Bridgewater, Pennsylvania

Chapter 1

Evie

“Shit, shit, shit.”

Of course the contents of my borrowed clutch spill all over the floor as I look for my name. There are only four place cards left on the table. At least I’m not the only guest ridiculously late. Crouching down, I shove my keys back inside.

“Can I help you?”

As I scoop up a tube of lip gloss, a young man in a tux peers over me.

“Yes, please. I was just looking for my table assignment. Fuller?”

Finally cleaned up, I stand just as he claims a folded card from the table. “Ms. Evie Fuller.”

Eh-vee, I mentally correct him. Gotta love a name that one hundred percent of people mispronounce. Reaching for it, I take the card from his gloved hand. “Thank you.”

He points down the hall. “The DeLuca reception is that way.”

It would have been easy enough to find; the Yorkfield Barn only has one event space. I’ve been to two weddings here before, but never, I suspect, one quite like this. Between Enzo’s massive amounts of wealth and Chari’s good taste, I’m prepared to have my breath taken away.

“Evie, thank goodness,” a familiar voice calls just as I begin walking.

Cole and Zara Donovan, one of my favorite couples in the world.

“I thought for sure we were the last ones here,” Zara says as Cole grabs their table card. “I’m so embarrassed to come in so late.” She gives me a quick hug.

“Same. I had some trouble at the restaurant and didn’t even make the ceremony. Was it amazing?”

Problem with owning a family restaurant? Wearing all the hats. I could kick myself for having trusted a new vendor without properly vetting him, but no one expected a hundred-year-old produce supplier to go out of business, just like that.

“It was unbelievable. Enzo teared up when Chari came down the aisle.”

“He did not tear up,” Cole says, coming up to us. “Hey, Evie.”

“Hi, Cole.”

He offers Zara his arm. “There was something in his eye.”

Zara scolds him as we walk toward the main entrance. “And what exactly is wrong with a man crying? That’s the kind of thing we need to normalize. The boy code has to go.”

Cole winks at me as Zara makes a face. It’s clear to everyone he knows that would get a rise out of her, and Zara took the bait.

“What held you guys up?” I ask.

When Zara’s cheeks turn immediately pink, I can’t help but laugh.

“I mean, look at her,” Cole says in their defense.

To be fair, Zara does look amazing. She doesn’t typically wear a ton of makeup, her flaming red hair enough to turn heads all on its own.

“I thought you were coming with Jay?” Zara asks.

It’s been two weeks since I’ve seen or talked to her, restaurant and all, and she clearly hasn’t heard. Not much happens in Bridgewater without most of the town knowing, so I’m somewhat surprised. Although Zara is a newspaper publisher now, so she’s been pretty busy too.

“We broke up.”

Zara stops, and Cole with her.

“Oh no. I’m so sorry.”

Yeah, me too.

“It’s fine. Just happened.”

I almost clarify it’s been ten days and five hours. But that would mean I’m keeping track. Which I obviously am, but wish I wasn’t. “Less than two weeks ago.”

She waits for more, so I offer the sucky details.

“He broke up with me.”

“Are you serious? What an idiot.”

Almost thirty. Single again. Yeah, super fun.

“You guys dated for like . . .”

“A year and a half,” I provide. “But it’s ok.”

Although really, it’s not. The whole thing sucks.

“His sister’s engagement party was the straw that broke the camel’s back. He didn’t understand how I could take time off this weekend but not for that.”

Cole frowns. “Doesn’t his sister live in Newport?”

“Yeah. So it would have been a whole weekend. I can’t afford to take that much time away from the restaurant. Especially not now.”

Zara nods in understanding. “When are they coming?”

We begin to walk again.

“The judges?”

“Mm-hmm.” She takes Cole’s arm again.

“The first two weeks in June. They don’t give an exact date. One day—poof!—they’ll just appear.”

I’ve got big plans for my parents’ restaurant. A way to honor them, and especially my mom, who started it almost thirty years ago. If Mama Leoni’s is ever going to win a Beard Award, this is as good a first step as any. The Cucina Award might not be as prestigious, but it will get us on the map, something a small-town restaurant needs to attract national attention. If I were in New York City, that would be a totally different story.

