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"Nay, Obrian. Ye cannot do this. Ye are weak, and ye've been in bed with a ragging fever. Ye might harm yerself."
His laughter rose from the back of his throat. "The fever was desire for ye. There is naught I can do to change your mind?"
Slowly regaining her senses, she pushed away from him, her hands flat on his chest, knowing if he kissed her, she would give in to her passion and the desire that rose so swiftly with his touch.
She had been taught right from wrong. They were not wed and in the eyes of God, this could not happen.
Yet he didn't heed her protest. He did not let her go. Instead, he closed his eyes and held fast to her, his hands so very still upon her.
"Obrian, ye cannot do this. 'Tis not right and we would both regret the deed." Her head roared and her heart thundered with rising passion, but she pushed her need and her longing for this man aside to do what was right, what she'd been taught.
"Ian," he said matter of fact. "'Tis my name. And I would not regret making love with ye, lass. Ye are a very beautiful woman." His fingers closed over her hand, dark against light, so very large his hand swallowed hers.
Keely's pulse gave an odd little skip at the sound of his name. She looked upon him with wonder. "Ye remember yer name? What else? What else do ye remember?" Despite the excitement this revelation brought, she feared the answers as much as she dreaded his not knowing.
"Only my name." His voice was solemn and she heard a hint of anger coupled with frustration. He squeezed her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her knuckles one at a time. "It will have to do for now."