Highlander's Portrait

by C. A. Szarek

  “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 sc
ooting 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.

  Chapter Six

  Ashlyn couldn’t help looking over her shoulder as she practically dragged Kate away from the pub.

  He was still there, staring in their direction.

  She wanted to quicken her step.

  “Jesus, let go of me, or slow the hell down! I’m not gonna scratch my Louies…or worse, break a heel. Do you have any idea how much these shoes cost?” her bestie grumbled.

  “We have to get back.”

  Kate yanked away and planted her feet on the ground with a stomp that screamed. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared. “Tell me what the heck is going on, Ash!”

  She shook her head.

  Her friend scowled. “Right. Now.”

  “He…he…kissed me, all right?”

  “Duh. I’ve got eyes.”

  “I didn’t…”

  Kate blinked. Waited.

  Ashlyn had been about to say she hadn’t wanted to kiss the laird-lookalike. But that would be a lie. She’d just…

  Jesus, can you get more pathetic? Did you really think you were dreaming? So what if it doesn’t make sense, right?

  “What?” her bestie prompted. “Did he like, rape-kiss you?”

  She winced. “Not exactly…”

  “Why do you sound so unsure? I know he’s tall, but I could take him. I’ll kick him in the balls. Do we need to go back?” She started to whirl around, but Ashlyn latched on to her arm.

  “Just stop. It’s fine. Let’s go get some sleep.”

  “Ash?” Kate studied her face. “What’s wrong with you? You’re shaking. I’m gonna kill that bastard.”

  She sucked in a breath and met her friend’s seafoam eyes. “You didn’t notice…”

  “Notice what?”

  Ashlyn opened her bag and dug out the little gilt frame. Couldn’t look at Eoin MacLeod, but she held it up to Kate.

  “Oh. My. God.”

  Maybe she had noticed the resemblance?

  “You brought that with you? To the pub?”

  Well, maybe not. “Can’t you see it?” She flipped the painting and looked into the laird’s eyes. Pools of sapphire stared out at her, but paled in comparison to the real thing.

  Oh God. Get over yourself. He can’t be the same guy.

  “Ash, you’re making me worry.” Kate’s head was cocked to one side, and she wore a frown.

  “He looked just like this guy. Even said his name was Eoin MacLeod. Just like…him…in the painting.” She rushed her words and fought the urge to close her eyes. Shudders threatened to bowl her over. Maybe she’d really lost it. Being a writer had sucked her rational brain into the ether.

  Kate was silent. Then, after seconds that felt like hours, she threw her head back and barked a laugh. “We’re in Scotland.”

  “Yeah? And?”

  “That’s probably a common name here.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “Ashlyn.” Her bestie settled her hands on her shoulders and squeezed. “I think you do need to sleep. How much did you have to drink?”

  She frowned. “One beer. Stop trying to make me think I’m crazy. They…look just alike. Look at the painting, I mean, really look.”

  Her friend’s gaze only stayed on the laird for a few seconds before her eyes landed back on Ashlyn’s. Classic Kate, when she’d made up her mind and was about to disregard what someone else thought. “Well, they have the same name. Maybe your kissing bandit is a descendant of this guy. Who knows? Scotland’s not that big.”

  “But, Kate—”

  “Honey—”

  “Don’t patronize me, Kathryn Marie Farmer.”

  She giggled. “Uh oh, you’re breaking out the full name?”

  Ashlyn glared. “Bite me.” She looked toward the pub, but Not-So-Dream-Eoin was gone. However, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he watched them from somewhere. Another shudder wracked her frame and she fought the resulting quivers.

  His mouth moving over hers had lit her up from the inside. She’d never reacted to a single kiss like that before. She could taste him still; all she had to do was run her tongue along her lips. And he’d smelled so good, like naturally, not like a man who used fancy colognes.

  Being in his arms, against that massive chest, she’d felt…protected, even if it was cheesy, like what she’d write in one of her books. Ashlyn hadn’t had a care in the world—except his mouth taking hers. His tongue against hers. Feeling his erection against her stomach, and the heat in her sex. She had to squeeze her thighs together to ignore the throb even now. Wished for Not-So-Dream-Eoin.

  He was so hot…

  Maybe it’s that Scottish beer?

  “Ash?”

  She jumped at her nickname and looked back at Kate. “He’s gone,” she whispered.

  “Good. He was super-hot, but if he forced his hands—or his mouth—on you, I’ll still hunt him down and kick his ass.”

  She smirked. “He didn’t force me. I wanted to kiss him.”

  Confusion darted across Kate’s pretty face. “Then, why—”

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s done. Tell me about the bartender. I assume you and he…snogged?”

  Her bestie snickered. “We did. He’s hot, too. And those muscles. Just wow. They feel as good as they look, and damn…can he kiss. His name’s Graham and I totally plan to see him again before we leave.”


  Ashlyn looped her arm in Kate’s and swung her bag over her shoulder. “C’mon, tell me all about it. Don’t leave any details out. Give me story fodder. I’ll write a scene inspired by you!”

  Kate grinned and they started to walk to the cottages their tour group was staying at.

  Someone—Not-So-Dream-Eoin probably—really was watching them the whole way. She didn’t fear him. It was more…anticipation, as if he’d be Romeo, calling out to her like Juliet, on the tower after they’d kissed the first time.

  Oh, hell. That was a tragedy. You realllllly need to get over yourself.

  Then again, tragedy was pretty apropos for how her interaction with the hot Scot had gone. No matter how good the kiss had been.

  Maybe Kate was right. This Eoin MacLeod was simply related to the laird from the 1700s in her painting. The doppelgänger thing could be explained, right? Familial DNA reoccurring three hundred years later?

  That has to be it.

  But…the way he’d insisted he was Eoin MacLeod, and asked how she knew ‘of’ him? His brogue and his word choice was…old school. With a capital O. He’d called her ‘lass’…

  Ashlyn shook her head and pushed away the impossible. She focused on Kate’s interaction with Graham, and smiled at how her bestie’s eyes lit up. The girl had a serious crush, and it was too bad she’d have to leave the dude behind when they headed home at the end of the week.

  It was sad, and the hopeless romantic in her wanted more for her fashion designer friend. Despite what Kate claimed about being busy, and preferring the single life, she deserved love.

  They made it to their temporary home after a brisk walk and the naughty story. Kate opened things up.

  Before they could go inside, Ashlyn felt dizzy. Her step faltered and her bestie grabbed her arm, but Kate wavered in her Louies, too, and she gripped both her friend’s wrists.

  They locked eyes and Kate yawned.

  “I don’t feel right,” they said at the same time.

  Ashlyn swallowed a yawn of her own, but then the world went black.

  ****

  Eoin caught both women—barely. He lowered his Ashlyn to the ground as gently as he could, leaning her against the stone cottage’s outside wall. He hefted her friend in his arms and toed the door open, entering the small cottage. It was dark and he didn’t feel much like searching for the switch on the wall that would artificially light the place.