Gina Conkle’s newest stunning romance in her Scottish Treasures series features a fierce Scotswoman eager to break the rules and the man who vows to stop her.
A Gentleman of Virtue
Decent and ambitious, Alexander Sloane is finally a finger’s breadth from achieving the government post he’s worked towards for years. A minor task monitoring Bow Street funds for the Crown is his final hurdle. But he discovers more than he bargains for when his assignment leads him to the most captivating woman in London.
A Woman of Questionable Repute
Cecelia MacDonald has one mission: find and steal the sgian duhb, the ceremonial dagger taken from her clan by British soldiers during the Uprising of 1745. The coy and clever Scotswoman has never had any trouble using men to do her bidding and she’s enjoying the cat and mouse game she’s playing with the delectable Alexander. But when a mutual enemy proves deadly, she must rely on him for more than flirtation to gain the dagger.
An Explosive Partnership
As Alexander and Cecilia become unlikely allies, their desire for each other overwhelms them. When shocking secrets come to light, will Alexander realize loving the wrong woman is the right thing to do?
Gina’s fate was sealed when her mom read aloud the poem, The Highwayman—the perfect historical romance hook. But, Gina grew up in California where no dukes or Vikings live. She always did prefer stone castles over sand castles and books over beaches.
Years ago, she fell in love with her favorite hero, Brian, and they eloped to Vegas at midnight. Together, they raised two sons who like history almost as much as their mom.
Nowadays, Gina pens sparkling Georgian romance with a dash of Scots or Viking romance with heat and adventure. When she’s not writing, you can find her wandering a museum or with her nose in a book.
Genre: Time travel romance, Scottish Historical Romance
He hoped for a wife. He found a companion through time and beyond.
It is 1715 and for Duncan Melville something fundamental is missing from his life. Despite a flourishing legal practice and several close friends, he is lonely, even more so after the recent death of his father. He needs a wife—a companion through life, someone to hold and be held by. What he wasn’t expecting was to be torn away from everything he knew and find said woman in 2016…
Erin Barnes has a lot of stuff going on in her life. She doesn’t need the additional twist of a stranger in weird outdated clothes, but when he risks his life to save hers, she feels obligated to return the favour. Besides, whoever Duncan may be, she can’t exactly deny the immediate attraction.
The complications in Erin’s life explode. Events are set in motion and to Erin’s horror she and Duncan are thrown back to 1715. Not only does Erin have to cope with a different and intimidating world, soon enough she and Duncan are embroiled in a dangerous quest for Duncan’s uncle, a quest that may very well cost them their lives as they travel through a Scotland poised on the brink of rebellion.
Will they find Duncan’s uncle in time? And is the door to the future permanently closed, or will Erin find a way back?
“Storm coming,” Lewis said laconically. “I can smell it.”
Duncan studied the sky. If anything, the clouds had sunk even lower, dark and menacing they seemed within touching distance. What little wind there had been fell away, and sweat dewed Duncan’s face, his neck.
“Best increase our pace,” he said.
“Won’t help,” Lewis said. “We’ll be caught in it anyway.”
Duncan gave him an irritated look.
Lewis merely shrugged. “One does not die of rain or thunder,” he said. “I recall—”
Whatever Lewis remembered was drowned in a clap of thunder. And just like that, the storm was upon them. Daylight disappeared, replaced by a murky half-light that made it difficult to see much more than the road before them. Rain fell in torrents from above, and all around lightning flared.
Duncan’s horse baulked, shying from something Duncan could not see. He heard Lewis call out, tried to locate his man but could not make out anything but the whipping branches of the trees. Now and then the darkness was seared with light when a bolt of lightning flashed too close, and every time that happened, Duncan’s mount skittered sideways, throwing frantically with her head.
The road was still visible, widening into a crossroads. Duncan wiped at his face and tried to take his bearings. They were at most a couple of miles from Bourne’s Island. Something crackled overhead. This time, lightning struck very close. Thunder roared, the ground shook.
Duncan’s mare reared and neighed.
