Highlander’s Portrait

Highlander’s Portrait (A Highland Secrets Story) from Paper Dragon Publishing!

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This book is a part of the ENCHANTED SECRETS collection from the Sexy Scribblers! Check out all the books! Please note, you don’t have to read them in any particular order, but be sure to check them all out!

The Legend of Enchanted Keepsakes

“True love has no boundaries. It knows no space or time. Human or immortal, true love will always find you.”

Legend spins a tale of Korinna, a beautiful witch. With loving parents who doted on her, she wanted for nothing. On her fifth birthday, tragedy struck when her mother became ill and was suddenly taken from her.

For two years, it was only Korinna and her father, until one day he fell in love. Her father married, and their family grew.

Korinna’s copper curls and wide violet eyes were a contrast to her four siblings’ raven locks and emerald gazes. The men showered her with attention while ignoring her sisters, stealing their chances for love and marriage. On her eighteenth birthday, her resentful stepmother placed a curse upon her.

Korinna would forever walk the earth, never finding her own true love.

Her desire to help others sent her time traveling through exotic lands, collecting keepsakes along the way. With her treasures in hand, she placed an enchantment upon each of them. It is said whoever possesses one of these trinkets will be blessed with true love.

So remember, the next time you step into a small shop, take a close look around. Do you sense the magic?

If you happen to spot a beautiful redhead with sparkling violet eyes, it just might be Korinna, setting up shop in your town.

Take care, for the treasure that whispers to you—to lift it from its resting place and take it home—could lead you straight to your one true love.

From the world of the Highland Secrets Trilogy!

Historical romance author Ashlyn George is an uninspired author. Writer’s block plagues her imagination, so her agent encourages her to go on a trip to Scotland that’s geared toward writers. She’ll try just about anything to put words on the page, since her latest manuscript is overdue.

She collides with a blue-eyed hottie that looks just like an old portrait she bought in an antique shop in Inverness.

As laird of his clan, Eoin MacLeod has been charged with protecting the famed Faerie Flag. When it changes hands, he has to ensure it’s safe—no matter when that may be. Using the Faery Stones, and his Fae blood, he time travels from the eighteenth century. He’s done it again and again, but this time he wants to bring the Flag back with him.

He didn’t count on a bonnie lass from the twenty-first century to argue, and claim it for herself. Her passion brings out desires in Eoin that make him want to put aside his duty and stake a claim of his own…on her.

 

Excerpt:

Ashlyn winced at the din in the small, crowded pub. She wanted to go outside—or go back to their cottage. The air was stale, like old whiskey and the scent of beer swirled around as tangible particles. The building was old, and it was as if she could smell the wood supports and exposed ceiling beams, maybe even the stone walls, too.

Somehow that had appeal, as much as she didn’t want to admit it. It helped, but didn’t overcome the odor of too many bodies in a confined space, or the smoke in the place. Sweat, and some mustiness clung to everything, also tainting the air.

There were more cigars than cigarettes, but the various clouds still made her hold her breath when they drifted her way.

There was a soccer game playing on the three flat screen TVs that hung on the walls, and from time to time shouts or cheers from the mostly male patrons. Curses too, when things didn’t go the favored team’s way.

Scots took their football seriously.

Kate was in her element, of course, flirting with the bartender. Ashlyn had to hand it to her; he was pretty hot, although he didn’t have Eoin MacLeod’s sapphire eyes.

Oh my God. Seriously?

She resisted looking down at her bag, or worse, feeling around inside to convince herself the painting of the laird was still present and accounted for. Undamaged and with her. Like she needed it. After chiding herself some more, she looked back at the bartender.

His hair was brown and he was tall. His black tee, emblazoned with the pub’s logo, clung to his pecs and hinted at hidden abs, it was so tight. His biceps were nice, almost too much for that clinging shirt. He had dimples, to boot. The accent was a magnet, and her bestie was fairly hanging on everything the dude said as they laughed and talked.

He was definitely romance novel hero material.

She’s still not kicking me out of our damn room.

Ashlyn wrinkled her nose when a puff of smoke floated into her face. Her eyes watered and she blinked, clutching her bag tighter on her lap.

The smoking man passed too close for comfort, hollering at the bartender for a beer. His words slurred; it obviously wasn’t his first. He sounded German, so he was likely another tourist like her, but it didn’t give him any manners. She leaned forward until the edge of the bar bit into her tummy.

Soon, Mr. Hot-Barkeep had done his bidding and he retreated. Then hottie-Scottie went back to Kate, dimples showing before her friend had even spoken again.

Ugh.

Pretty soon, Kate was going to be in what-time-do-you-get-off territory.

Still not sock-on-the-dooring me.

Ashlyn really needed some air. Her bestie was so involved in getting her flirt on, she wouldn’t notice if she slipped out, so she’d do just that.

She slid off the barstool and turned, running smackdab into a body. Her cheek hit a chest and she winced, because it was hard enough to be a shoulder. Stinging shot up her jaw and she fought the urge to close her eyes or call out.

Damn, that hurt!

She felt herself wobble, but she couldn’t drop her bag to keep from falling on her ass. She wouldn’t risk the fragile painting inside.

A large hand swallowed her upper arm, steadying her.

The apology died on her lips when she looked up. Her mouth hung open, but she snapped it shut as soon it occurred to her she was staring, dumbfounded.

“I apologize. Are ye well?” The deep voice rushed over her like a caress, and she shivered in his grip.

He looks just like…

Ashlyn swallowed and blinked. Had to be in her head. It wasn’t real.

Can’t be real.

Maybe she’d hit his chest hard enough to scramble her brains.

“Lass?”

There it was. The word. Sounded just like she’d known it would.

She jumped, snapping back into her skin. Get it together. Now. “I-I-I’m fine. Thanks for catching me.”

He nodded, but his gaze—one that matched the royal blue T-shirt he wore—studied her face. “Yer American?” He released his hold on her, and she was cold without his touch.

She concentrated on his accent. It was just as gorgeous as the bartender’s but in a different way. Unrefined, a true brogue. It sounded old. Like it would’ve years ago. Like in one of her books. Way more appealing than the hot barkeep’s.

He was looking at her expectantly.

Duh, he asked you a question. “Yes, I am,” Ashlyn managed, but it was fragmented.

If she wasn’t seeing things, how could the man before her look that much like her painting? She had to be misremembering the face she’d spent the last few hours memorizing. The man she’d based her new hero on, who’d lived three hundred years ago. Her character was too fresh in her thoughts.

This guy…it just couldn’t be real. Had to be a mind trick, but it wasn’t like she could dig out the laird’s image to compare right there. He’d think she was crazy.

He was super tall—had to be six-five or six-six, and her cheek already knew the muscles of his clinging tee were real. He had a leather necklace on, but whatever hung from it was tucked into his shirt. It was round though; she could see the outline of it.

The laird-lookalike was wearing jeans, and even though Ashlyn couldn’t see his ass, instinct told her he had no issue filling them out. She wanted to see.