by Sakwa, Kim
“Let’s do this,” Alexander said to Gregor, giving an acknowledging nod to Michael. And then they cast off, rappelling down. When they were close enough, Alexander could see Stephen was cut and bleeding, a huge gash on the side of his face. Amanda had her arms wrapped around him.
“Amanda,” he called over the noise. “You have to let him go so Gregor can lift him.”
She started crying. “I don’t want to do this again.”
“It’s okay, sweetheart, we’ll get it right this time,” he said, not sure if he believed his own words. “On the count of the three, okay? And when Gregor takes him, you and I are going right after. Understand?”
“Affirmative.”
“On three, not before, not after, Amanda.”
“Got it,” she said through gritted teeth. By the sound of it, her tears had all but dried. Her voice was calm and even. She was tough, his wife.
“One…two…three.”
Amanda let go as Gregor slowly lifted Stephen. Slow was the name of the game. One, they didn’t want to disturb the truck’s balance, and two, they had to clear his legs. And so, as his feet left the vehicle, Amanda’s hands reached out the window and Alexander grabbed them both, lifting her easily. Jesus, she wrapped her legs around his waist and buried her face in his neck. He couldn’t see through his tears as he looked up to signal that they were good to go. The guys above got the message, though, and lifted them to the hovering aircraft.
They landed on the floor of the chopper; Evan was next to them already working on Stephen. Amanda was still wrapped around him as the guys hoisted them up together.
“I need to look at you, Amanda. Check you for injuries,” Alexander said, his voice thick with emotion. She pulled back then, and at the sight of her face covered with blood, he felt his entire body suddenly seize from a sharp pain. His vision blurred slightly and, Jesus, it was like watching the scene in the helicopter from afar and in slow motion. Then he was falling. Amanda screamed as he went down, and Evan started barking orders as he pivoted from working on Stephen and ripped Alexander’s shirt open. The last thing he remembered was Stephen taking his hand and whispering his name. He only hoped they were both on the side of the living.
Alexander woke up to a filled hospital room. The circus was definitely in town, and the ringmaster’s wife lay beside him in his bed. Stephen lay in a separate bed next to him, looking over and giving him a thumbs-up. He felt his chest to see if they’d cut him open, and Amanda’s hand covered his as she snuggled closer, if that was at all possible. While he felt a bit woozy, nothing he could sense in his body gave way to surgery or a procedure of some sort. Then Amanda straddled him, grinning from ear to ear. She was a bit scratched up, but besides the tape covering a small half-inch cut on her right temple, she looked sound and whole. The blood must have been Stephen’s.
“You didn’t have a coronary,” she told him cheerily. Jesus, you’d think they’d won the lottery based on her declaration.
“Bloody hell, sweetheart.” His eyes teared just looking at her.
She leaned down and kissed him, whispering, “I love you too.” He all but crushed her, pulling her in.
Evan was standing at his bedside. “Anxiety attack, Alex.”
“Excuse me?”
“You had an anxiety attack.”
“Are you for real?” Jesus, he sounded like Amanda.
“Considering what you’ve been through this past year, it’s honestly no wonder. If you had told me the symptoms you’d been having, we could have bypassed—no pun—this entire fiasco,” Evan said, clucking his tongue. “I did, however, give you something to help you relax. You obviously caved under pressure.”
Alexander could tell Evan was enjoying himself immensely, and the crew, too, as chuckles sounded throughout the room. And all the while, Amanda sat there beaming, practically on his chest.
Then she threw her head back, punching the air, shouting, “Yes, yes, yes!” She looked down at him again, her blue eyes sparkling, and said, “Are you ever going to say you love me, Montgomery?”
She screeched as he flipped her beneath him. “I jumped off of a cliff two hundred and forty-five years ago for you, Amanda Abigail Montgomery. So, do I love you? Fuck yeah, I love you. I’d jump again tomorrow if I had to.”
“Wow, good answer.” Then he kissed her. He forgot the circus was still in his room as they all cheered. Loudly. He told them to get the hell out.
Alexander popped his head out of the study, grinning as squeals sounded from down the hall. Callie was on the run from the kitchen, Amanda hot on her trail. He and the crew had been kicked out about an hour ago when the girls commandeered it to get ready. The crew had grumbled half-heartedly about the turn, but considering the feast being prepared on the back grounds, they’d taken it in stride.
The Montgomerys—Jesus, it felt good to say that, or would soon—had finally settled in New York for the summer and only a week later than scheduled.
That pain he used to feel in his chest, he chuckled, it was anxiety. It was only now that he’d been free of it that he realized just how persistent that pain had been, and how much he’d just gotten used to it. While he was grateful it wasn’t his heart, he couldn’t believe something of the sort had taken him down. Literally. Evan told him to get over it. That millions of people suffered from anxiety, and considering the last year and then some, he’d had every reason to exhibit the symptoms he had. Landing in the hospital was a wake-up call. They needed to slow down and enjoy every moment they had. He wasn’t going to stop working or anything. And neither was Amanda. They both loved it too much. She was back at it already, writing songs and playing her beautiful music.