“Easy lass,” Duncan said, clutching at her mane to keep his seat. She reared again, bucked, and Duncan was sent flying. He landed painfully in the gravel. His head connected with a rock and for a moment he lost consciousness. Long enough that when he looked up the horse was gone, racing back the way they’d come.
“Damnation.”
Duncan tried to stand. His head hurt, his face stung and there was blood on the knees of his breeches. Yet another clap of thunder had him jumping backwards, pain shooting through his left leg. The crossroads was a slurry of mud, and the ground tilted this way and that. Once again lightning flashed overhead and the road beneath his feet shook. He had to find cover but standing under trees in a thunderstorm was never a good idea. Duncan shivered and took a shuffling step towards the closest oak. At least it would offer some cover from the rain and lashing wind.
Step by careful step, he made his way over the crossroads. God’s fish, but his leg hurt, and to judge from how his vision blurred, the blow to his head had been hard enough to do some serious damage. One more step and he was at the centre of the crossroads, gaping at how the muddy water swirled around his feet. And then something changed. Instead of dirty brown water, wisps of bright colours coiled themselves around his feet. Green and blue bands tightened round his legs. He couldn’t move, transfixed by the colours. With a roar, the ground at his feet parted. Duncan fell, his last conscious thought being that Grandma Alex had been right: crossroads were dangerous places indeed.
*****************************
Erin Barnes leaned forward to crank up the volume, squinting at the road before her. Her wipers swished back and forth like a couple of high-speed metronomes, but with the rain coming down in torrents they did little to improve visibility.
She took a right and lowered her speed as she approached the old crossroads. In weather such as this, the old gravel roads became water-logged, and she definitely didn’t need the complication of an accident. Not after this shitty day. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. She threw a look at the rear-view mirror: no headlights following her. Idiot, she told herself, they wouldn’t dare.
“No, of course they wouldn’t,” she said out loud but the knot of tension that lived in her stomach remained where it was, an uncomfortable weight that had her glancing back the way she’d come over and over again. Steve might. He’d looked ready to throttle her earlier and he had a damned short temper.
Had her grandmother Emily been alive, she’d have told Erin that some crusades were best left alone—unless one was willing to pay the price. Crusade? Erin snorted. This was no crusade, this was her sinking her teeth into a story that would make her career as a journalist and avenge Emily’s death. Well, unless the story got her killed first.
She’d spent months getting an in on it, swallowing down the desire to throw up that afflicted her whenever Steve kissed her or pawed at her body. And now…She tightened her hold on the wheel, recalling just how quickly Josephine Wilkes’ expression had changed, from mildly interested to icy rage when she studied the pics in Erin’s phone. Okay, so she’d done a lot of illegal snooping to take those pics, using the hot romance between Steve and herself as a cover to access his family home on several occasions. Too bad Mama Josephine wasn’t as dense as her youngest son—but then, if she’d been that dumb she would not be heading the racketeering business she’d inherited from her husband years ago.
So here she was, driving madly for the safety of her home, south of the air field. Safety? Please! But now that they had her phone, now that they’d slapped her around a bit, maybe they thought she’d do the smart thing and just keep her head down. Huh. When she’d squeezed out of the narrow bathroom window and sprinted for her car, Erin had been as determined as ever to bring the Wilkes family down. Even more, actually, given that now it was personal, her face swollen and puffy after the repeated “love pats” from dear ex-boyfriend Steve.
Thunder crackled through the night and Erin jumped, the car swerving slightly. Shit! More thunder, and if anything the rain intensified, a veritable deluge that had her slowing her speed to a crawl. A flash of lightning illuminated the landscape and a huge bundle lying right in the middle of the crossroads. Was that a man? An outflung arm? Erin stepped on the brake. Too late. There was a dull thump when her fender connected with the object. For some moments, she just sat there, her hands clenched so tight round the steering wheel they hurt. On the radio, someone was singing about perfection.
From outside came a loud howl. It made her jump. Definitely a human voice and with a deep sigh Erin concluded her day had just gone from bad to worse. She’d just hit some poor idiot, although to be fair, it was just as much his fault as hers. What sort of moron would just lie on the middle of the road. An injured one, her brain told her, one that is even more injured now that you’ve run him over.
