Two wandering souls discover that true love needs no words in this explosive, fantastical novel from Vonnie Davis.
Somehow able to telepathically communicate with animals, Paisley Munro has found meaning in her so-called gifts by working as a veterinary assistant. But while traveling to Scotland for a relative’s funeral, Paisley fears that she really has lost her mind. Out in the highlands, she hears distinctly human thoughts coming from a wild bear. Terrified and desperate, she returns to the lodge and collapses in the powerful arms of its owner, a mysterious man with whom she shares a simmering attraction.
Creighton Matheson and his fellow shape-shifters have been roaming this land freely for centuries. Now Paisley may inherit his home, putting his kind in grave danger. His mistrust only deepens when he realizes she can read his mind. Yet he cannot deny that this tantalizing woman makes him burn with desire—and hunger for the prospect of a tender love. Now Creighton must decide which would hurt more: revealing the truth or losing Paisley forever.
Here's an excerpt...a sneak peak at my first paranormal romance, A Highlander's Beloved. The opening scene, in fact...
Paisley Munro tried to not gawk at the two broad-shouldered men in kilts as she hefted her suitcase off the luggage carousel in the Inverness Airport, located northeast of the city referred to as the capitol of the Scottish Highlands. Her grandmother, on the other hand, was all eyes.
“Before we leave this country, I’m finding out what they wear under those kilts, even if I have to hike one up and take a gander myself.” Her grandmother patted her curls. She’d dyed her hair dark red for the trip. Unfortunately, the inability of her white hair to absorb the dye’s full effect resulted in a halo of pink curls. The combination of her tresses and her pink pantsuit made her look like the Pink Panther with wrinkles, just as skinny and wiry but without the tail.
“Behave yourself, Gram.” Paisley tugged her grandmother’s luggage off the slowly moving belt that squeaked with every couple inches gained. No use telling the free spirit to act her age. At seventy-four, why should she start now? “Our ride ought to be here somewhere.”
Paisley glanced around for Fiona Matheson, who should be holding a sign for Matheson Lodge. Fiona had promised in her reservation confirmation e-mail she’d meet them.
Gram elbowed her. “Good grief, they’re coming toward us. Look at those broad shoulders and hairy legs. I’m not drooling, am I?” She pulled her shoulders back and thrust out her chest. She lowered her chin to talk to her breasts. “Look perky, girls. Sexy hunks at two o’clock.”
“Would you please behave?” Paisley wrapped her hand around her gram’s boney elbow, prepared to lead her around the wall of Scottish brawn sauntering toward them. Who knew what kind of men they were.
“Guid eenin. Whit’s yer name?”
“Excuse me?” She’d hoped the language wouldn’t be a problem. Now she wasn’t so sure.
The honey-haired man cleared his throat. “Pardon, I forgot me English.” He bowed slightly.
Her grandmother all but purred.
“Good evening, ladies. Would ye be the Americans then? The Munros?” His thick burr created a lyrical sway to the English language.
The shorter of the two men, sporting a close-cropped red beard and mustache, had his hand over his mouth, pinching his lips together as if to keep them from spreading into a smile. Too bad the mirth twinkling in his brown eyes gave him away, that and his eyebrows rising to kiss his auburn hairline. His gaze alternately slid from Gram’s pink hair to the pink pelican bedroom slippers she insisted on wearing whenever she flew. “Conversation starters,” she called them. Finally, the battle lost, he turned his back to them, and his shoulders shook with silent laughter.
Paisley pushed her glasses up her nose and scowled at him, trying to decide if she should ignore his rudeness or call him on it. Figuring he wasn’t worth upsetting Gram, she turned to the other man. “Yes. Who might you be?”
He extended a large hand. “I’m Ronan Matheson and this is me youngest brother, Bryce. We’ve come to take ye to Matheson Lodge.”
“I was expecting someone else.” Should she trust these strangers?
“Aye, lass. Me mum, Fiona. Bryce’s daughter has a wee bit o’ colic, so Mum stayed home to care for her.”
She relaxed and exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Tension eased and her shoulders dropped. Traveling was a strain under the best of circumstances. Bringing Gram here to the northern edge of Scotland so she could attend the funeral of her uncle doubled the stress. She worried the trip would be too tiring for her. “I’m Paisley Munro and this is my grandmother, Effie Iverson Munro.”
Ronan took Gram’s hand. “So this young lady is Angus Iverson’s niece, then? Why, yer too pretty to be a relation of old Angus, the goat.” He winced. “God forgive me for speaking ill of the dead.” He bowed and kissed Gram’s hand. “Ye have our deepest sympathy, Mrs. Munro.”
The man certainly knew how to schmooze the customers. Or was he a natural flirt?
Gram batted her eyelashes. “Aren’t you the cutest thing? Thank you. Your concern is quite touching. Although, I must admit, I haven’t seen Uncle Angus since I was a teenager and he came to America on a steamer for a visit.”
Ronan reached for the handle of Gram’s suitcase before bending his elbow toward her. “Well, lassies, we should head off. Creighton will be expecting us.”
“Creighton?” Paisley allowed Bryce to take her suitcase.
“He runs the lodge, miss.” Bryce’s lips were bright red from being pinched so hard. “He’s our eldest brother. We’ve a family run business. Our mother handles reservations and oversees the hired help. Ronan sees to the interior workings of the lodge. Plumbing, electrical and carpentry. I see to the upkeep of the grounds and the vehicles.”
“Hell, Creighton sees to everybody.”