PROLOGUE
S+E=X. Seduction plus evil equals x-citement. A winning
formula. Her formula.
Sparkle Stardust had been perfecting her sex and sin act
for over a thousand years. A cosmic troublemaker who
specialized in creating sexual havoc wherever she went,
she was the best at what she did. And what she did was
cause sexual trouble. Lots and lots of delicious trouble.
She sat down in the center of the castle’s courtyard,
wrapped her fluffy white tail around her, and stared up at
the tower while feline irritation narrowed her orange
eyes. With a small paw, she smoothed down a few errant
hairs sticking up on her face and wished she could do the
same for her temper. Sparkle was one pissed kitty.
Where the hell was Ganymede? He’d called for her help,
asked her to take the form of a white cat... Why white?
She hated white. It made her look fat. Besides, it was a
symbol of good. She hated good. Why couldn’t she be black,
a true expression of her inner being? And what was with
the cat thing? She’d wanted to be in her sexy human form
when she met Ganymede again.
Her irritation eased as she thought of Ganymede, of how
he’d looked when she’d last seen him. He’d been all golden-
haired beauty, a living breathing invitation to erotic
adventure. They’d spent a month exploring every sexual
excess, and then he’d left. She’d known it would happen,
expected it, but still it had sort of hurt. No other being
had ever made her feel regret. Only Ganymede. That was the
one reason she’d answered his call. For old times sake.
Sparkle scanned her surroundings. Nightfall, Scottish
Highlands, 1785, old and crumbly castle, quiet looking.
There didn’t seem to be anything big going down. But
whatever was happening must be huge, because Ganymede was
the most powerful cosmic troublemaker in the universe. She
couldn’t imagine him needing help.
Hmm. She sensed a sort of mini-happening in one of those
tower rooms. A woman. And she was... Sparkle concentrated.
The woman was thinking about sex. Just ordinary ho-hum
sex. Forget it. Sparkle was looking for something she
could sink her teeth into. Figuratively speaking, of
course. But wait...
Now the woman was thinking really dumb thoughts like:
nothing could make her get involved in a sexual situation
while she was in this castle.
Nothing? Sparkle wrapped her tail more tightly around her
and almost purred with the endless possibilities for
irresistible sexual “situations.” This woman would be her
first work in progress.
Things were looking up.
Suddenly, her thoughts scattered. A presence touched her
that was so powerful, so sexual, it made her whiskers
twitch. If she’d been in human form, a lot of other things
would have been twitching.
Not Ganymede. This was a sensual presence like none she
had ever experienced. It was every dark night filled with
the soft moans of erotic fulfillment, every male body
slick with sweat as it drove into the female beneath it,
every kinky dream of leather, chains, and sex toys.
Sparkle smiled. Or as close as she could get to a smile
with her little cat mouth. The being was male, he was in
that tower, and she could feel the heated flow of his
sensual power.
Yummy. A sexual challenge. Her territory.
Now what would it take to hook Ms. No-sex-for-me up with
all that hot male potential? Sparkle could already feel
her creative juices stirring.
Yep, Mr. I-bring-the-heat could just move over, because
Sparkle Stardust was in the house.
CHAPTER ONE
Darach MacKenzie watched the white cat from his tower
window and smiled. The slide of his lips across his fangs
stirred the familiar hungers: for nourishment, for sexual
pleasure. The two needs seemed always entwined. He pushed
aside both. He must first know what threatened him. His
smile widened, a savage baring of his teeth. He suspected
his smile would not be a comforting thing to see.
“Something passing strange creeps in on wee cat paws.” His
murmur was soft, thoughtful, and meant for no human ears.
His smile faded as he raked his fingers through his hair
then allowed the strands to settle across his shoulders
again. Ganymede had brought another of his kind to aid
him. It would do him no good because even their combined
powers would not make Darach abandon his duty.
“’Tis a mighty nuisance ye’ll be.” He frowned. He knew not
what Ganymede and the cat were, but he’d felt their power,
a power that was not human. “Mayhap I should know what
ye’re thinking.”
He focused his mind on the cat and slipped into her
thoughts. It was no hard thing to do. Not only did she do
nothing to keep him out, she seemed almost to welcome him.
As his thoughts touched hers, he widened his eyes. He
found no plans for death and destruction, only...
Sex. Sex in all its conceivable forms. Naked bodies spread
and open to every erotic act. An explosion of sensual
stimuli, darkness, heat, and insatiable sexual hunger.