But that ship has sailed.

“You must be a nervous wreck.”

“Cole,” Zara chides him, “some tact, please?”

He doesn’t seem concerned by Zara’s reprimand. Actually, he seems amused by it. Cole loves to tease her.

“Oh, wow.”

As we get to the entrance, what looks like a movie scene comes into view. Even though I’ve been here before, I’m not at all prepared for the transformation.

Although it maintains that rustic feel—we are in a barn, after all—there’s an elegance to the room that I don’t remember. Wisteria hangs from every ceiling beam with white lights everywhere. Although it’s still bright outside, the barn is dark enough that the lights glow, highlighting crisp white linens and flowers that are all cream or white, their leaves the only color. The effect is magical.

“Did you ever see anything like it?” Zara whispers to no one in particular.

I’m about to respond when I finally pick my jaw up off the floor and realize the groom’s brother is giving a toast.

His voice catches as our eyes lock.

Tristano DeLuca.

The Greek god is even hotter than usual in a tux. Hair so black it almost looks purple, long on top with a lock falling into his eyes. Sharp cheekbones under chocolate-brown eyes. Tristano’s perpetual five o’clock shadow and deep, smooth voice give him the distinction of looking partly like his billionaire brother and partly like the kind of guy you might normally find in this barn. Envisioning him sitting atop a horse with a cowboy hat does nothing to force my gaze away.

“What table are you at?” Zara whispers.

“Five.” I break eye contact with my rival, the owner of the second-best Italian restaurant in Bridgewater, and look at the table signs.

“Me too. I think it’s this way.”

Tristano’s talking again, but I ignore him, as much as it’s possible to ignore someone like him, and follow Cole and Zara to our table.

It’s going to be a long night.

Chapter 2

Tristano

“To my baby brother and his wife. Salute.”

The toast finished, I raise my glass, and as the echo of clinks die down, I sit. Next up, Chari’s maid of honor. I listen to her kind words about my brother and her best friend, the woman Enzo will spend the rest of his life with.

“Nice job,” my other brother says, nudging me. “Except for the stumble.”

It’s just like Gian to point that out.

“Thanks,” I mutter back.

My gaze wanders to the reason for my midspeech stutter. Who the hell is she? I’d ask Gian, but the last thing I need is my brother ribbing me for the rest of the night. She’s sitting with friends of Chari’s, so my guess is maybe someone she knows from out of town?

Bridgewater isn’t so small that I know every resident, but between Dad’s pizza shop and my restaurant, I know most of them. And she is certainly not someone I’ve seen before.

I’d have noticed.

An off-white lacy top with only two little spaghetti straps is at odds with the bottom half of her dress. Deep green and pleated, it’s like the reserved half to its flashy partner. Not unlike me and my brother. My mother loves to call me the responsible one, Gian the loose cannon, and Enzo somewhere in the middle.

She peeks at me, pretending to look at the bride.

Caught you.

My eyes move from her dangling gold earrings to her mouth. So damn full. She brushes her long, dark brown hair to the back, fully revealing her shoulders. I imagine slipping a finger under that strap.

“A toast to my best friend in the world and her new husband. To Mr. and Mrs. DeLuca. Cheers.”

This time when she peers up at the head table, she doesn’t look away. When she takes a sip of champagne, my thoughts go from mildly dirty to downright salacious. She’s nothing like my usual type—“borderline trashy,” as my sister calls it. It’s true, I like a woman with a bit of an edge. The good-girl types, like the beautiful stranger who’s now actively attempting to ignore me, usually can’t keep up.

“I can’t fucking believe it. Enzo is married.”

Leave it to Gian to keep it classy.

“How is this a surprise?” I tear my gaze from the mystery woman. “Enzo is crazy about Chari. She’s good for him.” I look at Enzo, sitting to the left of me. He only has eyes for his new wife and is totally oblivious to our conversation.

