Jinx's Fantasy (Goddess Isles 5.2)

Prologue

TO SAY ALL MY dreams had come true would be a lie.

It would be a lie because when I was twenty-two, stepping onto a flight with a boy I thought I wanted, ready to explore a world I didn’t understand, desperately trying to figure out who I was and where I fit in, my dreams were...unformed.

I knew I wanted to be happy, financially free, and content in my purpose and accomplishments, but I didn’t know what career or life choices would grant such lofty goals.

All I knew was I had to travel.

I had to find meaning to my life.

Had to find where I was supposed to belong.

The urge was undeniable.

An itch in my soul that demanded I keep searching, keep looking because I might not have specific dreams pulling me forward, but someone did, and their dreams were fully formed and all-powerful.

Sully.

He was what I was searching for when I didn’t even know it.

He was the itch I couldn’t ignore, forcing me to travel to exotic places to find him.

But I would never have found him unless he found me first.

He’d had a dream. He’d fallen in love with that dream. And he’d given my description to traffickers who kidnapped and sold young women.

My life became his.

And because of his dreams, all mine came true.

I supposed many would call that serendipitous. A perfect happily ever after.

I just called it fate.

What other name could you give the absolute joy, undying delight, and incredible life we now shared together?

His dreams were my dreams.

My dreams were his dreams.

We shared the same heart.

Destiny.Chapter One

HER FLAMING RED HAIR glittered like fire as she swung the sword, slicing through the air between us. “Back up. I won’t ask again.”

She’d run the wrong way.

Trapped inside a small ruin, she had nowhere to go.

A ruin with thick stone walls, no roof, and the natural décor of moss, lichen, and determined weeds growing through the cracks. A ruin far from the road and anyone who might hear her scream.

She was totally at my mercy.

I crossed my arms, dragging my eyes up and down the delectable gown she wore. A rich royal blue encased her, hinting she was high born and untouchable. The only thing was, I’d already touched her. Hurt her.

Her stiff petticoats and silky gown wouldn’t protect her. I’d proven that fact. Her dress showed evidence of my touching, thanks to the torn-apart stitching and fabric hanging in rags off her shoulder.

I wasn’t sorry I’d destroyed such a pretty dress.

She’d refused to step from her carriage.

So I’d helped her out.

Roughly.

“Put down my sword.”

“Come any closer and I’ll cut you,” she hissed.

I chuckled. “I’d like to see yer try.”

She bared her teeth. Such pretty white teeth. Perfect for smiling at tea parties and balls but not so much for scaring men like me.

I splayed my calloused hands that were used to pilfering, murder, and a life of crime as a Scottish highwayman. My kilt, that used to be shades of burgundy and taupe, was now mostly brown from sleeping in the dirt beneath trees while waiting for fat little paydays to come riding along.

“If you hadn’t chased away my carriage, you could’ve taken my dowry. It was substantial.”

“So yer were off to be married.” My brogue sounded so uncultured and wild compared to her haughty English tone. She should know that the Scots didn’t take kindly to the English running around their countryside, especially considering the year was closer to 1740 instead of 2020. “Who are yer marrying?”

“None of your business.”

“It’s become my business now that yer’ve become my property. I need to ken who I’ll be pissing off when yer don’t show up at the altar.”

Her nose tipped up, sending more fire through her hair. “I’m not your property. And if you truly want to know, his name is...eh, Alexander.”

“Alexander what?”

“Um...” She scrunched up her face, searching for Gaelic surnames. “Mackenzie.”

“Mackenzie.” I smiled at her lack of ingenuity. “That bastard? Nae. I have a much better plan than you marrying that old codfish.”

Her lips twitched, but she stayed in character, brandishing the sword as I stepped closer, pushing her against the weed-covered stone wall. “Stop, scoundrel.”

“Scoundrel?” I licked my lips. “What was the word yer used the other night? Cad? Rake?”

“It was cur. But you fit all of them.”

“If yer already think so lowly of me, allow me to fulfil yer expectations.” I stepped again, willingly allowing the blade tip to press against my muslin shirt. My cock grew thicker beneath my kilt, free to harden without underwear to make me ache.

“I’ll run you through if you touch me.”

“No, yer won’t.” I smirked, my thick black beard bristling. “I have another sword to give yer.” Lifting my kilt, I revealed just how much this fantasy affected me. “That’s going inside yer, princess.”

Her arm strength wobbled a little. Lust flushed her pretty porcelain cheeks.