Darach stepped away from the window and turned back to his
room. She was a strange helpmate for Ganymede, but one
that Darach could understand. Both he and the creature
masquerading as a cat appreciated the joy of all that was
sexual. And with his heightened senses, all that was
sexual was a wondrous experience. Darach had lost many of
his human characteristics when he became vampire, but he
had compensated. His smile returned as his gaze touched
his bed with its massive posts hewn from native wood, its
silken coverings, and its memories. Aye, he had
compensated.
He strode to the door then paused. Closing his eyes, he
willed his return to human form, breathing out sharply at
the smooth disappearance of his fangs like the sheathing
of a cat’s claws.
Absently, he put his hand over his heart. Even after a
hundred years, his heart’s beating amazed him.
With his eyes still closed, he searched for her, the woman
he had sensed but a short time ago. She was there in the
room beneath his, all warm female, a temptation to the
sensual hunter in him. He had meant to feed this night,
but it would do no harm to amuse himself first.
He would meet her, then go down with her to the meal
Ganymede had prepared for his guests. It would give him a
chance to measure the danger from Ganymede and the cat
while they were together. Ganymede would do nothing while
all his guests were gathered around him for fear of
upsetting them.
His guests. Darach had heard Ganymede speaking to them,
people from far distant times who had paid Ganymede for
the pleasure of staying in this castle while they sought
sensual enjoyment from each other. But the castle belonged
to Darach’s clan, and Ganymede had not asked permission to
use it. Mayhap Ganymede and his guests would experience
far more than they had expected.
Darach opened his eyes, settled his plaid across his
shoulders, and opened the door. Humor touched him,
blunting the hunger still gnawing at him. Ganymede’s
guests would find much to upset them with their first
meal. The vile odor drifting from the castle’s kitchen
suggested a witch’s brew. Darach wondered idly if he would
find all of them changed to toads after eating. It would
certainly solve his problem. With that cheerful thought,
he strode from his room and closed the door behind him.
As he moved silently down the winding stone steps, he
wondered about the woman. Was she young or old? Would she
meet him with heated welcome or cool disdain? He could
touch her thoughts, but he chose instead to savor this
small mystery. Though it mattered not. If he wanted her,
she would be his. It was always so. He did not question
why, only enjoyed what the fates brought him.
Darach reached the bottom of the steps and stopped before
her door. He knew his smile was predatory and attempted to
rearrange it into something less threatening. He could not
do it. Shrugging, he raised his fist to knock.
#
Blythe turned in a slow circle, studying her room and
trying to ignore a sense of something drawing closer,
something scary. Which was stupid because there was
absolutely nothing here to threaten her. She was a twenty-
fourth century kind of woman, and by 2300 scientists had
determined that all ghost and ghoulie sightings had
logical explanations. Besides, she’d booked this trip back
to 1785 Scotland through a reputable time travel agency,
and the agency’s rep, Ganymede, looked like he could take
care of any problems that popped up.
The sudden pounding on her door drove all logical twenty-
fourth century thoughts from her head. The tiny primitive
person who skulked in a dusty corner of her mind but
rarely voiced an opinion was whispering gleeful
possibilities. Demon: considers you yummy take-out. Really
ugly gargoyle: wants to sleep in your bed.
Calm down. She was safe behind a locked door. Besides,
she’d brought her Freeze-frame. It could paralyze a bull
elephant in mid-charge. She doubted any bull elephants
were waiting outside her door.
Through force of habit, she tried to touch the emotions of
whoever was beyond the door. Nothing. Strange. She could
always read emotions. Blythe exhaled sharply. Of course,
she couldn’t read a niggiwit’s emotions when she was
scaring herself silly. She’d just open the door.
Right. She’d just open the door. Visions of childhood
nightmares, particularly the ones involving Heeperian mega-
headed spiders, kept her hand from the latch.
Blythe’s reaction bothered her. She was supposed to be the
guru of emotional tranquillity. She wasn’t supposed to be
moved by vague unsubstantiated feelings that had no
logical foundation. But as night shadows crept across the
room, she opted for a closed-door policy.
She leaned close to the massive wooden door and
shouted. “Who’s there?”
“Darach MacKenzie. I dwell above ye. Mayhap we could go
down to the meal together.”
A human voice. Instant voice analysis? Dark, sensual,
dangerous, with an ancient dialect that seemed in tune
with this castle. The very humanness of the voice should
have calmed her pounding heart. It pounded harder.