“I know, it’s just . . . married. Can you imagine?”

Chuckling, I answer immediately. “For you? No.”

Gian is the very definition of a player. He has more women in his life than I have recipes I want to try.

“For me, also no.” But not for the same reason. I’m already married. To the restaurant.

Growing up as the son of a pizza shop owner, I always knew I wanted my own place. But not like Dad’s. Somewhere to showcase all of my parents’ recipes. Some that came with them from Italy, others my mom has tried out over the years. Unlike my nonna, God rest her soul, she likes to experiment with food.

So no, I can’t imagine getting married. I can’t even keep a girlfriend who gets the fact that we can’t go to dinner on a weekend. Or that I have very little free time.

“I’m happy for him, though,” Gian says with a swig of his beer. Sometimes it’s hard to believe only five years separate my little brother and me. Twenty-seven going on twenty-one. He’s something else.

“I am too,” I agree. This time when I glance at the groom, Enzo catches me.

“What are you two talking about?”

“You.”

“What about me?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

It would be easy to tell him we were talking about him and Chari, but Enzo and I don’t make anything easy. Some might call it a healthy brotherly rivalry. Our mother would say I was being a stronzino to tease Enzo on his wedding day.

“I’m not worried about it.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“Your mother is watching,” Chari gently reminds us.

Sure enough, from the table closest to us, she’s giving Enzo and me the evil eye. I smile in a way that I know will pacify her, and Mom shakes her head.

I can hear her silent thoughts as if she’s saying them aloud.

Not today, Tristano.

But what Mom doesn’t get, or maybe she does, is that, despite the constant ribbing, I love my brother. Despite the fact that he bought my building after I told him not to, repeatedly. The cost of the property that is now my restaurant is a drop in the bucket for my billionaire baby brother, but that’s not the point.

I’d been saving to buy the damn thing myself, and he knew it.

“I’m going to grab a beer. Anyone need one?” Gian asks.

“Yuengling for me.”

And then I wait for it.

“You know we made the lager formula specifically for you, asshole.”

I try not to smile as Enzo takes the bait. “I know. But I’m in the mood for a Yuengling, if that’s ok with you.”

With a glare, half serious and half exasperated, Enzo turns back to Chari.

It really is too easy. Enzo’s beer—or fake beer, as I like to call it even though it’s very much real—actually tastes pretty good. Normally that’s all I drink these days. Their proprietary “Angel pill” that works in conjunction with the formula Enzo invented takes away the negative effects within an hour. Drink their brand of alcohol with the pill afterwards, no hangover. But sometimes I like to play with my brother a bit. And I really do like Yuengling too.

Without thinking, I find my gaze wandering back to the same place where the woman walked in during my toast. She’s talking to Zara Donovan, still drinking champagne.

I wonder what she’s talking about that has her so clearly excited. My mystery woman is even prettier when she’s smiling. Who the hell is she? I need to find out. Obviously she must know Chari since I’ve never met her before. But I can’t ask my sister-in-law. Not in front of my brothers.

I’ll bide my time.

But before the end of the night, I will know her name. And I will ask her to dance.

There are a lot of things I’m not good at. Poker, for one. Skiing, for another. Hate it, actually. Chari and I have that in common. We both despise the cold.

But cooking and dancing are another matter. My mother taught me to do both. Tonight, I think at least one of those skills will serve me well. And the thought of my mystery woman in my arms is enough to make sitting this way particularly uncomfortable.

Shifting in my seat, I watch.

And wait.

MY FOOLISH HEART release March 31st. Sign up for a new release notice here.

The premise is simple. Each month a guest author has twenty-four hours to write a story with input from the readers. They choose elements such as the hero and heroine’s name, the setting, and more. The true coup de grâce of this event, however, is their “Wild Card” element where readers toss out all sorts of items which the author attempts to include in the story. You can likely pick them out from my TMAS tale below, but just in case you’re having difficulty, think “a goat midwife,” Lucky Charms, and a Scotsman afraid of sheep for starters. I managed to sneak in fifteen of their wild cards after subjecting myself to a mashup of every genre I’ve ever written.