There was a gun in the glove compartment, and she tucked it into the waist of her jeans before getting out. One never knew, this could be one of Steve’s more subtle attempts at getting his hands on her, but the moment she thought it she dismissed it as ridiculous. Steve had little finesse, was way more into brutal intimidation. She shivered, uncertain if it was the rain or the thought of Steve that chilled her to the bone. The pile on the road groaned.
A man, she concluded some moments later. Dark hair plastered to his forehead, something that resembled a linen shirt stuck to his torso and long legs encased in weird pants and knee-high boots. Erin rolled her eyes. One of those Renaissance Fair types, she thought, placing a careful hand on his back to make sure he was still breathing.
“Hey,” she said, wiping at her face. “Are you okay?” Stupid, stupid question. The man’s eyes fluttered open.
“Hi,” she said, trying out a little smile.
“Hi?” He scooted out of reach and sat up, groaning loudly. He looked at her. His eyes widened. He blinked and looked again.
“Can you stand?” she asked him, wondering if it would be totally uncharitable to help him to the side and then drive off.
“Aye.”
Aye? And what an odd accent. He sounded British, somehow.
The man lurched to his feet, took a step and promptly fell to his knees.
“Are you drunk?” she demanded. He clutched at his left leg and she was suffused with guilt. She’d broken his leg or something, and here she was accusing him of being drunk.
He looked at her. “I wish I was,” he said. “It would explain my hallucinations.”
“Hallucinations?”
“Aye.” His eyes narrowed. “Or are you real?” Once again, he stood, favouring his left leg. He was tall, well over six feet, and that shirt of his displayed an impressively broad chest. He was also bleeding from a gash on his forehead, his right sleeve was badly burned as was the forearm and hand, and he grimaced when he put weight on his left foot.
“Of course I’m real.” She grabbed hold of him when he swayed. He yelped and shied away, landing yet again on the ground.
“God’s fish!” he exclaimed. “You are real!”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Had Anna been allowed to choose, she’d have become a time-traveller. As this was impossible, she became a financial professional with two absorbing interests: history and writing. Anna has authored the acclaimed time travelling series The Graham Saga, set in 17th century Scotland and Maryland, as well as the equally acclaimed medieval series The King’s Greatest Enemy which is set in 14th century England.
Anna has also published The Wanderer, a fast-paced contemporary romantic suspense trilogy with paranormal and time-slip ingredients. Her September 2020 release, His Castilian Hawk, has her returning to medieval times. Set against the complications of Edward I’s invasion of Wales, His Castilian Hawk is a story of loyalty, integrity—and love. Her most recent release, The Whirlpools of Time, is a time travel romance set against the backdrop of brewing rebellion in the Scottish highlands.
All of Anna’s books have been awarded the IndieBRAG Medallion, she has several Historical Novel Society Editor’s Choices, and one of her books won the HNS Indie Award in 2015. She is also the proud recipient of various Reader’s Favorite medals as well as having won various Gold, Silver and Bronze Coffee Pot Book Club awards.
Find out more about Anna, her books and her eclectic historical blog on her website, http://www.annabelfrage.com .
Rogue Bruce enjoys running a Scottish bed-and-breakfast with her Aunt Baillie from America. They specialize in hosting romantic Elizabethan-themed weddings, complete with resident ghost, Lord Kai. But love is something Rogue is not the least bit interested in…
Rogue Bruce enjoys running a Scottish castle turned bed-and-breakfast with her Aunt Baillie from America. They specialize in hosting romantic Elizabethan-themed weddings, complete with resident ghost, Lord Kai. But love is something Rogue is not the least bit interested in. Content with her work, she requires no male accompaniment for happiness.
A new delivery service brings Bruce MacKenzie, a Thor look-alike in plaid and denim, fetching more than the usual number of groceries from town, while Jonathan Olson, a snobbish, dark, Rhett Butler type, arrives at the castle to administer a writing seminar for aspiring authors. With two men after the heart she’d thought safely locked away, Rogue is flattered and confused. But when things start to take a sinister turn, danger befalls Rogue and those dear to her. The musical soundtrack of Rogue’s life flares from complacent, to dizzyingly romantic, to heart-thumping scary in this sizzling triangle.