“You have the room above me? That’s the tower suite. How’d
you get it?” She was supposed to have had the top suite in
the tower. Blythe had chosen it because she’d wanted to
get as far away as possible from Textron, whose fear of
heights kept him on the ground floor. But when they
arrived, Ganymede had made some excuse about a mix up in
reservations, so she’d ended up in this room.
“’Twas my room before ye came and will remain so after ye
leave.”
Blythe bit her lip as she considered this news. He wasn’t
with Ganymede’s tour group. And Ganymede hadn’t mentioned
an owner in residence.
“Ye dinna wish to open the door. Do ye fear me?” His soft
laughter mocked her.
“No.” Yes. She hadn’t a clue why, but her instinct’s
message was clear: Do not open that door. “Uh, I’m not
dressed yet. I’ll meet you in the great hall...Darach.”
Blythe had no doubt she’d recognize him. A man with that
dark slide of sin in his voice would stand out in any
crowd. She clamped down on all thoughts of sensual and
sinful. No way was she strolling down that path again.
She’d learned the hard way that sex was the ultimate booby
trap.
She’d just wait a few minutes and give him a head start
before going down to dinner. Blythe began to turn away
when the latch lifted and the door swung slowly open.
Shock held her frozen. Panicked thoughts bumped into each
other as they raced terror-stricken around in her head.
Demon! Gargoyle! Giant spiders! Do something!
Somewhere between the demon and do-something, a man
stepped into her room. Night coated her with fear, and
shadows were darker shades of black as they moved along
the walls. He registered only as another shadow.
“Ye disappoint me, lass. I thought to find ye without
clothing. ‘Twould have been a wondrous sight.” His
amusement mocked her puny lie.
Her survival instinct kicked in. “Get out.” A weapon. Her
Freeze-frame was still in her purse. Fumbling at the small
table beside her, her fingers closed around a heavy vase.
“Dinna destroy the vase. ‘Twould take energy ye could well
use in a more pleasurable way.” His voice was dark smoke
and night secrets.
Blythe hesitated for a moment to think about the dark
smoke part and was doomed. He moved close and his fingers
wrapped around her hand. She released the vase.
She gazed up at the shadowed face of the man who towered
over her. What were her chances in hand-to-hand combat?
None. She opened her mouth to scream.
He placed a large palm over her mouth and bent down to
whisper in her ear. “Ye’re safe with me. ‘Tis only that
the latch was loose, and the wind blew the door open.”
Safe? She didn’t think so. The pressure of his warm skin
against her lips, his scent of wild dark places and
untamed male, and the silky glide of his hair over her
cheek muddied her thoughts. Dangerous? You bet. How? She
couldn’t decide. She’d never been good at multiple choice
questions.
But she couldn’t deny that he was human, and since she’d
half expected some ancient monster to leap from the
darkness, his flesh and blood presence steadied her.
He seemed to sense her indecision because he took his palm
from her mouth and moved further into the room. “Ye need
light to chase away the night terrors.”
“Like how? I didn’t bring my Flick-flame, and I never got
the hang of rubbing two stones together.” Fine, so sarcasm
solved nothing. She couldn’t let him sidetrack her. “And
there’s no wind.”
Her words were blown away on a sudden cold gust that
whipped through the doorway.
“These are old drafty stones, and the wind slips through
to play wherever it can find an opening.” He didn’t turn
to look at her as one by one he lit the candles, then
crouched in front of the hearth.
How had he done that? She hadn’t seen any fire-lighting
devises in his hand. When did matches come into use? She
couldn’t remember. Distractedly, she pushed the door
closed before the wind could blow out the candles.
Her complete attention returned to the man. First
impressions? Tall, muscular, and wearing some sort of
native... She searched her memory of ancient clothing. A
kilt. He wore a kilt with a checked pattern of dark green
and blue. It didn’t quite look like the pictures she’d
seen, more like one piece of cloth somehow wrapped around
him.
All she could see now was the solid wall of his back and a
tangle of long black hair.
She was free to run from the room, but the very fact that
she could negated the need. It he meant her harm, he’d had
the opportunity.
Wrapping her arms around her, she moved cautiously toward
him. The fire was already blazing in the fireplace, and
she spared a thought for that fact. She’d never lit a
fireplace in her life, but common sense said it should
take time to build to blazing status. And why hadn’t she
been able to read his emotions? Blythe balanced her
suspicions against her need to be warm. Warm won. She
moved even closer.
