The Maclean Groom by Kathleen Harrington Page A

the deep, rich sound of masculine laughter accompanied her hasty descent.
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    That night, she dreamed of the Sea Dragon. She lay sleeping in her own bed again, when he drew the curtains back with both hands and stood over her, arms upraised, long fingers grasping the edges of the heavy brocade.
    â€œWake up, lass,” he called in silken seduction.
    Dressed only in his belted plaid, he gazed at Joanna, his green eyes intense in the flickering candlelight with a raw, unexplainable hunger. The need she read there brought the tingling sensation of gooseflesh to her warm skin. She reached up and slipped her trembling hand beneath the tartan folds, her fingertips grazing the iron-hard sinews of his leg. He drew a quick, sharp breath at her touch, but didn’t pull away.
    The bare male flesh of his thigh awoke some latent wantonness inside her. Her breathing grew rapid and harsh. Her heartbeat speeded to a gallop as her body grew taut and vibrant with a primitive, instinctual energy.
    Without knowing the reason, Joanna rose to her knees and lifted her night chemise over her head. Her long red hair fell about her shoulders and spilled over her breasts.
    The Sea Dragon pushed her cascading locks aside to reveal their rosy tips. His gaze drifted over her vulnerable form with such lingering thoroughness, she could feel her skin’s heated reaction, as though he scorched her with his smoky dragon’s breath.
    Currents of warm, honeyed air floated around them, tugging her closer to his lean, muscular form. She’d been caught in some invisible snare, like a sacrificial virgin enchained by a Druid wizard’s magic. Beneath the compelling urgency of MacLean’s bold gaze, she bent her head and lowered her lashes in a timeless pose of feminine timidity.
    â€œCome with me, Joanna,” he urged hoarsely.
    â€œWhere?” she whispered.
    â€œCome swim with me in the loch, my wee nymph. I shall show you delights that only the mermaids know.”
    Her fingers twined around the gold chain of his holy medal. “I mustn’t,” she softly demurred. “’Tisn’t allowed for a virtuous maiden to go off with a wild sea dragon.”
    His smile was devastating. “Then we’ll bathe together right here, love. Surely, you’re not afraid of me in your own bedchamber?”
    For the first time, she noticed the tub standing before the crackling fire.
    His presence seemed to overpower her, to sweep away every vestige of maidenly decorum. “I’m not afraid,” she declared with a harlot’s abandon.
    He turned and moved toward the steaming water. Releasing his belt, he removed his plaid and bent over the tub.
    She stared in shock at his naked body. The broad expanse of his shoulder blades was superbly muscled. The lean, hard flesh of his torso showed every rib. She followed the curve of his spine down to his lower back, and her skin tightened with alarm and excitation.
    God’s truth, ’twas just as she’d dreaded .
    A long, shiny green dragon’s tail—the exact color of his eyes—swayed back and forth above his tight buttocks…
    Joanna bolted awake with a shiver of horrified titillation. It had been nothing more than a dream, she assured her pounding heart. Merely the childish conjuring of her sleep-drugged imagination.
    Appalled at her undeniable reaction to MacLean’s dream image, she pressed a fist to her mouth and stared at the kitchen beams above her. Beneath her cotton garment, a damp warmth pooled at the juncture of her thighs. She arched her back as a long, shuddery ache rippled through her.
    Some deep, inner part of Joanna wanted him to find her. To take her to their marriage bed and teach her the delights that only mermaids knew.
    Joanna buried her face in her hands and groaned as the vision of a buck-naked MacLean floated before her closed lids.
    By all the souls in Purgatory, she’d never be able to meet his astute, green-eyed gaze