The Billionaire's Family Jewels: Flesh and Stone

by Spice Pendleton

  I subjected him to a deeper inspection. Gray eyes, sexy jawline, and dimpled chin. Broad shoulders. Lean, narrow waist. Well-muscled legs showcased in a dark green kilt that couldn’t hide his powerful thighs.

  I did a double take. Umm…kilt?

  “Duncan, hand me a plaid, will ye, lad?” the blond man asked.

  What a fucking sexy accent. His voice rumbled in his chest, vibrating beneath my breasts now plastered against his abs. Whoa there, those abs … rock-hard and pronounced even under that puffy white shirt—just like the abs I’d been dreaming of.

  I shivered and not because I was cold.

  A ripple of disappointment followed. Hell. This wasn’t real. It had to be a dream.

  A length of cloth arced over my head. My dream dude took a step back and catching the green material, swirled it over my shoulders with an adroit flick of his wrist.

  Wool? In this heat? I glanced down and noticed my state of undress for the first time. Somehow, I’d lost my coat and ripped the knees of my jeans. Damn. I’d paid a fortune for these Lucky Sweet ‘N Lows and I’d only worn them twice. And my blouse? Well, it didn’t exist anymore, except for the few shreds of cloth draped across my black lacy bra.

  Puzzled, I surveyed the blond watching me. He was handsome, majorly ripped, and looked more like a Chippendale poster boy than anything else—a Chippendale sporting a kilt and massive sword buckled around his waist, anyway.

  Hmmm … yeah. It was definitely a dream. I’d heard of lucid dreams and how they mimicked real life. I’d never had one … but now I had? Wow. No wonder people devoted entire Internet forums to lucid dreaming.

  I eyed the man surveying me with a somewhat bemused expression and almost cackled aloud. Yep, instant, easy decision here. I was gonna have sex with all six-foot-three inches of this guy—and fast, before he faded away.

  “And what ill luck befell ye, lass?” the man queried in obvious concern. “And how might ye be named?”

  Right. Well, according to what I’d read about lucid dreams, the dreamer controlled them. I wasn’t going to waste my time with small talk. But names were good. I wanted to hear him screaming mine as he came.

  “Charisse,” I said, dropping the plaid from my shoulders to expose my perky breasts clad in a thin sheath of satin. “And yours?”

  He arched a brow. His gray-eyed gaze crinkled with humor as it raked me from head to toe, after lingering on my breasts, of course.

  Yeah, now we were talking. I inched closer.

  “Jamie,” he said, his eyes slowly returning to mine. “Jamie MacLeod of Dunvegan.”

  Huh? Oh, yeah, I’d asked his naaaaame. Okay, fine. Enough small talk.

  “Well then, Jamie,” I said, boldly stepping into him. “What do you say we ditch this place, huh? Let’s get down to business.” I slid my hand over his groin and groped for his cock. Whoa there. Didn’t know there was a Plus Size—

  Fingers of steel closed over my wrist. My dream boy possessed the audacity to pluck my hand away from his package. “Are ye drunk, lass?” he asked, his brows drawn into a stunned, bristling line.

  Guffaws of laughter sounded from behind us, causing me to glance at his companions for the first time.

  Two men lounged on their horses. The first, a slightly older, laughing red-haired version of Jamie—obviously, a close relative—and the second, a so-very-unamused dark-haired dude with bright blue eyes and a hawk nose.

  Damn! Who were these men? Handsome, the lot.

  “She’s a Sassenach,” the dark-haired man grated, glaring at me from the lengths of his nose. “Mayhap even an English spy and seeking to distract ye from the matter at hand, I’ll warrant.”

  Jamie caught my chin with his hand and spun me around. “Aye then, tell me what’s happening in this cottage, lass, and what part ye’ve played in it.”

  I noticed the cottage for the first time, a picturesque stone affair with a sturdy, thatched roof, wooden shutters, and a black-ironed hinged door. Vines covered the walls and weeds choked the herb garden near the back. Evidently, the place hadn’t been inhabited for some time.

  The incredible detail caught my eye and fascinated me. Who’d have thought my mind could generate this comprehensive of a dreamscape? If it hadn’t been for Jamie, I might’ve thought I’d been transported back in time. But with that blond stud in the picture—hell, men like that didn’t exist.