“The room will be comfortable by the time ye return from
the meal.” He stood, then stared into the fire. “Ye’ll
want a great pile of covers to keep away the chill when
morning comes and the fire dies.”
Turn around so I can see your face. She needed to put her
unease to rest, give a human face to her fear.
“A man would do as well. Body heat doesna die with the
morning.”
His suggestion was a rough trail of temptation, raising
goose bumps that had nothing to do with the night’s chill.
Remember your fear. But somehow she couldn’t whip up the
panic she’d felt such a short time ago. That didn’t mean
she’d heaved out her common sense along with her terror.
“The fire’s great. I don’t need anything else.” She
suspected if she spent much time listening to the dark
compulsion of his voice she’d be willing to explore
alternate heating sources. But of course she wouldn’t,
because she had work to do here, and sex wasn’t part of
her job description.
“We all need something else.” With that cryptic comment,
he turned.
Blythe stood riveted. If ever the term terrifying beauty
had meaning, she was looking at it. In her time, body and
face molders could give everyone the looks they chose. But
that was only a surface thing. Cosmetic surgery couldn’t
reveal inner demons.
This man’s face hid nothing. Every hard line was elemental
male, a face men would fear and women would...recognize.
He was the hot primitive need that lived in every woman no
matter how much she denied it. Blythe’s gaze slid across
his lips, so sensual that she could almost feel them
softening on her mouth. She avoided his eyes. She wasn’t
ready to go there yet, because like the perfect storm with
its wild magnificence, she could admire his beauty while
still recognizing the danger. She didn’t need any
heightened sensitivity for that analysis.
“Welcome to my time. Ye have not told me your name.” He
moved closer and the room warmed proportionately.
Okay, he knew about the time travel. So why was he
accepting it calmly? His clothing screamed primitive. It
was 1785 for heaven sake. Why didn’t he run screaming into
the night or accuse her of witchcraft? She shivered.
Witchcraft. The possibility of becoming a toasted crunchy
wasn’t a fun thought.
“You don’t seem too upset at the time travel concept.”
“I know of things ye could never imagine. So why would I
not believe ye’ve traveled through time?” He sounded
sincere.
Things ye could never imagine? That was not a comforting
answer.
“Ye do have a name, do ye not?” He sounded amused.
“Blythe.” She supplied her name automatically.
The long tangled glory of his hair brought the night with
it. She couldn’t imagine it pulled back and tamed. Blythe
knew she should look beyond his hair, beyond the hard
lines of his jaw, the full temptation of his lips, to his
eyes. She still wasn’t that brave yet.
“Blythe? Ye have no other name?” Again he moved closer.
“I’m Blythe number 56-2310 on my birth records. I was the
fifty-sixth Blythe born in 2310. But the number is only
for official identification.” He loomed over her, broad
shoulders blocking out the fire’s light, moving into her
personal space and bringing with him a message that
confused her.
She’d spent a lifetime reading other people’s emotions and
dealing with them. Blythe felt nothing from him
but...power. Layers of power. Sexual power that tempted
and seduced even as she flailed at it. And a darker power,
the one she’d felt drawing closer, the one she’d responded
to when he first knocked.
What hid behind all that power? She wondered. Did she
really want to know?
“’Tis a cold name for a woman such as ye.”
The wicked slant of his lips suggested he’d like a shot at
renaming her. His name would probably be something like
Blythe Hot-in-bed
Time to shift his attention from her. “How about you? Who
are you, Darach?” Her intuition said she’d need a few
lifetimes to get an answer to that one.
“I am the MacKenzie. This castle, this land, belongs to my
clan. I dinna spend much time here, but this is the home
of my youth, and I return to it when I must.” He seemed
distracted as he reached out to slide a strand of her hair
away from her face then touched the silver Ecstasy charm
at her throat.
Blythe checked to make sure the strands weren’t
smoldering. The rest of her sure was. “The castle looks
deserted except for our tour group. Where’s the rest of
your family?”
Some emotion she couldn’t identify tightened his jaw and
narrowed his lips. “They dwell...elsewhere.”
Blythe might not be able to read his emotions, but she
understood perfectly that he didn’t want her to know much
about him. Secrecy. Secrets often spawned stress and
unhappiness. Possibilities blossomed. She smiled.
“Sounds like your life is pretty lonely.” She should be so
lucky. Loneliness was a sure-fire indicator of
unhappiness, and Blythe was all about curing unhappiness.
