She shivered as his mouth did slow, carnal things that made her pulse spike. "Don't do that. I'm trying to make you see why men want nothing to do with me, MacLeod."

No answer.

"It won't work." Oh, God, it felt so good. So right. "It's got to stop." She wished her voice weren't so throaty, so breathless. "This is about honor, after all." She closed her eyes as he kissed the inside of her wrist. "It's a disclosure thing. You need to know the facts...." She whimpered as he found the tender hollow on the inside of her elbow and kissed it slowly.

As if they had all the time in the world. As if he had been waiting for her forever.

"Then tell me the...facts."

Vulnerable, cherished, she came apart inside, muscle by muscle. Felt her heart spin. "I'm...talking too much."

He laughed against her skin. "I like to hear you talk."

"I'm a grown woman, a responsible adult with a business to run. I don't know you, and you know nothing about me." She frowned, staring into those keen eyes, now silver, now gray. "So why...why can I think of nothing else but kissing you until neither of us can think straight?"

"The answer to that is easy." MacLeod's eyes narrowed. "By honor, I am thinking of exactly the same thing."

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

"YOU...ARE?"

He nodded and the world tilted.

"So," she whispered, "we're talking about a kiss here? Just a kiss?"

A muscle flashed at his jaw. "We're talking about whatever you wish to give."

Clever man. "Why do I suspect you're a killer negotiator, MacLeod?"

"I have negotiated on several occasions." Heat flickered in his eyes.

His half smile set warning bells clanging. Hope was positive that this man's diplomatic skills were top-notch. He had certainly managed to disarm her in a matter of hours.

So he was throwing down the gauntlet, in this case almost literally. But it was cold out in the wretched shed, and some body heat would be useful.

The knowledge did nothing to quell her uneasiness.

Hope frowned. It had been several years since she'd had any real interest in a man. She had been too caught up in her uncle's illness. Then had come the challenge of getting Glenbrae House on its feet.

Now it appeared she was making up for lost time.

MacLeod pulled her between his legs, which were warm and hard, indecently bare beneath the scrap of wool he wore belted in some sort of primitive kilt. Every movement sent little eddies of heat swirling up toward her heart.

Her heart.

This had nothing to do with her heart, Hope told herself. It was sheer tactile response. Simple hormonal overdrive.

But her heart gave a small lurch when she looked down at MacLeod's dark hair, glistening and damp against his shoulders. And when her gaze drifted to his eyes, she was trapped in their shifting silver depths. Then Hope made the greatest mistake of all.

She looked at Ronan MacLeod's mouth.

And wished she hadn't. Now she needed to know what he would do if she closed her eyes and skimmed her lips slowly over his.

Just once. Just as a sort of test. It would be pleasant-even if the whole business was doomed to failure. Her dismal track record with men left little question of that.

"Tell me what you're thinking," he whispered. The words shivered like cool wind moving through a field of heather. They teased her skin, making her forget to breathe. "That you are not...good with men?"

After a heartbeat she nodded.

"I can show you this is wrong."

"Don't bother." She laughed shakily. "It would be a waste of time." She shivered as he slid one finger along the curve of her lips. "Are you listening to me?"

"Every word," he said solemnly. Then his hand skimmed down her back.

Her pulse jumped. "You've, uh, got a nice mouth, MacLeod," she blurted. And a truly amazing body...

"Not half so nice as yours. But I want to know something."

"What?"

His eyes darkened. "How you taste."

Something twisted in Hope's chest. Probably the effect of the cold and her recent bout of panic. Or maybe it was her lack of food this morning. All things considered, this had to be a perfectly natural physical response to a cluster of unrelated stimuli.

MacLeod's hand moved along the back of her jeans, and instantly all thoughts of unrelated stimuli soared out of her head.

"This is not a good idea."

He made a low, ragged sound and pulled her closer. "But it is." He frowned. "Do you dislike my touch?"

"Not...exactly." A colossal lie.

"How long, Hope? How long since a man touched you this way?"

She closed her eyes. Longer than I can remember. No, forever. Never with such gentle confidence.

His lips closed on her finger and he drew her into the heat of his mouth, making Hope envision a joining that would bring nothing short of devastating pleasure.