  Turning back to Jamie, I dropped my gaze over his rock-hard body, practically drooling as I quipped, “Quaint cottage. I could sell that pretty fast in real life, after plumbing and electrical, of course.”

  The man lifted a perplexed brow. “Ach, but ye say outlandish things, lass,” he said. “Tell me what ye know of spirits wailing in yon cottage at the dead of night, no?”

  Ghosts? A lucid mystery? Who’d have thought. Grinning, I just went with it. “Are there ghosts there? And you’re like the medieval Ghostbusters or something?”

  Just what had I eaten to come up with this? I couldn’t help but grin wider.

  Jamie’s brow inched higher at my response. At this rate, it’d be in his hairline soon.

  His dark-haired companion wasn’t as amused, though. Snorting in contempt, he warned, “We’ve ways to loosen your tongue, lass.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. Yeah, he was so very tall, dark, and handsome. A total bad boy. Briefly, I wondered what ‘ways’ referred to in my dream world, and while I’d probably end up loving it, I had more of a thing for the blond Jamie. Call it instant attraction, love at first sight, or whatever.

  “Thanks, but I’m happy with Jamie,” I said, shrugging.

  Both Jamie and the red-haired man snorted with laughter.

  The dark-haired dude glared, but confusion washed over his face. “As daft as a loon,” he muttered.

  “Ach now, Duncan,” Jamie addressed the man with a twinkle in his gray eyes. “Go with Alistair and speak with the blacksmith, aye? I’ll stay here with the lass and unravel this mystery a wee bit ere ye return, and then we’ll hie off to the innkeeper. The man should be back by then, I’d think. But ‘tis best ye go now, aye?”

  Yeah, now we were talking.

  “Aye then,” Duncan growled.

  Ignoring me outright, he dug his heels into his horse’s flank and set off down a tree-lined, rock-studded path I hadn’t noticed before. I glanced around. Yeah, this wasn’t my typical dreamscape. I was obviously way out in the boonies without one hint of a cement sidewalk or tire track in sight.

  Shrugging it all off, I returned my attention to the red-haired Alistair. He wasn’t as eager to leave as his surly companion had been. He sat there, leaning over the pommel of his saddle as he eyed both Jamie and I with a droll grin. “And which mystery will ye be unraveling, Jamie lad?” he inquired in a distinctively suggestive tone. “The one the laird bade us to uncover or mayhap a far bonnier—”

  “Hie yourself off, cousin,” Jamie cut him short, stepping forward to give the man’s horse a playful swat on the rump.

  The horse shied back but Alistair easily brought the beast under control, the corded muscles on his arms straining just enough to catch my attention.

  Hot damn, but I was enjoying this dream.

  Alistair winked at me and flashed Jamie a broad grin. “Enjoy yourself, aye?” And with that, he turned his horse’s head and cantered away after Duncan.

  “Nice,” I murmured, eyeing the man’s incredible physique as he disappeared through the trees. Facing Jamie, I gave him the once-over again. Yeah, Jamie still held the edge. Satisfied with my choice, I reached over and tickled his chest.

  The day was warm, the sky blue, and the clouds big and puffy. And birds? I’d never heard such a chorus in my life. Definitely an idyllic place to get laid. I dropped the plaid altogether and summoned my best come-hither smile, complete with the fluttering of the lashes.

  “Shall we get started, big boy?” I asked in a seductive tone.

  “Aye,” he readily agreed, looking more amused than anything else.

  Ye
ah, that wasn’t the right expression. From what I recalled, lucid dreamers changed their dreams at will.

  Time to exercise a bit of control before you wake up entirely, Charisse!

  I fluttered my lashes and concentrated on the Scottish highlander peering down at me. I wanted those piercing eyes filled with lust, not humor. Hell, I wanted him panting, driven with need as he thrust his freaking, hot dick inside my pussy, again and again. That mental image alone made me hot and wet. Yep, obviously the right path here. Still keeping that visual uppermost in my mind, I hazarded a quick glance at the object of my desire.

  Hmmm…

  As our eyes met, he merely arched his brow. Again.