His gaze was fixed on her lips, and it was as though he’d
touched them with his fingertips. She firmed them to
discourage touching.
He shrugged. “I need no company but my own.” His gaze
warmed on her mouth. “Ye should smile often.”
She rushed into speech before she lost her breath
completely. “So I suppose the travel agency rented the
castle from you.” She couldn’t help it, she backed up.
“They rented nothing from me.” A slant of his lips hinted
at humor she knew wouldn’t reach his eyes, if she had the
courage to look into his eyes. “I intend to discuss this
with them.”
Absently, he put his hand over his heart. Maybe she should
give that a try to slow down her heartbeats.
“This was my home before the castle stood, and I willna
let Ganymede and his hireling drive me from it.” He leaned
toward her, and she backed another step. He smiled his
satisfaction.
Before the castle stood? Okay, enough. At this rate, he’d
back her out the door and down the tower’s winding stone
steps. She needed to think about the before-the-castle-
stood thing, but she had other worries at the moment.
Blythe searched for her non-existent spine and stiffened
it. A rubbery spine would not get the job done. She was
letting the castle, the night, and this man play games
with her mind. She needed to take control.
“I’ll just get my shawl. Remind me to ask Ganymede for
some kind of lighter to start a fire so I won’t freeze to
death here. An Auto-temp-regulator would’ve been nice, but
I guess he didn’t think of it.” She scuttled sideways away
from Darach and pretended not to notice any frightened-
crab similarities.
“Autotempregulator?”
Her courage increased in direct proportion to his
puzzlement. “And I didn’t see any bathroom. What do I do
if I have to, you know?” She waved her hands to indicate
the importance of you know. “Anyway, there’s only so much
authenticity I can stand. I’ll discuss life’s little
necessities with Ganymede over dinner.”
“Ye have a chamber pot beneath your bed.” Puzzlement gone,
amusement back.
“Thanks. I’ll remember that.” Eeew. Could she hold it for
two weeks? Worth a try.
Blythe reached for her shawl, part of the “authentic”
wardrobe Ganymede had insisted everyone buy so that they
would blend in with the locals. She had deviated a little
from what was authentic, but hey, it was her trip.
At the same time she picked up her shawl, she scooped the
Freeze-frame from her purse. A three-inch equalizer. Uh
oh, no pocket. Turning her back to Darach, she dropped it
down her bra and breathed a hope that she wouldn’t have to
go fishing for it.
Pasting a bright smile on her face, she turned. “Okay, all
ready. Let’s go.”
Blythe’s smile faded as he strode across the room, took
the shawl from her nerveless fingers, and settled it
across her shoulders. It was as though every one of her
uncertainties about him lay across them, weighing her down
with unanswered questions. Why couldn’t she read his
emotions? What had he meant about being here before the
castle stood? Why did he make her so uneasy? Why did he
make her...? She slid her gaze the length of his hot body.
Fine, so she already knew the answer to that question.
“Ye’ve traveled far, and the things ye dinna understand
about this place could harm ye. ‘Tis foolish ye are to
have come here. And Ganymede is not what ye think. Ye
would have done better to stay safely at home with your
Autotempregulator and bathroom.” He shifted a bit closer.
That was it. She refused to retreat another step. In one
breath he’d threatened her and insulted her decision-
making abilities. Without thinking, she met his gaze.
What a big fat mistake. He had the bluest eyes she’d ever
seen. Blythe had once visited a moraine lake that had
water exactly that shade, so brilliant that you forgot
about its depth, about its bone-chilling iciness born of
the glacier that formed it.
Blythe saw it all in his eyes. Depths she couldn’t read,
didn’t think she wanted to read. And unbelievable
coldness. Automatically, she reached out with her senses,
searching for emotions, any emotions. Nothing. It was as
though he’d closed a door in her face. He must have
feelings, everyone did. Maybe he doesn’t.
Blythe looked away first. She couldn’t figure anything out
on an empty stomach. “I’m hungry. Let’s go down to the
great hall.” Trying for casual, she walked to the door and
hoped he’d leave her room while she tried to secure the
stupid latch. Again.
“Ye speak verra strangely.” He didn’t sound like he was
leaving.
“I used the Language Assimilation Program to learn the
most ancient dialect available. Unfortunately, the most
ancient dialect was from the early twenty-first century.”
She shrugged. Would he leave now?
