He wasn’t much of a reader. What Lachlan didn’t expect was to find Lana Dounreay already in residence. She was curled up in a chair in the far corner, reading a book. Oddly enough, she had a dirk in her hand. When she spotted him, her eyes narrowed and her grip on the weapon tightened. A pain, a deep regret, slithered through him. He didn’t want her fearing him. Not this woman. Something about her moved him in ways he hadn’t ever been moved. Yes, part of it was, undeniably, attraction—lust perhaps—but he attempted to ignore that. There was simply no point. However, curiosity swirled within him, too. Who was she … to him? Why had she appeared in his dream night after night? And why had she appeared in his life now? So close to the end? It hardly seemed fair. Had he met her sooner, he might still have had the hubris, hope enough, to believe they could have a future together. He would have liked that. A future with her. Hell, a night. A tryst. A kiss. A … something. Bah.