She felt a stab of panic. She wasn't ready for devastating pleasure. She wasn't even ready for moderate pleasure. She had never been good at relationships; couldn't he see that? Life had entirely eroded that particular corner of her optimism. She had lost too many of the people she held dear to trust in relationships ever again.

Now she was locked in a shed, fighting an old, ingrained panic. He should be appalled, repelled.

Instead his eyes were glinting with barely hidden desire.

"I think," she said shakily, "that we need to talk. Something very strange is happening here."

"Is it?" His lips nibbled her fingers, closed hard, then moved in erotic ways.

Hope swallowed. Why did this all feel so incredible? Touching a man had never turned her brain into oatmeal before.

Until now. Until MacLeod.

"What would move you to trust me?" he murmured.

Hope couldn't answer. A hard ridge of male muscle lay outlined against her hip, and she realized exactly what it was.

Heat shimmered. Hope was too honest to pretend she didn't feel his effect on her keenly. But her bad track record loomed like a shadow. Cold, hard experience had taught her that she wasn't cut out for casual intimacies. She didn't know where to start, what to expect. Today's man expected high performance and fast turnover: Hope was bad at both. The last man she had touched like this had pointed out her awkwardness very clearly, in words that continued to haunt her in bad moments.

She had sworn off men after that. Swearing off had been easier than pretending. Somehow she had never missed the touch of flesh on flesh or the slow, hot brush of lips. Until now...

But with MacLeod, the last thing she wanted was to be awkward or uncertain. Better to cut to the hard ending right now, she decided. It would save them both a great deal of unpleasantness.

"I-I can't, MacLeod."

"Can't what?"

"Do this. Touch you. Want you."

"But you do." His lips curved. "Want me."

She didn't even consider lying. "What woman wouldn't? But this won't work. I'm not..."

Special. Beautiful. The stuff dreams are made of.

"Not what?" he growled, his eyes narrowed with anger.

"Anything special."

He cursed softly. "They told you this?"

"Loud and clear." Hope shrugged. "But I'd rather not go into details. It's not an entirely pleasant subject, if you know what I mean." She tried for a smile. Failed.

"No, I do not know."

"I guess you wouldn't. Women must stick to you like glue. And you hardly seem like the type to worry about...technical details. Performance statistics." She swallowed as he kissed one eyelid, then the other. "I knew you weren't listening."

"These men." He frowned. "You believed them when they said you gave them no pleasure?"

"At the time it was fairly obvious."

"How? They hit you? If so, I will-"

She sighed and shook her head. "Not that. It was a look, a laugh. Simple but damning things."

Something twisted in Hope's chest and she realized all the old wounds were still there, hidden but hurting. The depth of that hurt surprised her.

"Explain this."

Hope sighed. "I wasn't the high-performance ride they were looking for."

"I do not understand."

"They wanted speed and drama, MacLeod. They wanted flash and danger. Instead they got...me."

He muttered a rough phrase in Gaelic. "Whoever taught you that the lack was yours?"

"Do you want a list?" she said, laughing unsteadily.

"Fools," he said harshly. "Few Scotsmen would be so witless. No MacLeod," he added savagely.

She had to laugh at that automatic Highland pride of his. "So MacLeod men make good lovers, do they?"

His eyes glinted. "We could find out now."

Hope hid a smile. "What about MacLeod women?"

"Their men are plagued with blissful smiles and far too little sleep. Sometimes they even die young."

"But what a way to go." Hope's smile faded as he pulled her onto his thighs. "Just a minute. What are you..."

His lips brushed her hair. His thighs were warm, rigid beneath her.

At that moment Hope discovered a sensual intensity that she had never suspected in herself, and the discovery was unsettling. Why only with this man did the textures of skin against skin leave her throat dry and her heart racing?

He traced her cheek, moved his fingers through her hair. "For me to touch you is wrong, you say.

Are you given to the Church?"

"No."

His eyes narrowed. "You are wed?"

"No ring." Hope held out her bare finger. "No husband."

"You are not pockmarked or missing your front teeth. Why has no man offered for you?" He sounded angry, angry for her.

"I guess the right man never came along. A few of the wrong ones, but never the right one."

"Not of the Church, not diseased. Not a depraved female, are you?" His lips curved as he read her instant protest. "No, I thought not. I see no barriers."