Blythe was silently swearing at the latch in Riparian, a
language with really great descriptive curses, when she
felt him stop behind her. Felt him. His body, his heat,
his scent that touched her with something so elemental it
made her draw in a deep fortifying breath. Turning, she
forgot all about the door.
“Doors never keep out those who truly wish to enter.” His
soft statement stilled her, took on a meaning she didn’t
want to examine.
She chose to ignore hidden meanings. “Right. This door
wouldn’t keep a Kadian sand biddle out.”
“Kadian sand biddle?” He smiled. Really smiled. “This sand
biddle sounds like a fearsome creature.”
Blythe had traveled the galaxy and beyond, and never,
absolutely never, had she seen a smile like that: dark and
wicked, with the promise of nights filled with sinful
pleasure.
She blinked. What had he said? “Oh, the sand biddle.” She
needed to get out of range of that smile before it took
her down like a Tomar light missile. “It’s pretty
harmless.” Blythe edged away from him. “It’s a small
insect. Gets into your clothing, bites you, and leaves a
huge purple blotch that takes a week to fade.”
Sucking in her breath to make herself as thin as possible,
she slid past him and out the door without making body
contact.
“Not all things that get into your clothes and bite are
harmless.” She heard the laughter in his voice as he
closed the door behind them and followed her down the
castle’s dark steps.
Blythe didn’t worry about the door being unlatched because
she’d brought the danger with her. “Things that bite?” She
tried to ignore his presence behind her. Fat
chance. “Don’t tell me there’re wild animals outside.”
Earth in 2339 didn’t have any more wild animals.
“Outside? Mayhap ‘tis the one inside ye need worry about.”
She could almost feel his warm breath fanning her neck as
he followed close behind her. Blythe shivered. She didn’t
try to pin down the cause of her shiver.
“If you’re trying to scare me, forget it. I don’t scare.”
Lies, lies, and more lies. He scared her. Because she
didn’t understand him when she always understood people.
Because she didn’t know how to deal with such a totally
sexual animal.
Blythe was so busy thinking about sexual animals and
unexpected bites that she missed her footing in the dark.
With a squeak of alarm, she reached for the stone wall in
an attempt to stop her fall.
Her hand never reached the wall. With a muffled curse,
Darach wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against
him. “I canna believe Ganymede has not lit the sconces so
his guests might see where they step.”
“I could’ve broken my neck.” She breathed in short gasps
that had nothing to do with her near disaster. Since he
was on the step above her and a lot taller than her, when
he’d grabbed her he’d settled his hands below her breasts
instead of around her waist.
“Aye, and to waste a neck such as yours would be a
terrible thing.” His soft laughter moved against her skin
as he leaned down to murmur in her ear. She had the
feeling he was enjoying a joke only he
understood. “’Twould have ruined my whole century for such
a thing to happen.”
“Century?” One word at a time seemed her limit right now.
“Hmm.” His lips touched the hollow of her neck. “Did I say
century? Mayhap I meant day.” He slid his tongue over the
spot his lips had touched.
Blythe’s breath caught as his touch sizzled and sparked
all the way to her toes. At this moment, the creatures
that growled in the night outside the castle seemed no
danger at all compared to the sensual threat of the dark
Highlander who stood behind her.
She was losing her perspective. This trip was not about
enjoying a stranger’s mouth on her neck while she
fervently hoped he’d slide his hands up to touch her
breasts. What did she know about him other than he’d
scared her witless? Maybe this was a nightly ritual with
him: seduction on the stairs, dinner, then a good night’s
sleep. She opened her mouth to express her feelings.
He released her before she said anything, and she stood,
bereft, on the steps. Chill night air crept inside her
open shawl and touched the spot on her neck still warm
from his lips. Shaking off her inexplicable sense of loss,
she continued down the steps, but this time she kept one
hand on the stone wall.
“Why have ye come here? The castle offers little comfort,
and ye dinna seem overly interested in the ‘sensual
possibilities’ offered by those who brought ye.” His voice
was cool, as though the heat of a few moments ago never
existed.
Sensual possibilities? She frowned. Oh, yeah. The Cosmic
Time Travel Agency had promised a sexual adventure, a
romantic escape to a distant past when men were men. No
kidding.
A sexual adventure was the last thing Blythe wanted. Her
last foray into sexual waters had landed her in hot water
with Ecstasy Inc. When she’d found out that this trip was
all about erotic discovery, Blythe had told Textron she
didn’t want to go. She’d asked him to choose a different
tour, but he’d said it would be the perfect test to see if
she could focus on the job and ignore the sensual.
