroom."

He left her and went down to his room where he found a heavy woolen robe in his closet. It was oversized, a dark brown plaid, not at all feminine. So much the better, he thought, returning upstairs with it and hanging it on a valet stand. As sexy as she was even in dirty jeans, he would need all the defenses he could muster to stay objective. They would be together only for a short time, but there was little chance of being interrupted. He must use this opportunity to learn whether or not Meredith Wentworth had come to Corridan in the employ of the cruise-line company.

When she returned to the large main hall, Ian had a fire blazing in the huge stone hearth. He looked up and knew his first line of defense had failed. Fresh from the shower, she was more beautiful than ever, despite the drab brown robe. Her damp hair fell in golden-red waves past her shoulders and played seductively around the open neckline of the robe. Beyond that neckline, he caught a hint of the delectable curves that he knew lay hidden beneath the woolen fabric. She gave him a smile that finished his destruction.

"Got socks?" she asked, curling one bare foot across the other.

He went to her and picked her up, carrying her easily to the overstuffed chair closest to the fire. He took the bundle of wet clothes from her and set it on the hearth. "Your feet must be like ice. Wait here a minute." He dashed back into his bedroom and found some heavy, ugly brown boot socks that would complete her ensemble perfectly, he thought wryly. It didn't matter. The woman was stunning in anything she wore.

And in nothing at all, he imagined. Damn. He shouldn't be thinking things like that. Stay in control, he warned himself as he returned with the socks. But he felt the hard evidence that his body wasn't listening to him.

He watched as she put on the socks and longed to run his hands over the smooth skin of her exposed calves. He fought to stay composed, but it was a losing battle.

"I'd offer ye tea, but I don't think I have any in the place. I don't stay here often."

Meredith stood up and adjusted the tie belt, the only thing that held the robe closed. "I don't need tea, thanks. The bath took away the chill. But I need to get these things dry. May I hang them by the fire? I can't very well go home in your bathrobe," she added, with an uncertain, almost embarrassed little laugh that he found endearing.

Ian didn't want her to go home. At all. Ever. Odd, he thought, how she seemed to light up this gloomy old place. He rigged a line of twine between a table and the back of a chair, and it sufficed to support her jeans, sweater, and delicate lingerie. He turned his eyes away from the latter. It made his already urgent problem even worse.

"No tea, but how about some whisky? I have a store of Duneagen's finest." He needed a drink whether she did or not.

"Okay, but just a tot."

He filled two small dram glasses with the finest single-malt Scotch available anywhere and was suddenly proud that he could offer it to her. He'd screwed up a lot of things, but his management of the distillery had led it to a worldwide reputation for excellence. He handed her one of the glasses, then raised his to her.

"Here's te us, fas like us, damn fa, and they's all deed."

She laughed out loud. "What's that?"

"Why, an 'auld Scottish toast.' I'm surprised ye haven't heard it." He savored her childlike delight.

"I'm" sure there's lots I haven't heard," she murmured, taking a sip. "But I'm willing to learn."

Her eyes held his, and the room grew so quiet all that could be heard was the sound of their breathing. "I'd willingly be your teacher," he whispered. He knew better than to step closer, but he did anyway, and suddenly she was in his arms. He tasted the drink on her lips and it was sweeter than anything he could imagine. "Ah, Meredith Macrae," he breathed. "What is it you're doin' in my arms?" He ran one hand through her silken hair, and she tilted her head back and looked up at him with eyes that reflected a passion as hungry as his own.

"Weren't you going to teach me something?"

Chapter Nine

Meredith seemed consumed by heat, from the bath, the lire, the whisky, and the desire that raged through her body. She hadn't meant for anything like this to happen, but now that she was in Ian's arms, she never wanted to leave. She let him take the dram glass from her, then lift her gently and carry her into an adjoining room where he laid her on an enormous bed. "Meredith?"

She heard her name spoken from somewhere that seemed far away, but when she opened her eyes, Ian's lace was intimately close to hers, his eyes seeking permission.

"Yes, Ian." She splayed her hands over the strong features of his face and drew it to hers. "Yes, please." As she kissed him, she heard a small groan escape his throat. She felt his fingers loosen the tie belt, then draw the robe away, exposing one side of her body. While his hps explored her mouth, his hand explored that side, slowly, tantalizingly, moving with exquisite deliberation down the length of her neckline, across her breast, past the curve of her waist, over her hip, and back around, coming to rest on the soft mound of her pubic curls. With a sharp intake of breath as he began to intimately explore her, she arched against him, something deep within craving the fulfillment promised by his touch.

Moments later, she felt him shift his weight across her body. He removed the other half of the robe and performed his magic on that bare skin. Meredith thought she might die from the need he was building within her. Never had she been loved like this. It was as if he were worshiping her with each caress, and with each caress, her desire flamed, obliterating her reason, destroying all caution.

Just when she thought she could take no more, he stopped and drew away from her. "I want to see ye," he said, kneeling beside her, removing her arms from the huge sleeves of the robe. His voice was thick with his own desire as his eyes wandered from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. She lay naked and unashamed before him and let him devour her with his gaze.

"I want to see you, too," she murmured at last and watched in pleasure and anticipation as he removed his shirt, then stood and took off his pants and shorts.