  Laser-like focus required, Charisse!

  I redoubled my efforts, picturing him tossing his head back, screaming my name as his face suffused with passion and his massive shoulders shuddered. He’d pump his load deep inside me, filling me completely as we both screamed our release.

  Again…nothing.

  Well, the second brow joined the first one this time and the only thing in those eyes smacked of curiosity.

  Hmmm…I wasn’t doing so great. But then, what could I expect? It was my first lucid experience. I’d probably do better with a direct approach.

  I arched closer, pressing myself against him and reached for that Extra-Sized package I’d got a tantalizing feel of before.

  “Ach, but you’re like a cat in heat, lass,” he grunted, blocking my hand.

  “Then why don’t you take care of that, huh?” I asked, sotto voce. I didn’t wait but moved right into him and rubbed my breasts against his chest. “Geez, what’s taking you so long?” I couldn’t resist complaining under my breath. “I thought lucid dreams were mine to control.”

  “’Struth, but ye speak strange words,” he muttered. “I dinna ken the half of them. But I’m no man to take advantage of a woman in her cups.”

  “In her what?” I snorted. Cups? “What the heck does that mean?”

  “Drunk,” came the short explanation.

  Drunk?

  “What the—I’m not drunk!” I sputtered, shocked. Who’d have thought dream toons would resist having sex? Frick. Did my dreams have to mimic real life so closely? I scowled. “So, when a woman comes onto a guy, she can’t just want sex? She has to be drunk?”

  “Then if you’re of sound mind, tell me, what’s happening here, no?” he asked instead, nodding at the vine-clothed cottage behind him. “I’ve no time to spare with foolish tales of spirits and ghosts.”

  “Well, I just got here myself.” I shrugged, disappointed with the strange twist things had taken. “Beats me.”

  Jamie searched my face, his carved lips forming a thin line. Those lips. They were incredible. They begged to be touched. And what would they feel like? He had a shadow of stubble covering his jaw as well. Just the right amount for a little healthy friction—

  Oh … he was talking.

  Tuning back into the conversation, I heard him ask, “And what lands do ye harken from, lass? I canna recall meeting your like afore.”

  I heaved a wistful, hearty sigh at that one. “Yeah, the same,” I agreed. “Not too many kilt-wearing studs running around in Iowa—especially in January.” I turned back to the house, curious about the mystery in spite of myself. “So why do you think it’s haunted?”

  “’Tis not I who thinks such drivel,” he answered, his tone laced with contempt. “At the innkeeper’s behest, the laird of Dunvegan sent me and the lads to investigate this place. The villagers in these part are distraught, claiming to see ghosts.” He turned and pointed to the slate-tiled roof, covered in moss. “They say the spirit stands on the roof afore vanishing inside, followed by a great moaning and groaning.”

  Moaning? Groaning? I perked up at that. Ah, maybe things were careening back on course.

  With a wicked grin of anticipation, I said, “Let’s have a look at these ghosts, shall we?”

  “I’m not one to believe in spirits, lass,” he replied, rather earnestly.

  “Join the club,” I retorted and headed for the front door.

  I stooped under the low-hanging vines and eyed the door with interest. It was short for a door, about five feet. Odd. Especially with the over six-foot highlander standing behind me. The black-iron, arrow strap hinges caught my attention. Old and so incredibly detailed for a dream. And the knob—or lack thereof? There was only a latch. Jamie watched, bewildered, as I struggled with it, tugging at the metal a few times before I got the hang of it.

  Shoving the heavy door back, I stepped inside.

  Hmmm … hadn’t expected a dirt floor. And the furniture? What there was looked positively medieval. A high-back chair stood next to a small table under a window. An antique sea chest stood in one corner next to a half-rotten platform that must’ve served as a bed. Other than a massive, iron cauldron hanging over the fireplace, the place appeared empty.

  “So what year is it?” I asked aloud.

  “Year?” he repeated, puzzled. “’Twas 1585 the last I’ve been told.”

  I cocked a brow at his dry humor and muttered, “Smart ass.”

