A Highlander's Obsession
Page 1
Early Praise for A Highlander’s Obsession
“A Highlander’s Obsession is a passionately sexy paranormal romance. It is a full-length novel, but one of those stories you’ll want to read in a single sitting. It is perfectly paced and distractingly addictive. Creighton and Paisley share a passion that sizzles off the page, while the narrative is surprisingly witty. One minute Vonnie Davis’s writing had me shrieking with laughter, the next I was furiously fanning my face as Creighton and Paisley heated up the pages with their romance.”
—HELENA, Love Reading Romances Reviews
“One of my favorite reads so far this year … I loved A Highlander’s Obsession. I was pulled in from the beginning. It is sexy and funny with a strong story line. Creighton is swoon worthy and hot.”
—LORI HALUSKA-SMITH, Hopelessly Hooked on Books Reviews
“While I enjoy all sub-genres of romance, A Highlander’s Obsession, Ms. Davis’s funny, sexy, and suspenseful new paranormal romance, has shot to the top of my list!”
—DIXIE LEE BROWN, author of the Trust No One series
“Brilliant, sexy and laugh-out-loud hilarious, A Highlander’s Obsession belongs on the keeper shelf to enjoy again and again, right next to all of Vonnie Davis’s fabulous stories! Get ready to fall in love. Creighton Matheson has just skyrocketed to the top of my all-time favorite romance heroes list! I can’t wait for the other books in this series. Kudos to Ms. Davis for creating this memorable paranormal romance.”
—AJ NUEST, author of The Golden Key Chronicles series
“Sexy and funny with characters that walk straight into your heart … Vonnie Davis will have you rushing to turn the pages until the very last word. Scots, kilts, and bears … oh, my!”
—SARAH GRIMM, author of the Black Phoenix series
“Vonnie Davis delivers a sexy paranormal romance to tickle your funny bone and leave you sighing.”
—MACKENZIE CROWNE, author of A Song for Sophie
“A Highlander’s Obsession is one of those stories you never want to end. A sizzling romance packed with a hot, kilted hero, an ancient curse, and the magical beauty of the Highlands. I laughed. I cried. I cheered. I cursed. Don’t miss this delightful escape from ‘real’ life!”
—MAEVE GREYSON, author of A Highlander in Her Past
“Charming, sexy, and full of surprises; A Highlander’s Obsession is all this and more. Add it to your ‘must-read’ list. Warning: You’re going to fall in love with Creighton and his clan.”
—AMIE LOUELLEN, author of Ten Reasons Not to Date a Cop
A Highlander’s Obsession is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A Loveswept eBook Original
Copyright © 2014 by Vonnie Davis
Excerpt from Sexiest Man Alive by Juliet Rosetti copyright © 2014 by Juliet Rosetti
Published in the United States of America by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.
LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Random House LLC.
Cover design: Seductive Designs
Cover photograph: Hot Damn Stock
Cover background: Depositphotos.com/FairytaleDesign
eBook ISBN 978-0-8041-7930-0
www.readloveswept.com
v3.1
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Dedication
Acknowledgments
About the Author
The Editor’s Corner
Excerpt from The Sexiest Man Alive
Chapter One
Paisley Munro tried not to 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 capital 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 of 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 email 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 bony 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 gave the English language a lyrical sway.
The shorter of the two men, sporting a close-cropped 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 chestnut 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, the beads in his shoulder-length braids clacking as 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 it 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 fer her.”
She relaxed and exhaled the breath she hadn’t realiz
ed she’d been holding. Tension eased and her shoulders dropped. Traveling across the Atlantic was a strain under the best of circumstances. Bringing Gram here to the northeastern 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 fer 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. I also help take care of our stock.”
“And Creighton?”
“Hell, Creighton sees to everybody.”
Both men chuckled.
Bryce cleared his throat. “He’s the heid bummer … ah … the boss, lass, bein’ he’s the eldest, ye see.”
Gram walked between the brothers, and slipped an arm through each man’s bent elbow. When she glanced over her shoulder at Paisley, her eyes gleamed with pleasure. “These two are mine, sweet pea. The next man in a kilt is yours. In Scotland, it’s every woman for herself.”
The pair in plaid laughed and inclined their heads to the older woman as she prattled and flirted in a way Paisley never tried.
She shook her head and followed. No use to fuss at her; let her have her fun. Gram had to be exhausted. After a five-hour layover in Atlanta, the flight from the States, including a four-hour break at Heathrow and an hour in Aberdeen, their last-minute trip was nearly twenty-two hours of a sardine existence. They each needed a hot bath, a cup of herbal tea, and a soft bed.
Once they’d left the lights of the town of Inverness and sped down the two-lane country road to Matheson Lodge, darkness surrounded them. Strong winds shook the vehicle as they got closer to what Ronan called Mathe Bay. Rain seemed to come horizontally, and Ronan slowed the car as he leaned over the steering wheel to peer into the storm.