Combining Cecelia’s historical and time travel romance with Bella’s contemporary and small town tropes, the ensuing story is a combination of paranormal, time-travel, contemporary and historical, medieval romance. I give you, Sassy Lassie & Her Highland Vampire. 

Denoconbrook,Scotland 1293

“Take it, brother. Go.”

I wrap my fingers around the cool green beads as Angus drops the necklace in my hand. Only once before, the day our father died, did I touch this ancient jewel. He gave it to me and bade me keep it safe until he and my older brother returned from battle.

Angus returned, but our father did not.

Cursing myself for the mistake that brought us to this glen, my brother and I hunted on every side with no escape, save one, I slip it inside the sporran at my waist.

At a sudden noise in a nearby thicket, my brother and I both unsheathe our swords. Angus laughs, a rare sound this past sennight, as a flock of sheep flee past us.

Bloody bastards.

Even knowing—or hoping—this will be the last day I ever see my brother, I glower at the man that has been like a father to me these many years.

“Do you remember that day? When Greer took a run at you?” he asks.

That my brother named our sheep was only one of his many peculiarities. Even now, as we evade the men that seek to kill me, he carries our seanair’s bagpipes with him always. Passed down from his father, and then to our father before my brother took possession of them, they’ve no place here, on our journey.

I will miss Angus dearly.

“I remember well,” I say, watching as the flock disappears into the trees. My hesitation near sheep started that day, as my brother loves to jest. He thinks it amusing that I—someone who fought in countless battles, who’d been given the curse of immortality and the ability to kill a man with nothing but a bite from the hated fangs I’d been gifted thanks to our family’s curse—was frightened by the mere sight of sheep.

“If it does not work,” he starts, but I stop my brother, already decided.

“If it does not work, you will name see me again.”

I’ll not burden my brother and his family with my presence. Every witch, and vampire, that is captured and put to death is a reminder that I, the unlucky McGregor to receive our generation’s curse, could be next. Now that the council suspects me, they will not stop until I’m found, tried, and hung.

Nay, I’ll not do that to this man who’s given everything to me. If I do travel through time into the future but fail to mate by sundown, I will not seek out my home when I return.

Instead, I offer him a vow.

“I will break the curse and live out my days in peace, as you will.”

As I reach out my hand, Angus clasps it, pulling me toward him. I’ve not hugged my brother in many years, even though the love I bear for him is greater than any other. But as we embrace now, I repeat the words more firmly.

“I vow to you, brother. I will see to it. I will break this curse.”

The distant call of an eagle means we can outrun them no further. My hunters have arrived.

“’Tis time,” I say, breaking away.

I clutch it tighter in my hand, the jewel that holds the power to send me to another time, to break the spell forever.

Truth? Or legend?

I drop to my knees, taking one last look at Angus to find out.Seneca Lake, Geneva, New York

Day drinking never fails to get us into trouble, and today is no exception. The only question is, which one of us will it be today?

The Society, as we ten girls like to call ourselves because it feels so much more official to say we have a “Society meeting” as opposed to “wine-fueled meetup,” is out in full force.

The occasion?

Geneva’s annual Celtic Festival, otherwise known as one of three events in this small town that is actually fun.

“Let’s count ’em off,” Abby says as we stand in the middle of the street that is blocked off for the festival.

One by one, we count, me shouting “six” when it’s my turn. It only took us four years and countless girls’ trips, plus two minor incidents, to come up with this brilliant system of making sure no girl gets left behind.

Which tends to happen on days like this one.

“To the beer tent?” Kylie, my friend and colleague, asks. One of the four married ladies among us, and only one of two with kids, she tends to want to dive right into the festivities. Technically I’m her boss, as of last month after being made director at the historical society, but we kind of ignore that. If I could give her the job, I would.

“I think the bagpipers are headed to Knox Pub. We should start there,” Charlotte says.

She makes a good point. How often do you get to listen to bagpipes?

“Let’s go there.”