Was that what the whole thing on the steps had been about?
The thought made her mad, and she didn’t have a clue
why. “I’m not here for a sexual holiday.” She made her
voice as cool and disinterested as his. “I work for
Ecstasy Incorporated, and my job is making people happy.”
Absently, she fingered the Ecstasy charm that hung from a
chain around her neck.
“Ye do it well, lass. I was verra happy while we stood on
the steps above.” He sounded sincere.
“I don’t use sex to make people happy. Sex is short-term.
I’m in the long-term happiness business.” Amazing that she
could talk through clenched teeth.
“In my time, scientists have conquered disease and aging.
All it takes are a few tiny body implants. I chose to have
the implants put in when I was twenty-five, and I’ll stay
twenty-five unless I’m killed in an accident or the victim
of a crime.” She was so involved with her explanation that
she barely noticed they’d reached the bottom of the steps.
She turned in time to catch his startled expression. Good.
His surprise empowered her.
“This has caused unexpected problems. Earth is
overpopulated, and living space is scarce and expensive.
People have to work throughout their lifetime to support
themselves and their families. When people can’t look
forward to retirement, and they have nothing in their
futures but more work for untold years, stress reaches
cataclysmic proportions. Some become desperate enough to
have their implants removed or even take their own lives.”
She paused only long enough to note his intent
interest. “My company is dedicated to lessening the
effects of stress, to bringing calm and joy into the lives
of those teetering on the edge of emotional breakdowns due
to overwork. Ecstasy Incorporated doesn’t offer sexual
solutions, but instead depends on the talents of its well-
trained Happiness staff.” Blythe frowned. She sounded like
one of Ecstasy Inc.’s ads. All cold facts, but no passion.
Where had her passion for the job gone?
“Ye should not dismiss the power of sexual solutions.” He
didn’t smile, so she assumed he was serious.
She dismissed it. “I use a variety of methods sanctioned
by the Intergalactic Association for the Relief of Stress
and Depression to make people happy and productive again.”
Blythe’s frown deepened. Why did she feel the need to
justify her methods to this primitive who probably solved
his unresolved issues by pillaging a few villages? “I can
make anyone happy.” She’d never felt driven to boast about
her power before. Why now? He makes you feel defensive,
that’s why.
His expression suggested he doubted her boast, but he made
no comment about it. “I would not wish to live in a world
such as ye describe.” He guided her toward the glow of
candlelight and murmur of voices coming from the great
hall.
Blythe thought about that. “I guess extending people’s
lifetimes indefinitely does have its down side.”
He was silent beside her.
The great hall transported her to another time and place.
Okay, so she was already in another time and place. She
had no idea how authentic this setup was, but it looked
like a passable reenactment of a castle meal in 1785.
Candle glow and the hearth fire cast a surrealistic light
over the long table and the six people seated around it.
As they paused in the doorway, a man rose from the table
and came toward them.
Even though she’d met Ganymede briefly when she first
arrived, Blythe still widened her eyes at the total impact
of him. He was huge, all mass and muscle, and he had to be
close to seven feet tall with wild flame red hair and a
bushy beard. His dark green and blue checked kilt
completed the picture of an ancient Scottish laird.
“Hey, great to see you again, Blythe.” He was all booming
good cheer, but his glance barely touched her then shifted
away.
She followed his gaze down to where a white cat sat at his
feet. The cat studiously ignored her in favor of Darach.
“I want to officially welcome you to Castle Ganymede. For
the time you’re here, just think of me as Ganymede
MacKenzie, the Scottish chieftain who’s going to make sure
you have a good time. The Cosmic Time Travel Agency always
delivers.” He clapped her on the shoulder and almost
knocked her down.
He sounded a little too jolly, and he might be speaking to
her, but now he’d fixed his gaze on Darach. She took the
opportunity to look into his eyes.
And just as quickly looked down. Talk about false
pretenses. He might be masquerading as a bluff good-
natured Highlander, but those amber eyes said predator
loud and clear. His feelings? She’d just take a peek.
Blythe reached for his emotions, blinked, then backed
away. Wow. Talk about aggression.
“Well, well.” Ganymede’s smile never wavered, but his eyes
grew so cold it made Blythe shiver. “And you are?” His
total attention was on Darach.
