Chapter 2
Natalie stirred, the scent of woodsmoke and something musky—earth and pine and man—filling her senses.
For a disoriented moment she thought she was in a cabin, maybe a dream pulled from one of the Highland novels she’d devoured.
But when she blinked awake, she realized she was inside a room built for another century.
The walls were stone, massive gray blocks fitted so tightly together that not even light slipped through the seams. A fireplace, big enough to stand in, blazed at the far end, its flames painting amber light across fur pelts scattered on the floor.
The hearth smoke curled lazily toward a blackened chimney, filling the air with the scent of peat.
A wooden bed frame, carved with curling Celtic knots, dominated the space.
It was impossibly large, built of oak darkened by age and use.
Wool blankets of deep green and russet were thrown haphazardly across linen sheets rougher than anything she’d ever slept on.
The pillows smelled faintly of soap and smoke, the fibers uneven and dense beneath her cheek.
Above her, a canopy of woven tartan hung from the beams, its edges frayed, its colors muted by time. The room was both austere and comforting. From the way it was laid out, there was no question it was a laird’s chamber.
A chest of drawers stood near the hearth, its surface cluttered with a few personal items, neatly placed in a row.
A pewter cup, a whetstone for sharpening a weapon, and a silver brooch gleaming faintly in the firelight.
A sword leaned against the wall within arm’s reach of the bed in case an enemy stormed through the door.
Across the chamber, narrow arrow-slit windows let in a sliver of gray morning light, cold and almost blue against the warm glow of the fire.
She could hear the wind howling faintly beyond the walls, and somewhere outside, a rooster crowed—the sound too precise, too immediate.
An impossibly realistic dream? Or had she been abducted and placed inside some strange medieval time warp?
The textures, the smells, the weight of the blanket on her skin—it was all too vivid, too solid.
And then she turned her head.
The man lying beside her was as solid as the stone walls—bare-chested, his skin bronzed by years of sun, his dark hair tousled from sleep. One arm was thrown casually across the pillow, the other bent against his chest, fingers grazing a medallion she didn’t recognize.
The firelight caught on the fine sheen of his hair and the rough stubble shadowing his jaw. For a moment, she simply watched the rise and fall of his chest, the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing.
She didn’t know how she’d come to be here. But wherever here was—it was the most alive she had ever felt.
And then he opened his eyes.
The man beside her was no dream. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his dark hair curling around a face both rugged and beautiful. His eyes—green as sunlit moss—held her in place. For one wild moment, she couldn’t remember where she was or how she’d come to be in his bed.
“Dinna be afraid, lass,” he said softly. His accent—Highland, unmistakably—rolled through her like music.
“I’m not afraid,” she whispered, though her pulse said otherwise. A smile tugged at her lips. “At least, I don’t think I am.”
The corners of his mouth curved. “A brave one, then.”
He reached to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His fingers brushed her cheek, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Natalie’s breath caught. The air between them thickened until it seemed to hum.
She should pull away. She should ask a hundred questions. Instead, her heart lurched in her chest as his gaze dropped to her mouth.
When he kissed her, it wasn’t demanding.
It was a question—an ancient one, older than time itself.
Her lips parted in answer. The taste of him was smoky and sweet, like whisky and warmth.
Her hand rose of its own accord, tracing the solid line of his jaw, the pulse that beat furiously beneath her fingertips.
Her pulse thudded in her ears. Whatever magic had carried her here, it had brought her straight into the arms of a devilishly handsome man.
She flashed a smile and was rewarded with a wink and a wolfish grin from the sexy stud.
Natalie glanced about the room, sighing in contentment. An avid history buff and Gaelic instructor, this was her dream. She didn’t think she could have imagined it any better.
“A saucy lady, eh?” He leaned down to nibble along her chin.
“Only for you,” she teased, gliding her hands along his arms, massaging his shoulders.
“Aye, only for me.”
His lips descended on her mouth again, claiming her, his tongue delving in and rubbing against hers.
Tendrils of yearning curled their way around her insides.
His hands slid down the length of her taut abdomen and caressed the curve of her hip.
She swayed her hips closer, urging him to continue with his exploration.
“Ye’re so tiny, my wee vixen,” he mumbled as his mouth traveled from hers to taste her neck.
His breath was hot against her skin, so real, so genuine. Was it possible she wasn’t fantasizing? Reality trembled. This couldn’t be happening. But the feel of him, the heat of his body, the rough rasp of his stubble were all achingly real.
He tugged her closer. Natalie moaned and nipped at his neck, letting her hands probe the muscles of his back and chest.
“What’s your name?” he breathed, his lips lowering to capture a taut nipple. He suckled gently, then harder.
What was her name? He was taking away all rational notions from her mind. “Natalie,” she moaned.
