She was unprepared, however, for the way he looked. He was taller than she'd imagined, and seemed broad in his tan trench coat. His hair was a mass of black curls, all of them wet now where they lay on his forehead. He smiled, and when he did, his velvet-lashed eyes crinkled at the corners and his sensual mouth curved in a way that made her stomach tingle.

"Ian," she said.

"Aye. I'd know ye anywhere, Kira." His eyes, when he said that, probed hers with an intensity that was out of place. He seemed genuinely glad to see her. So glad, she almost expected him to hug her right off her feet at any moment. But he seemed to forcibly restrain himself. "You're a MacLellan, through and through."

"I hope that's a compliment."

"I'll shower you in them, if you like." And then he did hug her. Didn't ask or wait around for permission, just wrapped his arms around her and hugged her hard, as if he'd been doing it for years. Maybe that was the way of things here, she thought. So she hugged him back just as enthusiastically, and she didn't even have to fake it all that much.

And she felt something in that embrace, because it seemed to change, from friendly and welcoming, to something decidedly more intimate.

When he released her and stepped back, he looked as shell-shocked as she felt. He had to avert his eyes as he took her arm and turned toward the car.

"Oh, my bags—"

"I'll be getting the bags into the boot, lass. You first, though." He didn't slow his pace, then opened the passenger door, which was on the wrong side of the car, and held her elbow as she got inside. He closed her door, and rushed away to get the bags, stowing them in the trunk—er, boot, she corrected mentally.

And then he was back, climbing behind the wheel, putting the car into motion, and turning his high-beam smile on her as he did. "You're about to become a very wealthy woman, Kira MacLellan. And it's not the money alone of which I'm speakin'."