antique her grandmother had kept in the guest bedroom. This one was probably new, she half-smiled at the thought. There were two chairs set in front of the fireplace, and the huge bed she sat on with a bedside table to the right of it. In between the fireplace and the wall the bed was on was a tall arched window with a window seat.
Mackenzie walked to the fireplace and shook her hair out towards the welcoming warmth. Her hair would be unruly curls without her trusty blow dryer and flat iron. Ugh. She'd always hated her curls; in the desert, it was so dry that they never curled right, and her hair was so heavy it weighed down the ringlets so they just looked funny. To her anyways.
Jenna had always loved to play with her hair. But Jenna was a hair stylist, so she always made Mackenzie's hair look fabulous. Besides, Jenna had straight hair, she'd never understand.
She glanced toward the dress and the corset-looking undergarments with dread. Hopefully Bronwyn would help her get dressed when she returned. There were a lot of ruffles, she'd seen wedding dresses with less ruffles. But ever brave, Mackenzie wandered toward the bed and picked up the dress, then froze. Yes ! Her purse had been salvaged along with the dress! Lip gloss here I come ! Mackenzie grabbed her purse and dug through it til she found her compact. She opened it 64
and reached for her lip gloss. She stuck her tongue out at her naked face, and sighed, wishing for mascara—-she loved mascara; she would miss mascara. Her sigh turned into an exclamation of joy as she saw her cell phone. Then she immediately felt like an idiot; of course there was no service.
Besides, who would I call ? she thought, her lips twisting into a grimace, Merlin ?
The knock at the door barely captured her attention as she tossed her purse on a chair, not sure she wanted anyone to discover it yet, and resumed trying to scrunch her curls by the fire. They'd be a tangled mess if left to dry on their own.
She'd thought it would be Bronwyn, back with the wine, to help her into the pile of clothes on the bed. She was wrong.
"Why are you not dressed?" Connor's demand had Mackenzie jumping and turning wide, startled eyes to him.
The anger emanating off him was palpable, but rather than being afraid, his high-handed manner infuriated her. Fury was good, it distracted her mind from the uncomfortable emotions that were surfacing at his freshly-shaved-looking-hot-in-a-kilt-self. And he must have bathed as well, because he smelled amazing. He smelled clean; of soap and man, and something else. Something spicy and exotic. She tore her mind from his scent and focused on the black glare he was directing at her. She knew he didn't like to be disobeyed, but this wasn't something she could help. It wasn't her fault that she didn't know how to put all those clothes on. She bit her lip, thinking that while he may not like to be disobeyed, she didn't like to be bossed around, especially not by some 18th century highland laird.
65
So instead of telling Connor that she'd just been waiting on Bronwyn to help her get ready, Mackenzie got annoyed...and bold.
"I'm not going." Chin tipping defiantly, she crossed her arms across her chest. She knew she was being stubborn, but she didn't really care.
"You're damn well going down to dinner."
"No." It sounded petulant even to her own ears. His eyes narrowed.
"You'll come to dinner, and you'll do it dressed properly, or you'll dine alone with me and ye won't be dressed at all."
"You wouldn't," Mackenzie dared.
His voice was flat as he said, "Try me lass," but he injected a leer into it when he followed with, "I'd enjoy stripping you of your garments."
The memory of his hands sliding her strap off of her shoulder earlier was still fresh in her head, and she did not doubt he would do as he threatened. So Mackenzie glared at him and snapped, "Fine." She stalked to the bed and lifted the gown off the bed and looked at the long white nightgown-looking thing with
Mackenzie walked to the fireplace and shook her hair out towards the welcoming warmth. Her hair would be unruly curls without her trusty blow dryer and flat iron. Ugh. She'd always hated her curls; in the desert, it was so dry that they never curled right, and her hair was so heavy it weighed down the ringlets so they just looked funny. To her anyways.
Jenna had always loved to play with her hair. But Jenna was a hair stylist, so she always made Mackenzie's hair look fabulous. Besides, Jenna had straight hair, she'd never understand.
She glanced toward the dress and the corset-looking undergarments with dread. Hopefully Bronwyn would help her get dressed when she returned. There were a lot of ruffles, she'd seen wedding dresses with less ruffles. But ever brave, Mackenzie wandered toward the bed and picked up the dress, then froze. Yes ! Her purse had been salvaged along with the dress! Lip gloss here I come ! Mackenzie grabbed her purse and dug through it til she found her compact. She opened it 64
and reached for her lip gloss. She stuck her tongue out at her naked face, and sighed, wishing for mascara—-she loved mascara; she would miss mascara. Her sigh turned into an exclamation of joy as she saw her cell phone. Then she immediately felt like an idiot; of course there was no service.
Besides, who would I call ? she thought, her lips twisting into a grimace, Merlin ?
The knock at the door barely captured her attention as she tossed her purse on a chair, not sure she wanted anyone to discover it yet, and resumed trying to scrunch her curls by the fire. They'd be a tangled mess if left to dry on their own.
She'd thought it would be Bronwyn, back with the wine, to help her into the pile of clothes on the bed. She was wrong.
"Why are you not dressed?" Connor's demand had Mackenzie jumping and turning wide, startled eyes to him.
The anger emanating off him was palpable, but rather than being afraid, his high-handed manner infuriated her. Fury was good, it distracted her mind from the uncomfortable emotions that were surfacing at his freshly-shaved-looking-hot-in-a-kilt-self. And he must have bathed as well, because he smelled amazing. He smelled clean; of soap and man, and something else. Something spicy and exotic. She tore her mind from his scent and focused on the black glare he was directing at her. She knew he didn't like to be disobeyed, but this wasn't something she could help. It wasn't her fault that she didn't know how to put all those clothes on. She bit her lip, thinking that while he may not like to be disobeyed, she didn't like to be bossed around, especially not by some 18th century highland laird.
65
So instead of telling Connor that she'd just been waiting on Bronwyn to help her get ready, Mackenzie got annoyed...and bold.
"I'm not going." Chin tipping defiantly, she crossed her arms across her chest. She knew she was being stubborn, but she didn't really care.
"You're damn well going down to dinner."
"No." It sounded petulant even to her own ears. His eyes narrowed.
"You'll come to dinner, and you'll do it dressed properly, or you'll dine alone with me and ye won't be dressed at all."
"You wouldn't," Mackenzie dared.
His voice was flat as he said, "Try me lass," but he injected a leer into it when he followed with, "I'd enjoy stripping you of your garments."
The memory of his hands sliding her strap off of her shoulder earlier was still fresh in her head, and she did not doubt he would do as he threatened. So Mackenzie glared at him and snapped, "Fine." She stalked to the bed and lifted the gown off the bed and looked at the long white nightgown-looking thing with