“Darach. And no MacKenzie bears the name Ganymede.” All of
Darach’s playful sensuality had disappeared, leaving the
same stranger who had scared Blythe witless. “Ye need ask
permission before ye bring guests into my clan’s home.”
Ganymede raised one bushy brow. “Your clan’s home? Looked
like a crumbling pile of rock to me. Said fixer-upper loud
and clear. I claimed it. I restored it. It’s mine.”
“I dinna think so.” Darach’s voice was a whisper of menace.
Blythe widened her eyes as the emotion she’d looked for
hit her with enough force to drive her back a step. Not
the emotion she’d hoped for, though. Anger was a living
breathing wall between the two men.
And the power she felt scared her. She didn’t know what
was going on, didn’t want to know. Forcing her attention
away from the men, she glanced down at the cat. It had
deserted Ganymede and was weaving a sinuous pattern around
Darach’s legs as it gazed up at him with bright interested
eyes.
“At least one of us isn’t intimidated, kitty.” She smiled
at the cat.
Blythe shook her head to clear it of what sounded like a
light tinkle of laughter. Great. Now she was hearing
things.
“I want your butt out of my castle, bud. You’ll upset my
guests.” Ganymede’s voice had risen.
“Ye’ll not send me from my home. Ye’ll find another place
to play your games, or I will cause ye grief.” Darach’s
voice had lowered to a dangerous murmur.
“You and what army of skirt-wearing wimps?” Ganymede was
almost shouting now. “Don’t count on home court advantage
to help you.”
Blythe did some mental eye-rolling. She was not going to
stand here and listen to this deteriorate into a shouting
match. Okay, so Ganymede was doing all the shouting, but
she still wanted outta here. But first she would make one
attempt to defuse the situation.
“Why don’t you come with me, Darach, and have a drink to
calm down. Then you and Ganymede can talk business with a
little more maturity.” She reached out to tug at Darach’s
arm.
Her tug was like touching a pure-power source. He looked
at her, and with the same effect as if she’d been zapped
by a few thousand power pulses. The sizzle and burn of his
immense anger left her fingers clutching his arm, unable
to release him, unable to do anything but hold his gaze.
Slowly, he relaxed and offered her a tight smile. “I might
be tempted to have a wee sip, but not tonight.” His lips
softened, and his eyes promised that the wee sip would be
with her. Once again, he absently placed his hand over his
heart. “I must return to my room, but be verra careful in
this place. ‘Tis not always safe for those who do not know
it.”
Puzzled, Blythe watched him stride from the great hall.
She would’ve sworn his warning was aimed at Ganymede, not
her. And why hadn’t he stayed to eat? Blythe didn’t for a
minute think that Ganymede had intimidated him.
Once Darach had left, she turned to look at Ganymede.
His expression was thunderous, and he seemed to have
forgotten her. He glared down at the white cat who was
studiously avoiding his stare. “Okay, smart mouth, what do
you think I should do?”
Fine, so Ganymede talked to his cat. She could live with
that. Blythe glanced toward the table where everyone had
stopped eating to avidly follow the exchange between
Darach and Ganymede.
“It’s like this, little lady,” Without warning, Ganymede
clasped her arm and propelled her toward the table. “This
Darach guy is bad news. I’ll work on getting rid of him,
but things like this take time."
Ganymede almost pushed her into a seat between Textron and
one of the women guests. Both looked startled, but Blythe
suspected that their reactions were for Ganymede, not her.
She’d just bet that everyone around Ganymede spent their
time wearing startled expressions.
Textron leaned toward her. “I’ve found the perfect subject
for you.”
Great. Just great. The slimy worm wasn’t going to give her
even one night of down time.
“Now you enjoy your meal and don’t give another thought to
that blood-sucking fiend.” Seemingly satisfied that he’d
offered a perfectly logical explanation for everything,
Ganymede strode away with the white cat padding after him.
“Blood-sucking fiend?” Blythe gazed down at her plate of
blackened meat and unidentifiable large root-like
vegetable with what she suspected was a dazed
expression. “What was he talking about?”
The woman leaned toward her. “I think he means that your
man is a vampire.” She smiled at Blythe. “Don’t be afraid
of the venison. It’s tough with a bit too much seasoning,
but I suppose it’s what people eat in 1785.” She
frowned. “I don’t know about the root thing. Looks weird
to me.”
Blythe stared at her in wide-eyed horror. “Vampire?”
Oh boy.