He’d gone instantly, painfully, hard as a rock.
And for a few critical moments, his brain hadn’t functioned at all. All the rest of him had. Stupendously well, in fact. Just not his brain.
Cursed by the féth fiada, he’d been celibate for three long, hellish months now. And his own hand didn’t count.
Lying there, imagining all the things he would do to her if only he could, he’d completely failed to process that she was not only standing there looking in his general direction, but his first instinct had been right: He was the focus of an intense gaze. She was looking directly at him.
Seeing him.
By the time he’d managed to find his feet, to even remember that he had feet, she’d been in her car.
She’d escaped him.
But not for long, he thought, eyes narrowing. He would find her.
She’d seen him. He had no idea how or why she’d been able to, but frankly he didn’t much care. She had, and now she was going to be his ticket back to Paradise.
And, he thought, lips curving in a wicked erotic grin, he was willing to bet she’d be able to feel him too. Logic dictated that if she was immune to one aspect of the féth fiada, she would be immune to them all.
For the first time since the queen had made him human, he threw back his head and laughed. The rich dark sound rolled—despite the human mouth shaping it—not entirely human, echoing in the empty street.
He turned and eyed the building behind him speculatively. He knew a great deal about humans from having walked among them for so many millennia, and he’d learned even more about them in the past few months. They were creatures of habit; like plodding little Highland sheep, they dutifully trod the same hoof-beaten paths, returning to the same pastures day after day.
Undoubtedly, there was a reason she’d come to this building this evening.
And undoubtedly, there was something in that building that would lead him to her.
The luscious little Irish was going to be his savior.
She would help him find Circenn and communicate his plight. Circenn would sift dimensions and return him to the Fae Isle of Morar, where the queen held her court. And Adam would persuade her that enough was enough already.
He knew Aoibheal wouldn’t be able to look him in the eye and deny him. He merely had to get to her, see her, touch her, remind her how much she favored him and why.
Ah, yes, now that he’d found someone who could see him, he’d be his glorious immortal self again in no time at all.
In the meantime, pending Circenn’s return, he now had much with which to entertain himself. He was no longer in quite the same rush to be made immortal again. Not just yet. Not now that he suddenly had the opportunity to experience sex in human form. Fae glamour wasn’t nearly as sensitive as the body he currently inhabited, and—sensual to the core—he’d been doubly pissed off at Aoibheal for making him unable to explore its erotic capabilities. She could be such a bitch sometimes.
If a simple hard-on in human form could reduce him to a primitive state, what would burying himself inside a woman do? What would it feel like to come inside her?
There was no doubt in his mind that he would soon find out.
Never had the mortal woman lived and breathed who could say no to a bit of fairy tail.
Published by
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This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2000 by Karen Marie Moning
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.
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eISBN: 978-0-307-55671-4
v3.0
Karen Marie Moning, The Highlander's Touch
(Series: Highlander # 3)
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