Just as I make the suggestion, a crack of thunder in the distance surprises us all. A sun shower, maybe? It’s a perfect summer day. No rain on the radar whatsoever, which is a good thing since, even though all of the bars and restaurants on Main Street are participating in the festivities, the park three blocks up hosts tent after tent of vendors, not as fun if it rains.

“Knox it is.” Kylie waves us all down the street. But just as she does, I catch sight of Abby’s on the Lake. The owner’s wife is a veterinarian, and I’ve been meaning to text her since yesterday.

“I’ll meet you guys there. I’m gonna run into Abby’s to tell Maryanne about the delivery.”

At brunch I made it a point of regaling the group with yesterday’s events. Even though I haven’t lived at home, on my parents’ farm, for three years, I have the distinct pleasure of being extremely proficient with animal births, especially difficult ones. The doe and her kid would have been in trouble without me, for sure. Maryanne is the only vet for miles, and she’d been in the middle of a surgery when my dad called to tell me the poor doe was having trouble.

“Ok, goat-midwife,” Kylie teases. Originally from the city, she finds my special skill somewhat hilarious. “Don’t get lost on us.”

Being that Abby’s is a block away from Knox Pub, I’m not too worried.

“Or get into any trouble,” Charlotte adds as the group moves away. “There’s always one.”

Making my way past the crowd to the only bar/restaurant on Main Street with a view of the lake behind it, pretty much guaranteeing it to be packed, especially on a day like today, I step inside and ask the hostess for Maryanne.

“You just missed her,” she says, looking over my shoulder. “Look at that.”

Five seconds ago, it was as bright as could be. In the time it took me to come inside, it suddenly looks like the middle of the night. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.

By the time I make my way out to the covered porch, a torrential downpour has everyone scrambling for cover.

I’m no dummy.

If I’m going to get stuck in here—it’s now basically hailing—I might as well do it at the bar. Unfortunately, I’m not the only one with that idea, and the place is already packed.

“Head down to the patio,” a voice whispers in my ear from behind.

The owner. My father’s best friend.

“Hey, Bob. Did you see that?” I ask about the quick turn of the weather.

“I did. Really weird. But I doubt it will last very long. You can head down there to wait it out if you don’t want to get crushed. Help yourself to the bar.”

He’s already moving away from me to assist the hostess, who’s trying to manage the burgeoning crowd. Taking his advice, I slip down the back stairs, ignoring the fact that it’s closed off with a rope, and head down to the ground-floor patio. Normally this would be the most hopping area of the whole restaurant. A huge stone bar, completely covered, offers one of the best views of Seneca Lake in Geneva. Unfortunately, a few years back, some yahoo got totally toasted at this very festival and wandered down to the docks. He fell in and was only saved because someone up here saw the whole thing.

A near drowning convinced Bob and Maryanne to close off the patio for the Celtic Festival, and the annual Wine Week in October.

Speaking of wine, I navigate behind the bar and pour myself a Pinot Noir. Sitting down, I pull out my phone and text the girls, letting them know I’m temporarily stuck in the storm.

Kylie quickly texts back to tell me they managed to get a big table at Knox. Awesome. Ten girls can be hard to find spaces for sometimes.

I love thunderstorms.

Taking my wine as close to the edge of the patio as I can without getting soaked, I look across the lake, a perfect view of my life’s dream staring back at me.

Sunset Vineyards.

After more than a hundred years in one family, it’s up for sale. If I weren’t a poor historian, I’d buy the place in a heartbeat. Growing up in the Finger Lakes region, I know how difficult an industry wine making is, especially here in the north. And I know, because my father told me a million times, it’s a completely impractical idea. But all through high school and college, I worked at one vineyard after another when I wasn’t in class or helping out on the farm.

I know I could make it work.

“Good day, lass.”

The voice from behind nearly scared the bejesus out of me. I turn around, and forget my name. Literally, if someone asked me right now what my name was, I’d struggle.