Tucking her feet under her skirts, Rogue noticed a delicious waft of sugar and cinnamon in the air before a stuttered clink of china announced someone bringing a tea tray toward her. Good lord. It was Bruce. She straightened herself suddenly, undecided on where to put her hands. Of all the sneaky tricks Putney could pull, sending the hot delivery guy in with tea was a bit much. Hiding a smile behind her hand, she watched the young man strain to keep everything balanced. A twinge of pain in her side from masking the laughter sobered her. She took a deep breath.
“A wee different from carrying a box of groceries?” Rogue patted the carved wooden table in front of her. “I’m sure a lady would have no trouble handling a tea tray herself now, would she?”
Stray blond strands hung down over his emerald eyes as he focused on getting the tray to the table without spilling, but Rogue noticed a tension in his lips. Served him right, being all chauvinist before.
“I see Putney has been playing matchmaker again.” Her voice clipped sharply on the last word. “Thank you for coddling the old woman’s visions.”
His face flushed; he squinted his eyes and had difficulty swallowing.
Kathleen Shaputis, author/ghostwriter, lives in the glorious Pacific Northwest with her husband, Bob, a clowder of cats, two pompously protective Pomeranians with little social aptitude, Brugh and Miss Jazzy, and an overgrown adolescent blue tick coon hound, Juno.
If not writing during her lifestyle in an acre of forest, she keeps busy reading from her never-ending, to-be-read pile and watching romantic comedies. Her hygge in the woods.
Highlander Laird Evan MacNeil cannot believe Mistress Katie Sterling just shows up at the MacDuff castle with this faded piece of parchment laying claim to the lands he just legally inherited. Not that he really wants to be here in the lowlands, but he has responsibilities to his clan and the exasperating Katie has uprooted the remnants of her father’s clan and moved them across the country to live here. There’s no way he can leave to go back home now.
Katie has nowhere else to go and she refuses to bow down to the arrogant yet undeniably handsome Highlander. She’s had enough with men trying to control her and she is quite capable of handling herself.
Now that Evan must spar with a beautiful lass for the rights to the lands, he will fight to the end. This battle is nothing like the ones his ancestors fought with crossbows and boiling oil. They never wanted to bed the enemy.
“Stop grinning like a loon, brother. The lass is still a stranger to us, and we need to watch ourselves around her.”
“What?” Alasdair had the nerve to laugh. “If ever there was an uncomplicated lass, it’s that one.” He motioned with his thumb toward the ceiling.
“And what do ye ken of complicated lasses? Most of yer bed partners have no more brains than that goat.” He waved his cup in the direction of the animal standing in the library doorway. He dropped his coffee cup and jumped up “What the hell is that?”
Alasdair turned in his chair. “I think ye already said it. Appears to be a goat.”
The animal stared at him, then ambled into the room. “What the blasted hell is a goat doing in the house?”
“Oh, so sorry, my laird.” Meggie rushed in after the animal. “I’ll take him outside.”
“Is he one of the tenant’s goats?” Evan asked as the animal walked farther into the room, looking around like he owned the place.
Meggie grabbed the animal around the neck. “Nay. He is Agnes’s pet goat, Myrtle.”
“The wee lass?” He thought he remembered her name as Agnes.
“Aye.” She tugged. The animal refused to move.
“Her pet goat?” he repeated.
“Aye. She keeps him in her cottage, and he sleeps alongside her.” She walked around the goat and attempted to push him forward.
Evan looked over at Alasdair. “He sleeps alongside her in her cottage.”
His fool brother was laughing so hard, he couldn’t speak. This day was certainly not going the way he’d planned. First, Stirling clan members had arrived before he expected them, the interviews he and Mistress Stirling were conducting had been cut short, and now there was a sick lass upstairs, and her pet goat was munching on one of his books. “God’s toes!”
