She closed the door with even greater caution, keenly aware of the clatter of pots and pans coming from the inn’s kitchen. Iain, and most likely Janet, as well, was clearly readying for the breakfast rush. The last thing she needed was for either of them to hear her and come asking why she was stepping outside at such an ungodly hour. She could say she’d slept poorly and wanted a walk before breakfast. That was even true. She’d had the strangest dream. A vivid one in which Graeme had approached her bed, looking down at her with such desire, only to vanish into thin air even as his appreciative gaze moved along the length of her body. He’d been so real, her own longings had fluttered inside her, her heart beating wildly long after he’d gone. She’d been unable to reclaim the dream. But the impact of his devilish good looks had stayed with her, haunting her. Remembering the heat in his eyes, she could feel a flush spreading across her cheeks. How sure she’d been that she could’ve reached out and touched his arm, the rest of him.
