by Maeve Greyson
On Sale January 22nd | Ballentine/Loveswept
An archaeologist with a zest for life finds herself stranded in small-town North Carolina—with a brooding Highland hunk who’s straight out of ancient Scotland.
Ramsay MacDara wishes the goddesses had left his arse back in the tenth century. That way he never would have met the gold digger who made a fool out of him. A loner at heart, Ramsay is riding his beloved horse through the woods near his family’s North Carolina theme park, Highland Life and Legends, when he hears tires squealing—followed by a thud—and rushes to the scene to help. That’s when he sets his eyes on a pair of long legs sticking out of the moon roof of a car. His interest piqued, the rest of her will soon arouse his greatest desires . . . and deepest fears.
Archaeologist Katie Jenson is on a six-month sabbatical from her job at Princeton University. Following the death of her beloved father—whose dying request was for Katie to live life to the fullest—she’s headed to a friend’s beach house in North Carolina. But a momentary distraction takes her off the road and on the journey of her life . . . with a sex god in a kilt at her side. Ramsay’s passion is the stuff of legend—and it just may be Katie’s greatest discovery.
Her touch inflamed him. Even through the coolness of the damp, sudsy cloth she was languidly scrubbing in ever-widening circles across his back. He felt a bit guilty and more than a little aroused sitting on a low wooden stool enjoying Katie’s ministrations. But if she felt duty bound t’do so in keepin’ with her promise, who was he to argue?
They’d taken pity on the servants, already worn thin with a keep full of visiting clans and managing not one but two immense feasts in such a short span of time. Nary a one could be spared t’prepare the fine full-size bath on such short notice. Katie had forgotten that hot water couldna be obtained at the mere twist of a knob—especially not enough hot water t’fill her specially made bathtub. So, she’d offered a sponge bath instead and he’d gladly accepted. Like forbidden lovers, they’d snuck around Agnes and fetched their own buckets of water for their wash. Then they’d hied up the stairs like runaway thieves, laughing and speakin’ in whispers as they left a trail of sloshed water in their wake. Lore a’mighty—’twould fill m’heart to overflowin’ t’spend the rest of m’days like this.
“I love the scent of this gooey soap.” Katie rinsed out the cloth in the basin and reloaded it with another scoop of the white pasty substance from the small crock. “I wonder how Creada makes it? Flora mentioned soapwort root.” She moved around to stand in front of him. “Sit up straight. I’m soaping you on all sides before I rinse you.”
“Yes, m’lady.” He straightened on the stool, shifted his feet wider apart, and pulled her close between his knees. He looked up at her and smiled. “D’ye no’ think this would be much nicer if ye removed yer shift?” He gave her the most innocent look he could muster. “I dinna wish it t’get wet.”
Barefoot and more tempting in the simple linen shift than any woman he’d e’er encountered, Katie ignored him, intent on soaping his shoulders.
Ramsay cupped her bottom in both hands and squeezed.
Katie paused in her sudsing of his torso. With one blond brow arched, she feigned a scolding tone. “Don’t want to get it wet, huh? I now have a pair of very large wet handprints on my ass, thank you very much.”
“Then we’d best get this off ye so ye can hang it to dry.” In one smooth motion, Ramsay took hold of the narrow shoulder straps of the thin chemise and shimmied the garment down her body into a creamy white puddle at her feet. “Much better,” he murmured with a nibbling kiss up her warm smooth belly.
“Patience, sir.” Katie pushed him back, stepped out of the shift, and padded across the room and hung it over the window ledge.
Ramsay nearly lost the ability to breathe as she slowly returned to him, naked and unashamed. Her ivory skin shimmered gold in the candlelight and the light dusting of nearly translucent hair on her arms and legs made her look as though she’d been dipped in liquid fire. The temptation of her nipples shone as rose-coppered tips on the breasts he intended to fondle and taste as soon as she came within reach. He rose from the stool in anticipation.
She stopped within a few feet of him and grinned. “Your top half is all slick and soapy. Don’t we need to rinse you before we pursue what I see in your eyes?”
Before she could react, Ramsay lunged forward and grabbed her, sliding her tight against him. “I believe I prefer ye to the washin’ rag.”
About the Author:
No one has the power to shatter your dreams unless you give it to them. That’s Maeve Greyson’s mantra. When she’s not working at the steel mill, Greyson’s writing romances about sexy Highlanders and the women who tame them. Tucked away in a five-acre wood, Maeve listens to the wind singing through the trees and hears her characters telling their stories. Her work is proofed by her sharp-eyed dog, Jasper, and her greatest supporter is her long-suffering husband of more than thirty-five years who’s learned not to throw away any odd sticky notes filled with strange phrases.