She almost dropped her bag. Who was crazier, her or the man whose earnest sapphire eyes were studying her?
Ashlyn tugged her favorite carry-all back up to her chest and pinned it with both arms. If he advanced on her again, at least she could keep him from getting close. Sorta.
Worries flitted that she’d harm the painting, but she pushed them all away. Needed to protect herself if necessary from this huge man.
The fact that he was hot shouldn’t soften her instincts, right?
What’d happened to being sure he wouldn’t hurt her? She’d believed it even before he’d said it.
She wanted to take another step back, but the pub wall was still touching her shoulders. Ashlyn had nowhere else to retreat. “Wh-wh-wh-what?” The stutter fell out and she cleared her throat. “What did you just say?” This was a demand. She spread her feet apart, bracing herself against the stone behind her.
His face softened and he raised an outstretched palm. “Lass, I mean ye no harm, as I’ve alreada tol’ ye.”
The brogue rolled over her, but she did her best to ignore the warmth that curled in her lower belly. This guy could be a crazy Scottish killer, and she was attracted to him?
Idiot.
“What did you say your name was?” Ashlyn barked.
This has to be a sick joke.
Or she was dreaming.
Yes, maybe that’s it?
Had she gotten drunk and passed out? She was really in her bed at the cottage. She’d never had much tolerance for alcohol, and Scottish beer was strong. Kate had insisted she come to the pub…maybe…
She’d been so curious about Eoin MacLeod she’d dreamt him up, in contemporary clothing and everything?
Then what does his claim about me having something belonging to him mean?
Was he talking about his painting? In dreamland, that’d totally make sense.
“That’s it,” she whispered.
“What, lass?” He hadn’t answered her demand about his name, but Ashlyn couldn’t tell if he was hedging or ignoring.
“I’m dreaming. I have to be!”
His dark brow furrowed, and he cocked his head to one side. “Lass?”
She pushed off the wall and advanced on him.
He didn’t move; let Ashlyn crowd him, as much as she could anyway, since he was so big.
“I’m dreaming. This isn’t real. You can’t be Eoin MacLeod.” She gestured to his handsome face. “He lived three hundred years ago, so you can’t be him. It’s just not possible.”
The man reared back, but didn’t move his lower body. They were only about a foot apart now. “Ye know of me, lass?”
“You? No.” She shook her head. “Obviously, you’re not paying attention.” She pointed to him again, then indicated herself. “This is my doing, somehow—”
He grabbed her wrist to still her movements and his gaze bored into hers. “I am Eoin MacLeod.”
“No…” Ashlyn shook her head and stared at his mouth. His grip on her was firm, but gentle, he wasn’t hurting her. His scent enveloped her, making her want to expand her lungs more.
Sandalwood and sage; just like one of my books. Better than any cologne.
She wanted to close her eyes, but didn’t dare look away from the laird doppelgänger. “This is crazy,” Ashlyn whispered. She had to pant to breathe. Her face warmed. Her heart slid into overdrive.
What’s happening to me?
Was the dream taking a sexy turn?
She’d been intrigued by the painting, so it made sense. She’d wondered what it would be like to kiss Eoin MacLeod all day, especially after she’d written her new character kissing her heroine.
Her dream was filling in the blanks.
Yes.
He was staring just as hard, and his massive chest heaved as if he’d been in need of oxygen, too. Like she was affecting him somehow. His eyes slid to her lips.
Ashlyn pushed her tongue out to moisten them and…
Did he just groan?
She gave into the temptation and tilted her face up. He was probably a foot taller than her five-foot-five inches, so he’d have to dip down to her.
Dream-Eoin didn’t disappoint. His lips brushed hers with the barest touch—a question, but it wasn’t enough.
Ashlyn pressed forward, into him, against those hard muscles. He probed at the seam of her mouth and she let him in, whimpering when his tongue rubbed hers.
She dropped her bag and put her arms around his waist. Dream-Eoin pulled her to him, putting his hands on her back and pressing harder into their kiss. The heat of his palms chased tremors down her spine, and she couldn’t help but feel claimed—just from the sheer size of his touch.
The kiss went on until desire threatened to swallow her whole. Heat suffused her whole body, starting in her chest and spreading down her limbs. Her legs wobbled and it was a good thing he was holding her up.
Something long and hard pressed into the soft apart of her belly, and she pushed closer, her core throbbing an answer; a demand.
She had to hand it to herself—and her imagination. This kiss was just as good as the ones she always described in her books. She’d probably wake up horny—
“Ashlyn?” Someone familiar, female, but she resisted the pull of distraction, and continued to kiss Dream-Eoin.
He groaned again and held her tighter, as if he battled the interruption, too.
“Damn, that is you. Go, Ash!”
With a curse, Dream-Eoin tugged his mouth off hers and whirled his body away, pushing Ashlyn behind him as if he needed to protect her. He planted a hand on her hip, keeping her close.
She had to blink a few times to clear her vision and the haze of passion. Hadn’t wanted the kiss to end, dammit. Wanted more than just his mouth moving over hers, too. So did her body. If it could scream aloud in protest, it did.
Ashlyn peered around Dream-Eoin’s massive arm, and glared at her best friend.
Kate was openly perusing the tall man, then she looked back at Ashlyn. Their gazes locked. “Who’s your friend, Ash?” She grinned.
Dream-Eoin looked at her, then back at Kate.