I have no idea where he came from, but the man standing in front of me is easily the biggest, hottest, sexiest one I’ve ever been in the same room with. In total Celtic Festival regalia, complete with a blue-and-grey plaid kilt and even a fricking sword, he looks like a real-life Jamie Fraser with the piercing blue eyes of Damon Salvatore.

With a pretty authentic-sounding Scottish brogue too.

“Where did you come from?” I ask.

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, he walks up to me with the swagger of Uhtred of Bebbanburg.

Clearly, I watch too much Netflix.

Whoever hired him to work this festival deserves a raise. His costume is totally authentic.

“Scotland,” he answers.

I can barely understand him.

Taking a very long sip of wine to buy me some time, I try not to stare.

“So. You’re the real deal?”

Appearing totally confused, he looks me up and down. Way to be subtle, buddy. And he then moves toward the bar. Watching as he glides his hand  under my breath.

Would it have been too much to ask for the guy to be this good-looking, with a Scottish brogue, and normal?

I suppose so.

Apparently I’m the only one who thinks his obsession is a bit strange.

Cleo, Bob and Maryanne’s normally disgruntled cat, makes her way over to the guy and rubs his leg like he’s an old friend. Wouldn’t the Scotsman just lean down and pick her up, holding Cleo like some cherished pet. Traitor. It took years for Cleo and me to get along.

When he finally stops looking at the bar, and Cleo, and turns to me, I forget for a second he’s got one screw loose. Does that really matter? The guy is a literal demigod.

“You’re working the festival, I take it?”

“Festival,” he repeats, as if he doesn’t understand. “Take it?”

I’ve never actually talked to anyone from Scotland before. I had no idea there would be such a language barrier. I can hardly understand him.

“You’re working?” I repeat, nodding up toward the street above us. From here, you can’t see much. But he looks up anyway, staring at the restaurant as if he’s never seen one before.

“I am from Scotland,” he repeats. “From the year of our Lord 1293.”

OK, this dude is nuts.

I’m out.

#

“Please, do not go.”

She’s afraid, with good reason.

But if I’m to gain assistance, I’d gladly do so from a woman such as this one. Long, blonde hair falls loose around her shoulders, marking her an unmarried maid.

Nay, I remember. This is not my time. That her hair is unbound may not mean the same as it did in the past. Some things are familiar. Like the goblet she’s holding, though it’s not made of silver or pewter. ’Tis clear, the liquid inside visible. But most things unfamiliar.

Although the sky is darkened, rain making it difficult to see far, it appears a loch lies beyond us. I am still having difficulty reconciling the swiftness with which the necklace took effect. One moment, I was on the ground, repeating the words necessary to begin the spell, the necklace grasped in my hands.

The next, I opened my eyes, and was here. On this platform. A beautiful woman in very little clothing standing before me.

Her gown, sleeveless but for two thin strips to hold it in place, stops before her knees. Her legs and arms, completely bare.

She did not seem to enjoy my assessment of her, so I turned instead to my surroundings.

But now, I am to lose her.

“Help me,” I implore.

Holding out my hand, knowing I have only until sundown and assuming this is the woman I am meant to mate with, I show her the necklace. With additional time, I could proceed more gently than this.

“My name is Calum McGregor of Clan McGregor. This necklace was given to my ancestors, descendants of the Celtic royal family through the Abbots of Glendochart. Centuries ago, the McGregors were cursed by a woman named Marjorie Buiseid who . . .”

“Was accused of unlawful practice of medicine,” she finishes. “She was banished from the Highlands. The Curse of the McGregor was born.”

“How do you know this?” I ask as she begins to pace.

“Impossible,” she mutters. “What are the chances?”

Finally stopping after a dizzying number of circles around the strange platform on which we stand, she takes a long swig of whatever is inside her goblet.

“My name is Poppy Bisset.”

Poppy. An odd given name, indeed.

“Bisset is an Anglicized version of Buiseid,” she adds.

Impossible. “You are a descendant of Marjorie Buiseid?”

“I am. That story is what got me so interested in history. Learning all about my family lineage and such. I’m a historian.”

“The term is not familiar to me.”

