Was he real or had she lost her mind? Lindsay Sumner, an overworked nurse, isn't quite sure what to make of the handsome Highlander who is bound and determined to love her…all of her, body and soul.
The water felt so good. She needed this soak. Standing on her feet for twelve hours was too much.
"Wish I'd thought of grabbing a glass of wine before I climbed in," Lindsay muttered, easing deeper into the steaming water. She really needed to cut back her schedule at the hospital. Maybe she could get Beverly to swap her for Sunday. Then she'd have a long weekend.
She snorted softly at the thought. When had two days become a long weekend?
"It doesn't matter. A break is a break," she said, soaping her body with a lavender scented gel. Tomorrow she'd talk to Beverly and then see about getting her schedule changed. She didn't need to work extra hours, she didn't need the money.
"But you don't have anything else to do," she said with a sigh as she hung the washcloth over the spout. "No close friends, no male friends, nobody. But nursing is fulfilling. It's all I need," she lied, as she lay back and closed her eyes.
Although rewarding, the work was often grueling. She enjoyed helping people, but sometimes, times when she couldn't help people, it hurt. And lately there was an awful lot of hurt.
Her thoughts rambled from one case to another until the painful images began to fade and she dozed.
"The water has grown cold, lass."
With a small screech, Lindsay sat bolt upright in the tub and covered everything she could with her hands. She would've snagged her washcloth, although it wouldn't have helped her much, but it had disappeared, as had everything else. She was no longer in her bathroom, but in what looked like a castle bedchamber.
The Highlander's Fury
Laird Faolan MacKay's advisers are pushing him to wed. Faolan has lost everyone he's ever loved and would rather travel to hell than down the aisle. To silence his advisers, Faolan chooses a woman rumored to be meek and easy to ignore. One problem: nobody ignores Ciara.
Against his will, he's enthralled with his new wife--to Ciara's surprise, the mortal affliction called love burns hotter than her hunger for vengeance. But when their time is up and Ciara must leave, can the bond of love overcome the edict of the ultimate powers?
Her smile was the first thing Faolan noticed, full lips with a sensuous pout, upturned with an air of generosity. She nodded and smiled her welcome to all in the room as she moved gracefully through the archway. Faolan followed the curve of her high cheekbones, his chest tightening at the intelligence sparkling in her gaze. Her eyes shimmered golden. They burnished warm as honey-flavored brandy swirling beneath the glow of torch light. Her sleek black curls piled high upon her head, held in place by a golden circlet. Her crimson gown fit her narrow waist and flattered the curve of her hips. Her neckline plunged low enough to quicken her intended’s heart but still modest enough to befit a maiden. She was taller then he’d thought she’d be. He could’ve sworn his informants had reported Dierdra Sinclair a wispy, elfin lass. The woman before him stood tall and willowy. The top of her head neared his shoulders and Faolan stood well over six and a half feet tall.
She moved with the fluid grace of one accustomed to being among crowds. She nodded and greeted each person she met with perfect ease. There was nothing simple-minded about this lass in anything she did. She carried herself with an air of surety. This woman knew her place in the world.
Faolan ground his teeth as the realization hit him: Dierdra Sinclair was not in need of saving. Faolan’s gut wrenched. He’d been played the fool, a duped pawn set into place for the taking.
Betrayed by her brother’s lies, Catriona MacKenzie is banished from her Edinburgh home to her
godmother’s remote manor in the Highlands. While her father ponders her fate, Catriona’s insatiable curiosity leads her straight into trouble--and into the arms of a notorious Highlander.
Five years after an ill-fated Jacobite rebellion, Rory Cameron works as a smuggler to raise money for the cause--until Catriona uncovers a plot against him and exposes his activities. Now Rory is faced with a decision that could save their lives or destroy them both.
Intrigued, any thought of detection forgotten, Catriona let her gaze drift over him, taking in his worn kilt and plaid. The light-brown linen shirt gaped open at the neck, revealing a soft sprinkling of hair on bronzed skin; his sleeves rolled up over strong, muscled arms. His bearings put him above the other men in status but his body proved him to be a man of the out-of-doors. To her surprise, his chin was not covered with an unkempt beard—like his companions’ shaggy faces—but only bore a hint of stubble. Here was a man who shaved regularly.
Catriona’s mind whirled as she let her gaze wander further across his ruggedly handsome features. His open face with strong cheekbones and wide-set eyes spoke of power, a forceful character. Dark blond hair, glowing in the light of the tallow candles, was tied back at the nape of his neck. Most certainly he was not a drover. But why was he sharing their whisky? He piqued her curiosity and, in the absence of any other form of entertainment in this bare inn, she found herself fascinated.
When he glanced up from his cup, their eyes met. They held for a moment that stretched like eternity. His, a vibrant green that sparkled across the smoky room, mocked her apparent interest. Caught in the act, she blushed and quickly busied herself adjusting the folds of her dress before extending her hands to the fire, thereby turning her back to the room. How obvious her scrutiny had been! Her cheeks flamed, and not just from the heat of the fire.
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