Her bestie was wearing the same hot-to-trot red and black outfit she’d donned to go to the pub, complete with her matching Louies. Her normally impeccable tight ponytail was mussed; fiery strands had escaped and framed her face. Her cheeks were flushed pink and her mouth swollen, like she’d just been—
Ashlyn gasped.
The bartender.
Her gaze pinballed from Kate to Not-So-Dream-Eoin.
Heat seared her cheeks, but it sure as hell wasn’t from the arousal she was still coming down from. She hadn’t been dreaming?
Shit.
The other option was crazy, wasn’t it?
Ashlyn had let a stranger kiss her.
A stranger who’d curled her toes and set her on fire from the inside out.
A stranger that…was a dead ringer for her three hundred-year old painting, and claimed his name was the same as the long-dead laird’s?
****
Eoin looked at the fulsome redhead who’d joined them outside the pub, then back at the lass he most certainly shouldn’t have kissed.
What in five hells had come over him?
He blinked, and tried to tamp down his arousal. The trews were restricting the blood flow to his tender parts, and he wanted to shift in his boots. The denim also did a poor job hiding his condition, he suspected. Another reason he should be wearing his plaid.
Embarrassment wasn’t a familiar emotion, and he had no need to be introduced today, lest the reason be a third party noticing his erection.
His hand slid from the honey-haired lass’ hip, since the other woman wasn’t a danger to either of them. He regretted breaking their physical contact. Wanted to reach for her again, but she’d slid beside him, instead of behind, and he suspected she wouldn’t appreciate his touch.
Her pretty cheeks were flushed with color, and her hair mussed from where his hands had been in it. Her inviting mouth was swollen from his, and Eoin had to swallow. He wanted her with an intensity he’d not experienced before.
Ashlyn, the other woman had called his lass.
Your lass?
Nay, it wasn’t true—and it was foolish.
What had she done to enthrall him so? Perhaps Korinna wasn’t the only witch he was acquainted with.
“Ashlyn?” Eoin asked, liking how her name rolled off his tongue.
Her eyes went as wide as saucers, and she grabbed her giant satchel off the ground beside her, plastering it to her lovely breasts again, with both arms wrapped around it.
He licked his lips, still tasting her there, which just wreaked more havoc on his libido. His cock twitched. The lass had tasted like summer berries and sweet ale, and even now, left him wanting more. He cleared his throat. Eoin didn’t lose control—ever.
He had a mission.
She had the Faery Flag.
Eoin couldn’t allow ill-timed desire to be an insurmountable obstacle.
His duty wouldn’t be thwarted.
He studied her grip on the colorful bag. Her chest was hidden, but he’d felt the weight of her breasts against him, and they were indeed as perfect as he’d suspected. One more moment and Eoin would’ve cupped them through her shirt—or perhaps under it.
Too bad they’d been interrupted.
He shot a look at the culprit, who was still looking at his Ashlyn, then back at him with narrowed eyes—the sure sign female ire.
“What exactly is going on here?” the lass asked. Her accent told him she was American like Ashlyn. She perched a hand on a hip and cocked her head to one side, making her flame-like hair dance.
She was much more Eoin’s type, with her endless curves and voluptuous breasts. Especially since her shirt was tight and propped them high, for the visual devouring. She was taller than Ashlyn, too, but he preferred the golden-haired beauty who was scooting away from him by the second.
Regret that had nothing to with the clan treasure he hunted settled low in his gut. Eoin didn’t want her to fear him. He wanted to tug her to his side and comfort her. Kiss her again. Take her. Hold her afterward, too—which was a foreign concept. He never coddled his lovers.
At any rate, he needed to find out what she knew about him. How could she know who he was? Or that he lived three hundred years in the past—from her time, anyway.
“Uh…” Ashlyn shot him a look full of uncertainty, then looked back at the redhead.
“Ash?” She was wary, too, and she pulled Ashlyn to her, as if she intended to protect her from him. “Is something wrong?”
“No, of course not.” His lass gave him another sideways glance and looked back at her friend. “Let’s…let’s…go back to the cottage, it’s late and we’re going to Skye early tomorrow.” The more she spoke, the more confident her tone became. She’d regained her composure.
Eoin perked up. Skye? They were going to his island?
The fulsome lass threw him another look—this one of derision. “What did you do to my friend?”
“Nothin’,” he said. Straightened his shoulders when her pretty face sported a glower. If a look could slay, he would’ve been on the ground, bleeding out.
Ashlyn tugged her arm. “I’m good, Kate. I just wanna go.”
The redhead didn’t move right away, until his petite beauty looped her arm inside her elbow and pulled hard enough to dislodge the taller lass’ balance.
Eoin didn’t move. He wasn’t panicked he’d lose the lass—or the Flag. He had magic on his side and now knowledge—she was headed to where his home, Dunvegan, still stood.
He could grab her and blink back to the isle right now, with her satchel. His magic was certain the Flag lay within its confines. It—and she—could be his for the taking.
Should he do it, or be reasonable and try to speak with her regarding his clan’s property? He could take the morrow to speak with her.
Following her to Skye wouldn’t be an issue, and he could easily arrange a meeting, since he’d not let her out of his sight there, either.
He didn’t want her kicking and screaming, but he did want to take her with him.
Back to his time? He couldn’t.
He wanted to.
He…would?
Eoin hedged, shifting in his modern boots. His grandfather had taught him a spell to induce sleep. If he used it on his lass, it would save Ashlyn the disorientation of time travel, since she didn’t have a medallion.
He couldn’t let her leave, but didn’t want her to know that just yet.