Evan glared at a red-faced Meggie. “Get the blasted animal out of here and outside. Find MacDuff and have him put the thing somewhere.”
As Meggie tugged and, in turn, pushed on the animal, who had decided he wanted to stay right where he was, Mistress Stirling hustled into the room. “Oh, there he is.”
Evan scowled at her. “Mistress, ye new arrival brought a pet goat with them.”
“Aye. I ken. Wee Agnes wants him to join her upstairs.”
“Upstairs? Where the bedchambers are?” He hadn’t realized how loud his voice had become until Meggie—still pulling on the goat—and Mistress Stirling both cringed.
“’Twill calm the lass down,” Mistress Stirling was brave enough to mumble, avoiding his eyes.
“Let the bairn have her pet, Brother,” Alasdair added, wiping the tears from his eyes. “If it makes her feel better, it cannot cause harm.”
“Cause harm? The thing was eating one of my books.” He picked up the tome and waved it at the group who all stood staring at him, expressions from uneasiness to laughter on their faces. He rubbed his eyes with his fists. “Verra well. Let the lass have her animal.” He pointed a finger at Mistress Stirling. “The minute the wee one falls asleep, I want that animal out of the castle and to the barn, where it will stay. Do ye understand?”
“Aye.” Mistress Stirling said something in the goat’s ear, and the blasted animal walked alongside her as easy as ye please. Evan glared at his brother, who choked on his laugh.
Tour Wide Giveaway
To celebrate the release of A SCOT TO WED by Callie Hutton, we’re giving away a $25 Amazon gift card to one lucky winner!
GIVEAWAY TERMS & CONDITIONS: Open internationally. One winner will receive a $25 Amazon gift card. This giveaway is administered by Pure Textuality PR on behalf of Entangled Publishing. Giveaway ends 7/31/2020 @ 11:59pm EST. CLICK HERE TO ENTER!
About the Author
CALLIE HUTTON, USA Today bestselling author writes both Western Historical and Regency romance with “historic elements and sensory details” (The Romance Reviews). Callie lives in Oklahoma with several rescue dogs, two adult children, a daughter-in-law, twin grandsons and her top cheerleader husband (although thankfully not all in the same home!). Living in the Midwest provides plenty of opportunities for Callie do pursue her interests: researching history, meeting readers, spending time with her adorable two year old twin grandsons, and discovering new adventures. Callie loves to hear from readers and welcomes the opportunity to become friends, both in person or virtually.
“She has something to tell you. Do you no’, lass?” Maddock said, prodding her closer to Brochan.
Fenella looked miserable as she twisted the skirt of her dress in her hands. “Iona isnae comin’.”
Brochan’s eyebrows lifted to his hairline. “What do you mean she isnae comin’? We were to be wed a half hour past.”
Fenella cast a glance around before moving closer. She leaned in until her lips brushed his ear, making him grow even warmer. Her voice was soft as she whispered in his ear, the soft puff of her breath wreaking havoc on him.
“She isnae comin’,” Fenella whispered. “She’s run off with a businessman from Glasgow.”
Brochan leaned back and looked down at her, thinking the lass surely must be jesting. Where in the hell would Iona have met a man from Glasgow? It wasn’t like she travelled any further than the neighboring town. And if she’d run off with him, did that mean she’d been seeing him secretly this entire time?
“I know she didnae want to hurt you, Brochan, but she said she fell in love and didnae know how to break things off with you. She’s held it all in until this morning. She left an hour ago.”
“If you’ve known for an hour, lass, why didnae you come and tell me before I stood down here waiting like a bampot? I’ve been made a fool by the entire town, and it could have been avoided if you’d spoken up sooner. People will be laughing about this for ages.”
Her cheeks flushed. “I didnae mean any harm, Brochan. I was scared to tell you, truth be told. I didnae want to be the bearer of bad tidings on your wedding day, or what was supposed to be your wedding day. I know Iona didnae mean any harm, but she had to follow her heart. You can understand that, right? I mean, you’d do the same if your roles were reversed?”
