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"Tis my favorite song, lass," drawled a deep brogue from across the room.
Startled, Lane glanced up to see Conlan's tall body filling the doorway. Arms folded loosely across his chest, he had one broad shoulder propped negligently against the frame and his jean-clad legs crossed at the ankles.
Jesus. He looks even sexier than I remember.
He flashed that lopsided grin.
"Wow." She took a deep, calming breath. "I, uh..." She pointed at the stereo dumbly. "I'm listening to your CDs."
His long strides carried him across the room to her. "I see that."
"I hope you don't mind."
"Why would I mind listening to my favorite tune?" he teased softly, taking a seat beside her.
Lane didn't look at him, but he was so close she could feel the warmth radiating from his body; smell the intoxicating, masculine scent of him. "So, you're home now?" she asked, mentally thumping herself for pointing out the obvious.
"I'm glad." She looked up at him. "So we can get to work on Poppa's tree, I mean."
Conlan reached out and gently grazed her cheek with his knuckles. "I missed ye, Lane." His gaze lowered to her parted mouth, and he ran the pad of his thumb lightly across her bottom lip. "I missed your lips."
In that instant, Lane knew that she had missed him more than she dared admit. What was happening to her? And how did he--a man she hardly knew--awaken such intense feelings within her? Long-dormant emotions bubbled to the surface whenever he was near, making her second-guess her priorities concerning relationships.
She had been perfectly content with her life--sans a man--before meeting him. But now ... now she felt such anoverpowering void in her life when he wasn't with her it nearly choked her.
She watched his mouth lower toward hers. "You did?"
His breath, warm and cinnamon-scented, fanned her cheek. "Aye."