Five weeks and counting. That's how long before A HIGHLANDER'S OBSESSION releases. Am I nervous? Do washers eat socks? For one thing, this is my first romance with paranormal elements, something I know so little of. I know, I know. What was I thinking? Second, this is my first book with Random House Loveswept. What if it completely bombs?
Quick, someone pass me a pitcher of margaritas and ten pounds of chocolate. I'll be all right.
I thought I'd share the first time my hero, Creighton Matheson sees Paisley Munro. It's a stormy night and the power is knocked out at the castle turned lodge. Even so, he stands at the top of the steps to greet his guests. First, I'll give you Paisley's impression of him...then I'll pop heads on you and show you how he reacts the first time he sees her. Oh, and it will help you to know that Paisley is an animal communicator. She can hear and speak with them ... One more thing.
Baffies are Scottish for bedroom slippers. It's explained in the book, but not in this passage.
Paisley
stared at the darkened shape, illuminated and shadowed by twin torches flanking
each of the five stone steps leading to the massive doorway. Their flames
danced in the wind, bouncing, twirling, and bowing.
A mountain
of granite sculpted into the shape of a man—or so it appeared—stood between the
rows of torches. His stance wide, proud chin jutted into the howling wind as if
he commanded its force. Long dark hair billowed. Eyes blazed with arrogance. A
width of plaid draped diagonally across his broad chest while his kilt flapped
in the tempest.
Fascination
and foreboding swept through her. Her stomach tensed. Her breathing quickened.
Whoever he was, she wasn’t eager to meet him.
* * *
Creighton Matheson’s jaw clenched
as the Land Rover approached. What few leaves remained on the whitebeam and
birch trees tumbled across the driveway in a windswept dance. Tires crunched on
the gravel as the Land Rover eased to a stop at the foot of the steps.
He was
eager to meet these Munros from America, especially Angus Iverson’s niece. He
scowled at the vehicle, allowing his ire to flame and spread. One of the
passengers planned to break up the six hundred acres of the Iverson estate and
sell to American corporations. The pristine habitat, freely roamed by his
ancestors and his current sleuth of bears, would be greatly reduced. They’d no
doubt lose access to their caves and dens.
Ronan
helped an older woman from the Land Rover while Bryce hurried to the back hatch
to remove their luggage. Creighton blinked as his gaze settled on the small,
spindly woman. The beam from Ronan’s flashlight flickered over her for a few
seconds. Bloody hell. Is that pink hair?
What manner of baffies is she wearing on her feet? She looks like a walking
pink crayon.
A younger
woman slid across the backseat to exit the vehicle and pulled on a coat. For a
few seconds, something unseen fisted its scorching hands around his lungs and
slowly squeezed until his breathing stopped. Although he enjoyed women, none
had ever sucked the breath from his lungs before. Ye are a
simpleton, man. She’s just an ordinary lass.
Her hair
was the color of sweet golden gale, his favorite Highland flower. She wore her
tresses chin length, a tempting sight blowing wild in the wind like the blonde
mantle of a Viking princess. Creighton scowled; too bad he hated the Vikings.
Ronan
escorted the lady in pink up the castle’s steps. The younger woman hurried to
catch up. Her open coat billowed, showcasing long legs in snug blue jeans and
full breasts under a white sweater. She fought to keep her windswept hair out
of her face.
He reached
to take the hand of the pink person, trying hard to focus on her face and not
those ridiculous pelican baffies. “Welcome
to Matheson Lodge, ma’am.”
The woman
barely acknowledged him, waving a hand in his direction and speaking to her
blonde companion. “He’s all yours, sweet pea. Where’s the bathroom? I have to
tinkle.” She whizzed by him, a woman obviously in need of the lavy.
Shocked by
her dismissal, Creighton’s hand remained outstretched. Wait, this wasna how he
did things. Before guests stepped into his home, he gave them a brief prepared
speech on the history of Mathe Castle and how his family converted it into a
lodge. People didn’t just barge in like field mice in search of cheese. There
were customs and rituals to adhere to.
Ronan
spared him an aggravated glance as he hurried after the older woman. “I’ll see
to the generator. Take care of Paisley. She saw some strange animals on our way
here.” His expression and tone were telling.
Creighton
mentally opened the telepathic shield to his inner bear’s thoughts. Did
she now? I’m sure the American twit didna ken what she saw. He
turned his gaze on the blonde. Blue eyes, snapped open impossibly wide,
dominated her face. Or was it those round, black-framed glasses? Her mouth
opened and closed as if she were trying to speak and couldn’t find her tongue.
Her hand fluttered to her throat and her eyes rolled back in her head.
“Bloody
hell.” He reached out and caught her as she folded at his feet. He brought the
limp form to his chest. She’d passed out. Travel fatigue, perhaps? He sneered.
“Fragile Americans.” What was he to do with the lass? He studied her face. She
was a pretty thing with lots of alluring curves.
Bryce took
the steps two at a time, his hands full of luggage. “Bloody hell, Creighton.
Ye’ve got the ladies swooning at yer feet.” He paused and stared at the
unconscious woman. “She’s a looker. Got an eye-catching form, she does. I
wouldn’t mind snuggling up to her on a bitchin’ cold night.”
Creighton’s
scowl deepened and he pulled her closer to his chest. The urge to swipe at his
brother was strong, which bothered him, but not nearly as much as this novel
feeling of possessiveness. Mine, the bear within him proclaimed.
YOU CAN PRE-ORDER ON AMAZON AT
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Meanwhile I'm frantically writing A HIGHLANDER'S PASSION, book two of the Highlander's Beloved Trilogy, which is the romance of the youngest brother, Bryce, and his childhood best friend. A grown woman that he's hurt a time or two. Can she forgive and trust this chick magnet?