Not hardly. If he were to claim the woman he’d always wanted, he’d have to take Fenella as his wife, and that was never going to happen. Just because taking a younger bride had worked out well for Alasdair, his alpha, it didn’t mean it would work out well for Brochan too. But Christ! He loved the lass more than his next breath and always had. He’d run off more of her boyfriends than he could count, always threatening to rip them to shreds if they darkened her door again. He might not be able to claim her for himself, but that didn’t mean he wanted someone else to have her.
His gaze took in the hungry onlookers, each of them hanging on their every word. Bunch of vultures. They would gossip over this moment for days. Weeks. Hell, possibly months or longer. If Iona were present, he’d wring her neck for putting him in his position. Blowing out a breath, he calmed himself before his beast could rise to the surface. The last thing he needed was to shift in the middle of the church, especially after Fergus’ lapse in judgment not too long ago.
“It’s no’ your fault, Fenella. This is between Iona and me, and she was just too chicken shit to come forward and talk to me herself. You donae need to fret over it. What’s done is done. It’s no’ like you can bring her back, and even if you could, I wouldnae marry her now for all the money in the world. She’s made her bed, let her lie in it.”
Fenella nodded and reached for him, but he held himself stiff and refused to succumb to her charms. If he took her in his arms, it would all be over. With his current state of mind, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold back. He wouldn’t mean to do it, but he’d claim her for certain. There were worse things, he supposed, than living the rest of his life with the woman he loved, but he didn’t want to condemn her to a life of secrecy. She deserved a man who didn’t have to hide his true nature, and children who wouldn’t turn into tigers. If she married him, her life would be one big lie.
That had been fine for Iona, except that she hadn’t known what he was. He’d thought to tell her after the ceremony but before he claimed her. Not that it was a sound plan because so much could have gone wrong, but it was a moot point now. Iona would never learn his secret; he’d never claim her; and now that she was gone, he no longer had a reason to be around Fenella. That was both a blessing and a curse. He’d no longer have to hide how he felt about the young lass, but at the same time, being around her was like feeling the sun on your face. He’d miss that.
“You should go home, lass,” he told her. “I’ll let everyone know there willnae be a wedding today, or any day.”
“Are you sure you donae want me to stay?” she asked uncertainly. “Most of these people are my friends and family. They might take the news better from me.”
“I’ll be fine, lass.”
She nodded and hesitantly walked back up the aisle. When she was out of sight, Brochan heaved a sigh and faced the gathered men, women, and children who were waiting for a wedding that would never take place. God give him strength, because all he wanted to do right now was go get shit faced somewhere until the humiliation was over. No one left Brochan Kinley! Well, until now. He felt the sting of Iona’s rejection, even if he had been doubting their suitability just moments before she’d stood him up. It was the way she’d done it that rankled. If she’d come to him before now, let him know she was having doubts, that she’d met someone else, then he’d have happily walked away and left her to her life. But no, she had to jilt him at the altar. Bitch.
“You’re probably wonderin’ about the delay in the wedding,” Brochan said in a loud voice. “Well, there isnae going to be a wedding. It seems the bride has found herself another groom. Unfortunately, she forgot to tell the rest of us.”
Lachlan Macleod, cousin to the alpha and ambush historian, is not prepared for where the road will take him when he’s sent on a journey to break a curse. When he confronts a witch with a nasty temper, the last thing he expected to find was his mate, but he can’t deny the pull he feels for the temptress.
Kyla Acheson is not all that she seems. Part witch and part shifter, she doesn’t completely belong in either world. Until he walks through her door. The moment Kyla sees Lachlan, she knows her life is about to change. With the intent of forcing him to mate claim her, she gives herself to him with wild abandon, but come morning, it’s Lachlan who will have the last laugh.
Left with more than just the memory of her incredible lover, Kyla is left in a vulnerable position. When she’s run out of town, she can’t think of anywhere to go except straight to Lachlan. But will the tiger welcome her with open arms, or turn from her once more?
This title is available for Free with Kindle Unlimited!
