“Chloe kept her expression bland. He looked immensely pleased with himself this morning, and there was no way
she was letting him know she'd had even one nocturnal thought about him. "I can't remember," she said, blinking
guilelessly. "In fact, I slept so deeply I don't think I dreamt at
all."
"Indeed," he murmured. When he moved forward, she nearly jumped out of her skin, but he simply reached behind
her and pulled the door to her bedchamber shut.
Then backed her against it.
"Hey," she snapped.
"I sought but to give you a good morrow kiss, lass. 'Tis a Scots custom."
She craned her neck, scowling up at him, and gave him a look that said Yeah, right, nice try.
"A wee one. No tongue. I promise," he said, his lips curving faintly.
"You never give up, do you?"
"I never will, sweet. Doona you know that by now?"
Oooh, that was beginning to take on shades of her dream.
And he'd called her "sweet," a little endearment. She damped her mouth shut and shook her head.”