Free To Catch a Highlander by Karen Hawkins Page A

the cards, her fingers flying.
    "Well, MacLean? Will you be willing to play for the house?"
    He crossed his arms and leaned back. "I might,
if
you are willing to offer something of equal value."
    "Equal to this house?" She flicked her fingers in the air. "Considering its condition, I think I might come up with something." Her fingers came to rest on her necklace. It sparkled against her pale skin, like dew on a flower. "What about this?"
    He eyed it from across the table. Though it sparkled beguilingly, he knew better than to trust mere flash. "No."
    She smiled serenely. "Why not? It's a lovely piece."
    He regarded her through narrowed eyes, considering this, then held out his hand. "Let me see it."
    Her fingers tightened over the necklace, her smile faltering. "You don't trust me."
    "No. And you'd be wise not to trust me."
    Her hand dropped from the necklace, and she said stiffly, "I have changed my mind. I don't wish to wager my necklace after all."
    "Because it's fake?"
    Her eyes flashed. "No. Because my father gave it to me, and it's precious."
    Dougal crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, then. If you won't wager your necklace, what
will
you wager?"
    "I suppose a marker is out of the question."
    He shrugged. "You wouldn't take mine."
    "But I don't have any jewelry I wish to part with."
    "Not unless you'll allow me to examine it. I have quite a good eye for jewelry."
    "I'm certain you've bought many pieces." Her voice held delicate sarcasm.
    "I like a woman in diamonds," he replied softly. "And nothing else." He pursed his lips, regarding her through half-closed eyes. "I wonder if…"
    "If what?"
    "I'm not willing to wager the house… yet."
    Her eyes sharpened. "Yet?"
    "I need to see more of it, get a better sense of its worth. Once that's done—" He shrugged. "I might be willing to wager it."
    She tried to look disinterested but couldn't mask her disappointment. "I suppose that makes sense."
    "However, I have something else to wager: the necklace from the diamond set your father lost to me."
    Her eyes glittered with interest. "Against?" she asked quietly.
    "The sight of you wearing it—naked."
    A delicate blush touched her cheeks, but her gaze never wavered. "You were right; you aren't a gentleman," she said huskily.
    "And you aren't a lady of quality. I'd say that makes us a matched pair."
    "I may not be the daughter of a duke, but neither am I a light skirt. I won't wager my virtue," she said sharply.
    "I wasn't asking for your virtue. Just a moment to appreciate your charms in their natural state. But if the thought frightens you—" He waved a hand in the air dismissively.
    Sophia regarded him stonily. She would not fall for the oldest manipulation in the book; she was no child to be double-dared into doing something she'd regret.
    But neither was she the sort of woman to quit. If she wished to win back her house, she had to inflame this man, make him desire her beyond the bounds of common sense.
    Her heart thudded as she dropped her gaze to the cards beneath her fingertips. "I won't disrobe."
    His gaze locked with hers. "No?"
    One word had never sounded so persuasive. She shook her head. "Not for a mere necklace."
    "I see. What will you do for a mere necklace?"
    She considered this a moment. "I will let down my hair."
    His gaze locked on her hair, a stillness to him that made her uneasy. Finally, to her surprise, he nodded. "Very well."
    She blinked. "You agree?"
    A smile flickered across his face. "I love a woman's hair—it is one of my weaknesses. I think seeing yours unbound, streaming over your shoulders, would be one of the most sensual things I've ever witnessed."
    Well, when he put it like
that
, it made her wish she'd held out for the entire set, not just the necklace.
    "We are decided, then: the necklace against my hair. Only… you must promise you won't touch. That's not permitted."
    She wasn't certain why she added that caveat. Perhaps because she was afraid of herself, of the effects if she