And then there was their east coast compound, which was nothing short of spectacular. Think Anthony Hopkins’s estate in Meet Joe Black. Right now, event planners were tweaking their finishing touches on the terrace and lawn. Yeah, today he was going to marry his girl. Again. The last helicopter had landed two hours ago, which meant the circus was back in town. In addition to the crew, there were a few special guests. Art and his wife, Betty, Jason Wild, whom he’d struck up a friendship with since the gala, and of course, Lizzy. How could they not include her when it was her Amelia Bedelia cake that had snapped Amanda’s memory back in place? Alexander laughed to himself thinking again about how fickle fate and chance really were. A cake of all things. A cake.
As Callie sped by, he snaked an arm out and bent to grab her. She giggled, clutching Mrs. Beasley closer and fixing the wreath of flowers on her head. He stood up, his daughter in his arms, and she rubbed his whiskers, which were just a bit longer now. Amanda liked his five o’clock shadow so much, he’d indulged her with something more akin to a midnight shadow. When she’d first seen it, she’d mouthed hot. He’d kept it. Obviously.
Amanda stopped short at the sight of him, halfway down the corridor, already dressed in a white knee-length sheath dress, stunning and classy, bare feet aside. He motioned with his free hand for her to come here. She did. Bloody hell, she was about to be his, legally, in the twenty-first century. He couldn’t wait.
“Hi, gorgeous,” he said, his voice low. Her cheeks were flush, eyes bright as hell. Jesus, she lit his every last fiber.
“Just a few minutes more,” she said, taking Callie back.
And at five o’clock on that very day, he walked up the stone steps of the terrace and extended his hand to her.
“Come with me, Amanda?” he asked.
“Anywhere, Alexander.”
She’s a surgeon with a future…he’s a Scottish laird in the past. Will their love be a timeless treasure or an eternal curse?
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I love that while this is a story of love interrupted, Amanda and Alexander have a second chance at love and happiness.
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When Gwendolyn Reynolds leaves the comforts of a charming Scottish pub, she has no idea her life is about to change forever. Caught in a raging storm, Gwen loses control of her car and plunges into icy waters. Damning herself for the choices she’s made, she realizes she’ll never find what she searched for: love...home...family. Until she falls through time and into the arms of Greylen MacGreggor…
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Excerpt
It took Gwen thirty seconds to realize something was wrong. Very wrong. Besides the fog filling her head, it was completely dark. She couldn’t open her eyes.
Those were the thoughts that occurred within the first ten seconds.
In the next ten, she became aware of the fact she was one giant bruise, some areas more severe than others. Those were the wrong seconds.
The very wrong were the last ten.
That was when she felt warmth beneath her cheek, breath upon her head, and large hands spanning her back. Holding her with both tenderness and possession. Sure she was fully conscious but affected by an adverse reaction to her IV, she reached for the nurse’s call button. The arms around her tightened, accompanied by a calming whisper.
It was so reassuring, this touch and sound, that she snuggled deeper into the embrace. Indulging in sensations completely foreign to her, she felt safe and protected.
Then she felt panic. My God, she felt fear.
She pushed away with all her strength, scrambling for the edge of the bed, each move hurting more than the last. Each breath she tried desperately to take wasn’t quite deep enough. Those same large hands covered her shoulders, gentle on top of her thick bandages.
Then everything came back at once.
Losing control of the truck. The mudslide as she plunged into the ocean. The explosion of the airbags. Pushing through the window. Jagged glass tearing her skin. Fighting to swim to shore. Wave after relentless wave. Defeat.
“Who…?” Gwen tried to catch her breath. Her hands moved forward and stopped against his chest. Smooth, warm skin. Hard muscles beneath her palms and fingers. He was a brick wall—an enormous brick wall. Terrified by the sheer size of the giant who sat in front of her on her bed, in her bed, she pushed back.
“Cease.”
That one word, spoken with gentle authority, shocked her. Cease? Who said cease? And who said it like that? A voice so deep, a timbre so rich. It seemed familiar but… “Who”—she took a short breath—“are…” Larger gasps followed.
“Breathe,” he demanded in the same tone. “In… out…” He continued his litany, but Gwen couldn’t seem to follow. “Good God, not again.” It sounded like a curse and a sigh. Then strong lips covered her open mouth. Warm and determined, he stole her breath.
Then he gave it back.
Calm. Steady. Even.
The hands that covered her shoulders moved. One palmed her head, long fingers holding her steady until her breathing matched his own. The other splayed her chest, directly over her heart, as if willing the erratic beat to slow.
It beat the hell out of a paper bag.
He pulled back. But his mouth drew upon her lips, ending his unconventional first aid with what could only be a kiss.