EXCERPT
Kyla Acheson channeled her fury into the storm brewing outside of her small cottage. She’d been a fool, but she’d thought herself in love. She’d had boyfriends over the years, of course, but she’d never let anyone get close until him. And what had he done? Tossed her aside for an arranged marriage within the skulk. Her pride smarted more than anything she supposed. She’d known there was a chance he’d follow through with the arrangement, but she’d held out hope that he loved her enough to break the contract.
She shrieked while her hands clenched at her sides, as thunder rolled and lightning flashed. Kyla was working up a good curse to hurl at the unsuspecting fool when her door nearly shattered from the force of a large, hulking man barreling through it. He let out a stream of curses as he slammed the door shut. Kyla’s fingers twitched with power as she thought about zapping him, but when he turned to face her, she momentarily forgot her anger.
“Who are you?” she asked, taking him in from the worn tips of his boots, up his soaked kilt, across the broad expanse of his chest, and finally settling on his startling gaze.
He swiped at the wet strands of hair sticking to his forehead and glowered at her. “Are you responsible for that mess out there?”
She tipped her chin up a notch. “I am.”
“About done with your temper tantrum?”
Her jaw slackened. No one had dared speak to her like that in all her life! Most feared her power, and with the exception of the young fool who tossed her aside, they treated her with a healthy dose of respect. Men didn’t just charge into her home and take her to task for losing her temper; it just wasn’t done.
“What right do you have to make demands of me?” she snapped.
He gave her a mock bow. “Lachlan Macleod at your service. I’ve come in hopes you might be of assistance to my ambush.”
Her eyebrows winged up. “A tiger? You’re a tiger shifter?”
He gave her a mocking smile. “Did you think I was something a wee bit smaller?”
Of their own volition, her eyes dropped to his kilt. No, he definitely wasn’t small, in any manner. And if the lifting of his kilt was any indication, he found her attractive, despite the storm and her sharp tongue. Perhaps she could use that to her advantage? If he could help her save face with the skulk…
“I’ll help you with one condition,” she said.
“My alpha has authorized me to give you anything you want. Do you want me to bash a few foxes in the head before we leave town? I’m assuming they’re the reason for the storm outside.”
“There are more ways to win a war than by brute force.” She smiled and sauntered closer, reaching out to caress his damp chest with her fingertips.
He narrowed his eyes. “I donae ken.”
“It’s obvious you like me.” She licked her lips and dropped her gaze before looking him in the eyes again. “You have the wild look of an unmated male. Wouldnae your life be better if you were more…settled?”
He folded his arms over his chest, forcing her back a step. “Are you offering to find me a mate?”
“Oh, I’m offering you something much, much better.” She smiled broadly. “Me.”
His gaze caressed her from head to toe then back up, stopping on her breasts for a moment. A purr rumbled out of him and he advanced, snaking an arm around her waist and bringing her up tight against his hard body. And he was definitely hard in all the right places. Oh, the fun she could have with him!
“No’ that I donae find you attractive, but why would a lass such as yourself wish to tumble into bed with me?”
She licked her lips, went up on tiptoe, and nearly brushed his lips with her own. Her gaze fastened on his. “You misunderstood, Highlander. I wasnae offering a quick tumble.”
He gave her a lecherous smile before tightening his grip on her. “Aye, I ken. You want it nice and slow. I can do that.”
Before she could protest and demand that he take her as his mate, he was kissing her, his mouth harsh and demanding. The kiss was deep and delicious, a kiss she felt from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. He was fierce and passionate, leaving her weak-kneed and wanting more. She’d been kissed before, but never like this. There was a stirring inside her; a yearning deep inside that Kyla had never felt before. Being in the tiger’s arms was making her stomach flip and her heart race. With her body heating from the inside out, she clutched at his shoulders and silently begged him to never stop.
About the Author
Kenna McKay is a lover of all things Scottish—especially men in kilts! There’s just something sexy about Scotsmen. The Scottish burr, perhaps? Their rugged good looks? Maybe it’s not just one thing, but everything combined into one mouthwatering package.
Kenna didn’t start out wanting to be a writer, but she’s loved the written word for as long as she can remember. Writing stories from a young age, it wasn’t until 2014 that she decided she wanted to be a published author.