“Natalie. Verra pretty.”
His mouth maneuvered lower, caressing her stomach, his tongue dipping and swirling about her navel, then sliding over to nip at her hip. His strong hands slid down the length of her legs and back up again.
“What’s your name?” she whimpered as his fingers slid up her thigh to play with the dewy curls at the crux of her thighs.
“I am Ian MacDuff,” he said, his thumb still stroking her cheek. “And ye, my lady, are a mystery I’ve yet to solve.”
Natalie moaned, arching her back and bucking her hips forward. The feel was so tangible, incredible… His touch was sure and searching, his body pressed to hers in a rhythm that stole her breath. When he kissed her, it felt as though the world tilted and every inch of her body sang with pleasure.
“Ye want me.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. His titillating words inflamed her senses.
“Oh, yes,” she managed, sliding her hands down the rippling muscles of his abdomen.
An eight-pack. This hot Highlander didn’t just have a six-pack. Her fingers played over the muscled ‘V’ of his pelvis until they brushed lower toward his rigid staff. So big...Natalie’s fingers encircled him—not even coming close to meeting around his width.
Ian groaned deep in his throat, his kiss becoming more possessive, demanding. Without warning, an orgasm rocked her. Wave after wave of supple warmth coursed through her as she cried out in pleasure.
Oh, God, he’s talented....
“How much do ye want me?”
Oh, he’s good. His hot words were spoken erotically against her ear as his tongue flicked a lobe. Natalie couldn’t respond, as his mouth was now covering hers for an alluring plundering.
“Tell me what ye want…”
How could she describe it? She wanted everything… “I want you to…” she whispered, the words trembling on her lips before he silenced them with a kiss. Before she could think of what else to say, he rolled on top of her, his knees spreading her legs.
“Like this?” He loomed above her, a wolfish grin on his ruggedly handsome face. He stroked his body against hers, making her shiver.
Using a skill she’d learned in college, she wrapped her legs around his hips, gripped his shoulders, and hoisted, flattening him on his back with her positioned above. As she straddled him, the tip of his arousal brushed her core, ready to take part in their game.
“Where’d ye learn that?” His hands slipped around her waist and down to her hips. From his expression, he really liked her little maneuver.
“A girl never kisses and tells.” She winked, grasping his thick shaft in her hand. Should she ask him for a condom? Natalie almost laughed aloud and dismissed the thought. There was no need; she was dreaming, after all.
She ran her thumb over his turgid flesh for just a moment and then lifted her hips. Easing down, she let his throbbing member fill her. Tremors rushed through her immediately when he shifted.
“Take me for a ride, minx.”
And she did. Natalie ground her hips, back and forth, swirled them around, up and down. He was so big, so sexy…
His hands were everywhere on her body, and each place he touched sent a thrill racing through her. Her clit hummed, on the verge of orgasm. With one quick, hard thrust, her body shattered.
Ian quickened his pace, using his hands on her hips to keep the rhythm as she journeyed into bliss. Lifting her off, he turned her over on her belly. She kneeled on the bed as he stood behind her. Before she could catch her bearings, he thrust into her.
Barely recovered from her climax, he rocked her body as he plunged deep inside, shooting sparks of pleasure through her.
His hands spanned her waist, caressing her lower abdomen.
He threaded his fingers through her light sprinkling of hair and then danced along the hardened nub of flesh. Natalie could hardly breathe.
She’d never made love like this...the earth shattered as he flew her again to crescendo.
“Oh, Ian!” she shouted between moans and labored breaths.
“Ye liked that, did ye?”
His hips languidly nudged against hers, and he leaned down against her back. He grasped her face, turning her slowly for a searing kiss.
“Yes...they don’t teach about this in the history books.”
“And why would they? It’d spoil the fun.” He laughed low in his throat, and then quickened his pace, pumping vigorously.
Then he stopped, rolled her over, and again spread her legs wide with his knees.
“Let’s see if we can take ye to your happy place again.”
This fantasy man was better than ever!
Before she could nod her consent, he claimed her with a hunger that left her trembling. Natalie wrapped her legs high over his hips and clutched at his shoulders, placing hot, wet kisses along his neck and jawline.
Lord, if the way his hips gyrated in a perfect dance didn’t send her—
Masterful! She shrieked, scraping her nails down his back as the most ethereal quaking overtook her. Ian’s ravishment of her body increased as his own climax neared. His body shuddered atop her; his moan was sumptuous, intoxicating.
“You are without a doubt the most delicious figment of my imagination. Will you visit me again, warrior?” She gazed into sultry eyes, her body spent, sated.
“No need, my lady. I am no imagined warrior, but as real as ye are. Welcome to Clan MacDuff.”