  The way his gray eyes glimmered in response made my stomach flop a little. Wow. It’d been such a long time since I’d felt the electricity of attraction. Time to do something about that. Stalking over to the table, I sat on the edge and lowering my lashes, slowly slid my hand up my bare stomach, over my breasts, and hooking my bra strap, slipped it off my shoulder.

  “Well, maybe I do know something about this moaning,” I said in a seductive voice. “Bet I could show you.”

  He didn’t buy it. That was clear. He stood there with arms crossed and eyed me a good thirty seconds before moving my way.

  Yeah, baby. Here he comes. Major progress this time.

  When he arrived, I grabbed a handful of his shirt and pulled him close with one hand while letting the other trail over his plaid-draped groin.

  “Ach, enough of this, lass,” he protested weakly.

  Not much of a fight there. He didn’t resist. Not really.

  I grinned.

  Our gazes locked. Taking my time, I let my fingers drift over his abdomen and hips before once again brushing his monstrous cock. Yep. It was getting bigger. Much bigger. I teased him a few more times before grabbing his dick firmly in my fingers. It began to swell and harden even more.

  This time, he thrust his arousal into my hand, and with a deep groan erupting from his chest, grabbed my knees to open my legs and stepped between them. Sliding his hot hands under my butt, he yanked me forward to push my crotch against his raging erection…

  To be continued in “MacLeod’s Rapture”

  Preview: The Marshal’s Way

  Ever Heard of the Quench Incident?

  It didn’t make the news much. Just a few dry articles—scientific stuff. CERN reported a faulty electrical connection between two magnets had damaged the Large Hadron Collider. Sectors 3 and 4. The result: they shut the collider down for a few months. Replaced magnets. That sort of thing.

  They didn’t mention the warp bubbles—maybe because they didn’t detect the rings of varying sizes, emanating from the most complex, experimental facility ever built beneath Geneva, Switzerland.

  Rings that floated through space, time, and matter.

  Rings attracted to particular electrical signatures—certain reciprocal personality types with matching desires.

  Rings big enough to swallow someone whole, carrying them to their perfect match, regardless of where and when—or in what dimension.

  Nipplegate

  “Change the job description again, Brittany!” my boss barked at me furiously. “Add more technical requirements. We’re only gonna hire H1-B visas for this job. We can’t afford locals. Gotta beef up our paper trail. How many times do I have to tell you?” He slammed the lid of his laptop shut in frustration.

  That must’ve cracked it…again.

  Funny. As the head of the human resource department, I’d have thought he�
��d be the epitome of integrity and leadership.

  I snorted. “Stop that fresh-out-of-college thinking, girl,” I muttered under my breath.

  Yep. Jaded. That’s what I was. And it’d taken only six months. My job as a human resource assistant/junior recruiter hadn’t panned out like I’d wanted. To tell the truth, my generic business degree hadn’t opened many doors. It’d barely scraped this one open. Still, I’d been happy to accept the position. A job was a job. I had bills to pay. I figured I could work my way up the food chain while championing employee rights and instilling leadership values along the way, and eventually forge myself a real career.

  Right?

  Wrong.

  Instead of acting as a company watchdog sticking up for the underdog, I’d discovered I was the attack dog protecting only the company elite. So far, I’d spent my tenure getting several managers out of discrimination lawsuits they rightly deserved to lose and firing the locals in favor of importing cheap labor. Basically, anything to help company officials line their pockets with yet more cash.

  Did I mention jaded?

  “I swear, you’re as—” my boss began.

  “Watch it, Simmons,” I interrupted, cocking a warning brow.

  Irritated, he stalked off, and irritated myself, I headed for the bathroom. The thought of living like a corporate rat—little wonder we called them ‘rats’—for the rest of my existence sucked the life right out of my soul. Breezing through the restroom door, I made for the mirror and eyed the reflection staring back at me.

  Medium height, full-breasted, and curvy. I wrinkled my nose. I had a butt that rivaled Kim Kardashian’s. The more I exercised, the more ‘hour-glassy’ I became. And clothes? Almost impossible with my ratios. I settled for bigger sizes and took them in at the waist, otherwise, the tightly stretched material drew more eyes to my posterior than usual. Yeah, men stared at my ample breasts, but even more eyes locked on my backside. You’d think with all that attention I’d have found a decent boyfriend by now.