Sleepless Night

I had no idea I'd closed my eyes until they fluttered open to look at the man who'd given me the best—and probably fastest—kiss of my life. He still smiled down at me, but had that predatory look a man gets when he wants you. Bad.

Good. I wanted him, too. Wanted his lips back on mine, his tongue back in my mouth. The feelings from the jewelry store had only grown stronger. Needier. More desperate. I felt the ring pulse around my finger. I knew this was the man who was going to ease the ache. Oh, hell yes, he could totally ease the ache.

I gazed into his whiskey colored eyes, small lines crinkled at the corners, and long dark lashes. I saw something there, something I recognized deep down. It was totally weird, I knew he was what I'd been missing. I felt it down to the very marrow of my bones. He was my eternal mate. It was like he held a missing piece to a puzzle I'd been trying to solve all my life.

The old woman hadn't been crazy. This was real. I could feel the dampness from the stone walls. I could smell the burning wick in the candles that lit the room, the scent of roasting meat and wine. Even with all of that, his spicy scent filled my senses. The heat from his body radiated like a furnace. It was like virtual reality to the extreme, but this was actually hap

pening.

"I'll be on my way now, Ian," the priest said, his smile kind. He spoke over the continued applause, louder because we'd kissed. "Robert Kenzie is to wed as well today to Brynn Ross."

Ian—his name was Ian—broke our connection, released my hand and turned to shake the cleric's. My palm was cold without the heat of his touch. Lonely. It was as if a lifeline had been removed. Life support shut down. I ached for more contact. Craved it. Needed it. I stepped closer to him and he must have sensed my need because he wrapped his arm about me, pulling me into his side.

"Thank you, Father." His voice was deep, rough, like tumbled rocks. "Ye ventured out of your way. I know how hard that was for ye with so many funerals."

Funerals?

"Ah, yes, but it is moments like that that we are reminded of the joy in life." The priest smiled. "Much happiness, my dear," he said to me before Ian led him to a side door.

I couldn't help notice the back half of my husband—husband!—was just as appealing as the front. Wide shoulders, narrow waist and muscled legs that could be seen below the kilt.

I ignored the others in the room, for I was too confused, too overwhelmed, too nervous to pay them any attention. I took a deep breath and covered my tingling lips with my fingers. In the past few minutes I'd gone from being in the twenty-first century having a perfectly average birthday to some bygone era in Scotland. I assumed it was Scotland by the men's thick brogues.

I was married—married!—to an incredibly attractive man named Ian. The intense pleasure I'd felt at the jewelry store hadn't gone away. After the kiss, it only escalated. I was ready and willing to do whatever Ian wanted. Anything. Especially headboard banging, pressed up against the wall Scottish monkey sex. Oh, hell yeah. As long as he took care of the almost painful aching between my thighs. My nipples. My very being. By the look he'd had in his eye—and the way he kissed—I felt sure he knew how to do that.

I looked down at myself. My skirt and tank top were gone. In their place, I wore a navy dress that fell heavily to the floor with full skirts and long sleeves. My full breasts were shoved high, round globes practically spilling out of the low cut bodice, by what felt like a corset constricting my waist. No wonder I was short of breath. I sucked in air and my nipples popped free. I squeaked at the sight and shoved them back down into the tight bodice. Glancing left and right, I hoped no one had noticed. Ian's back was turned and the group of people sitting at the tables seemed to be partying pretty hard. Still, I'd never flashed anyone before in my life. Even with my breasts covered, I could see my nipples jutting out through the fabric of my dress. A modern day bra had nothing on the support and lift a corset could provide. It was a historic Wonder Bra. Amazed, I ran my hands over my plump breasts. I gasped at the erotic contact, surprised by how sensitive the tips were.

"Don't stop, Lady MacInnes," Ian said. He was standing before me and I'd missed his return.

I dropped my hands, embarrassed at being caught. God, what must he think of me? Had the crowd seen me? A hot flush crept up my cheeks, but based on the way his lids were half lowered, his gaze filled with a banked passion, he was not the least bit bothered by my wantonness.

God, he was handsome. Stunning. The exact vision of my Highlander hottie. Was this why I'd always been drawn to them? Was it because my mate had been a Highlander in the past? Er, now? I was in the past. Or, the present was the past and I was from the future. Ugh.

Regardless, he was mine for the night. Forever, if the old woman was correct. It was as if I actually had stepped into some kind of romance novel. What would the girls think? They'd all like the corsets.

"You shouldna married her."

The woman's voice had Ian turning.

"Glynnis," he said, his voice full of warning.

"You shouldna," she repeated, stepping closer. Too close. In fact, she went right up to Ian and wrapped her hands around his arm as if she were holding on for dear life. No, she was rubbing her very large breasts against him. I narrowed my eyes at her blatant display. "She's nay one of us."

I cleared my throat and while the woman looked at me, she didn't release my husband, only gave me a very knowing, very fuck you kind of smile.

Ian pried himself out of the woman's gripping talons.

"She's not English, lass. She's a Scot through and through."

I wasn't overly familiar with my Scottish history, but I did know that the English crushed the clans in horrible battles and other cruel acts.

If she were comparing me to the English, she certainly thought the worst of me. The bitch was actually lovely. Blonde hair hung long down her back almost to her waist, a color I knew—even if hair dye hadn't been invented yet—was natural. Most women would kill for that shade. She had blue eyes, but now they were narrowed and gazing at me with anger and hatred. Did I know her? Had I ever slapped her before? Because she was deserving of one now.

"And why is that?" Ian asked. He took my elbow in his large grasp and pulled me into his side. While I could hear the sharp bite in his voice, his touch was gentle. His thumb even caressed the crook of my arm. Was this a reassuring gesture for him or for me?

Glancing left and right, she took a step closer, but Ian held up his hand to stop her. "Ye dinna want everyone to hear of her fornicating ways."

The room had gone quiet, much easier that way to listen in on our conversation. Surely they all knew the players here and would feed off of a wedding day catfight for years.