Page 5 of Return to Clan Sinclair
Her gaze danced down his strong and corded neck to broad shoulders etched with muscle. His chest was broad and muscled as well, tapering down to a slim waist and hips.
Even semiflaccid, his manhood was quite impressive.
The longer she watched, the more impressive it became.
What on earth was a naked man doing on Macrath’s beach?
To her utter chagrin, the stranger turned and presented his backside to her, glancing over his shoulder to see if she approved of the sight.
She withdrew from the window, cheeks flaming. What on earth had she been doing? Who was she to gawk at a naked man as if she’d never before seen one?
Now that she knew Carlton was going to survive his escape, she should retreat immediately to the library.
“You’d better tell Alistair his brother’s gotten loose again. Are you the new governess?”
She turned to find him standing in the doorway, still naked.
She pressed her fingers against the base of her throat and counseled herself to appear unaffected.
“I warn you, the imp escapes at any chance. You’ll have your hands full there.”
The look of fright on Carlton’s face hadn’t been fear of the distance to the beach, but the fact that he’d been caught.
She couldn’t quite place the man’s accent, but it wasn’t Scottish. American, perhaps. What did she care where he came from? The problem was what he was doing here.
“I’m not a governess,” she said. “I’m Macrath’s sister, Ceana.”
He bent and retrieved his shirt from a pile of clothes beside the door, taking his time with it. Shouldn’t he have begun with his trousers instead?
“Who are you?” she asked, looking away as he began to don the rest of his clothing.
She’d had two children. She was well versed in matters of nature. She knew quite well what a man’s body looked like. The fact that his struck her as singularly attractive was no doubt due to the fact she’d been a widow for three years.
“Well, Ceana Sinclair, is it all that important you know who I am?”
“It isn’t Sinclair,” she said. “It’s Mead.”
He tilted his head and studied her.
“Is Mr. Mead visiting along with you?”
She stared down at her dress of unremitting black. “I’m a widow,” she said.
A shadow flitted over his face “Are you? Did Macrath know you were coming?”
“No,” she said. “Does it matter? He’s my brother. He’s family. And why would you be wanting to know?”
He shrugged, finished buttoning his pants and began to don his shoes.
“Who are you?” she asked again.
“I’m a detective,” he said. “My company was hired by your brother.”
“Why?”
“Now that’s something I’m most assuredly not going to tell you,” he said. “It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Mead. I hope to see more of you before I leave.”
And she hoped to see much, much less of him.
