The bartender brought us two small glasses, each holding a mere inch of amber liquid. Cliff downed his in one gulp.

I lifted the glass to my lips. It felt cool against my skin. I inhaled the pungent, earthy aroma. What the hell. I sucked in a breath and tossed back the drink. Fire seared my throat. I sputtered, coughed, wheezed, but the fire burned in my gut now. Slippery warmth flared through my veins. My legs wilted, but I locked my knees to stay upright. My thoughts fuzzed, every worry fading into the background. Me like this.

“Another,” I shouted to the bartender. Within seconds, I snatched my next glass of amber ecstasy, tossed it back, and slapped my glass on the bar. “Another.”

Cliff waved the bartender away. “The lady’s done for the night.”

The bartender, halfway to us, wandered away.

I frowned at my date. “What’d you do that for?”

He plucked the glass from my hand. “Don’t drink much, do you?”

“So?”

Cliff grasped my upper arms, his skin hot on mine. “Best take it easy then. Whiskey’s potent and one glass has clearly done a number on you.”

“I drank whiskey?”

“Aye, and that’s whisky spelled the Scottish way, without the E.” Humor glimmered in his eyes and dimpled his cheeks. “You Americans don’t know how to spell.”

“Well, you Scots don’t know how to pronounce anything.” Numbed by the booze, I slanted toward him and pitched my head back to see his face. “Are you a Highlander?”

“Matter of fact, I am.”

“Got a big sword?”

He captured my chin with his thumb and forefinger, bending his head. His mouth hovered deliciously close to mine. His voice dripped with sensuality. “Matter of fact, I do.”

My attention flicked down to his kilt. “Don’t see it.”

“Maybe I’ll show you later. At home.”

An idea of what his “sword” might look like flashed through my mind, igniting an ember deep down. I swung my gaze up. “What do Highlanders wear under their kilts?”

Oh shit. Had I said that out loud?

His breath whispered over my lips, tickling me down to my core. “I think the whisky’s getting to you.”

“Feel fine.” To prove my point, I twirled on my high heels without teetering. The glow of the whisky was fading, too soon. I longed for another shot of it, to drown my warning siren in its fiery depths. More than whisky, I thirsted for… Cliff.

I scuffled backward a step and bumped into the bar. How on earth could I want a man I didn’t know, a man I met over the Internet? A man named Cliff. Really? My body hummed for a guy named Cliff. Well, I came here for a one-nighter. Might as well take the Highlander by the sword.