Evidently, the continual ground turbulence soothed Gram, for she was asleep within a few minutes. Paisley slipped off her jacket and laid it across Gram’s small frame. There was no one she loved more than this feisty woman.
When Paisley turned twelve and entered the emotional stage of puberty, more than the typical hormonal changes occurred. Her parents, obsessed with elevating their status within the business world, possessed little patience for a preteen who suddenly claimed she heard animals speak. She became an embarrassment to them. An oddity. A freak.
Gram came to her rescue. She took Paisley into her home and loved and accepted her—the good, the bad, and the different. Where would she be without this elderly dynamo? A long sigh escaped and she shifted in her seat to stare out the window into the darkness.
Ronan stepped on the brake and the Land Rover hydroplaned for a short distance. He fought to keep control. “Bloody hell, I can barely see beyond the end of the hood. The weatherman didna predict this storm.”
Bryce leaned forward. “All this rain and wind has me seeing things. Is that an owl flying just in front of our vehicle? It canna be.”
“Aye, ’tis an owl and a white one, to boot. Ours, in fact. What the bloody hell our cailleach-oidhche is doing here is beyond me.” Ronan slowed the car to a crawl.
The owl slowed also.
I will lead ye safely to the lodge, American. Ye are the answer.
Paisley stiffened and used her gift to communicate with the owl. The answer to what?
This ye will learn. Never fear.
Unease prickled her skin, much as the rain pelted the car. How would an owl know she was from America? She hung her head and rubbed her forehead to ease her headache. For that matter, how did the owl know she could communicate with him? She straightened and her breath clogged in her lungs. Glowing eyes blinked at her from the forest. Three pair from the dark, twisted shadows of the trees.
One golden pair rose, as if the four-legged animal stood on two legs. By the height of its eyes that blazed in the inky night, it was a tall creature. Maybe the animal had simply climbed a tree. Yes, that had to be it. She pushed her glasses farther up her nose then blinked to bring everything into focus. Then …
Aye, ’tis the lodge’s Land Rover, all right. The Americans are here.
Paisley gasped, glad the music blaring from the speakers drowned out her reaction. Did the entire animal kingdom know she was from America? She’d been hearing animals talk for over thirteen years. Horses, dogs, cats, and cows. A snake or two. One rambunctious raccoon. They only talked about conditions and issues they knew about. How would animals in the wild know the correct make of a vehicle or about their arrival? Unease crept up her spine. What was going on here?
We better hurry back to the lodge.
Right behind ye.
Not so fast ye two. Ye know I’ve got a sore paw.
Suck it up, ye bas’. This from the first animal, obviously the leader of the bunch or pack.
Paisley leaned forward and tapped Bryce on the shoulder. “What kind of animals do you have in the wild here?”
He lowered the volume on the radio before turning to regard her. “The usual, miss. Mountain hares, red squirrels, deer. A few pine martins.” He lifted a shoulder. “Wildcats.”
Maybe she saw a wildcat climbing a tree. Still, wouldn’t its eyes face the tree as it climbed? This animal’s eyes had remained focused on the vehicle as it slowly passed. “Any animals that stand on hind legs?”
Bryce’s voice rose in pitch, “Hind legs?”
“Yes, like a bear.” Maybe the lead animal had climbed a tree; maybe it hadn’t.
Ronan looked at Bryce before he spoke. “Bears are extinct here in Scotland, miss. Have been fer over a thousand years.”
Something in the tone of his voice made her ill at ease. “Oh, really?”
“Aye. Remind me to tell ye the legend behind that. Perhaps one night over a glass of tipple in front of a roaring fire.”
“Tipple?”
He glanced in the rearview mirror. “Sorry. Tipple is an alcoholic drink. Beer or ale, fer example.” He exhaled a sigh. “Thank goodness the rain has stopped. I had trouble seeing the road.” He exhaled a bark of laughter. “Would ye look at that fukin’ owl? It’s as if he’s leading the way fer us.”
Ronan made a right onto a narrow road. In the beam of the headlights, the thin, black rutted path wrapped around what appeared to be solid rock. Mist rolled across the road like gauzy balls of vapor conjured by some secret sorcery, adding another layer to the suddenly eerie surroundings. Paisley shivered, trying to bring her thoughts back to reality from the mystical part of her soul.
Bryce shifted in his seat to glance over his shoulder, the beads in his braids jangling. “We’re almost there. Once we cross the moat.”
“The moat. Yes. I saw the lovely pictures on your website. I wish it were daylight so I could see it.” I also wish I knew what kind of animals I just heard, and what the owl meant when it said I was the answer. The answer to what?
Faint lights appeared on their left. Ronan nodded toward them. “That’s Mathe Castle. We call it Matheson Lodge now. Tomorrow you
’ll see the castle is perched on granite cliffs like a queen on her throne.” He slowed to cross the bridge over the moat and, when he did, the owl soared into the fog as if his escorting detail were over. “Looks as if the bloody storm knocked the power out again. I’ll have to power up the generator.”
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.