“Historian? You guys don’t use that word in Scotland?”

I don’t wish to remind her that I hail from a different time.

She’s looking at my hand.

“Can I see it?” she asks, stepping toward me.

Her scent, at least, is a familiar one. Vanilla. I smelled it, of course, the moment I opened my eyes, but as she moves closer, the scent grows stronger.

“Remarkable,” she says, looking closer at my hand.

She steps back and watches me, unsure. Scared.

Slowly, Poppy stretches down the collar of her dress. There, resting just above her right breast, is the very same marking.

“Royal lies my line,” we say at the same time.

A saying that goes back, for the McGregors, hundreds and hundreds of years. And yet, she is a Buiseid. Or a Bisset, as she calls it.

“You know what?” She steps back. “I’m gonna need another drink.”

#

“This is much better than the wine to which I’m accustomed.”

What in the ever-loving hell is going on here?

At first, I thought this guy was out of his gourd. But too many strange coincidences convinced me to at least hear him out.

An hour and a half later, I’m starting to question my own sanity.

Of course he’s not from the past. But that jadeite necklace? It can’t be real. I know my jewels, though. It’s a particular interest of mine, along with the same British Isles folklore that started, like I told him, with a peek into my family’s past.

And I swear, it looks authentic. Which would make that thing worth millions and millions of dollars. And then there is his outfit. It’s different enough to make me wonder. Does it look so real because he’s actually from Scotland? The sword too. Completely authentic.

Plus, what about the Curse of the McGregor story?

He even talked about his grandfather, Iain of Glenstrae, who I already knew died without an heir, starting the whole rivalry with Clan Campbell. Although none of it pointed to him actually being from the 13th century, except his speech. He genuinely seemed confused by some of my words.

Of course, if he’s really from medieval Scotland, he shouldn’t understand, or speak, English at all. He acknowledged that he had no idea how that was possible.

Like I said. Completely out there. But so damn sexy.

Every time he looks at me like I’m a bowl of Lucky Charms, just the marshmallows of course, I get serious jitters.

My phone buzzes.

I take it out of my purse, and Calum kind of freaks out. He looks at it as if . . . as if he’s never seen a phone before.

I punch in the four little words that will allay my friends’ worry and ensure they’ll stop texting. For now, anyway.

I met a guy.

Playing along, because why not, I humor him.

“So wine isn’t as good in your time?”
“Nay, lass. It is not.”

“Lass,” I say, jumping off the stool and heading behind the bar to grab the bottle. Actually, we might need a second one. This is one crazy-ass afternoon. “I like it.”

“Do you?”

Still managing to wet my panties despite the fact that he’s seriously unstable, Calum leans toward me. He grabs the bottle of wine. His sword, lying across the bar like some kind of staked claim, catches my eye.

So real-looking.

“I do.”

Because he apparently has no phone, Calum is completely undistracted. He looks at me. This whole time, I’ve had his one hundred percent attention.

Still making eye contact as I sit back down and continue to down the liquid courage, he swings his stool to face me. For the hundredth time in the last hour or so, I wonder if it’s true, what they say about what’s under a man’s kilt?

“Tell me, lass”—the term takes on a very particular meaning now—“about this time.”

Continuing to play his game, I fill him in on the last few hundred years of history. So is this what they mean by starstruck? Not that he’s a celebrity or anything, but since I’ve never actually met a star, this is as close as it gets. I’m talking, but my words are barely making sense, even to me. Calum has this presence. Like he fills the entire deck with his person.

What would a guy like him be like in bed?

“I like how you look at me now.”

Oh boy.

“Do you?” I repeat his question.

Now I’m just shamelessly flirting. With a man who thinks he’s from the thirteenth century.

“Poppy,” he says, reaching out and spinning my stool to face him. If I stood up now, I’d be standing smack-dab in the middle of his parted legs. If his kilt just happened to fall open . . .

“I don’t want to scare you. But I have so little time.”

“By virtue of saying, ‘I don’t want to scare you,’ you’re scaring the ever-loving shit out of me.”

He doesn’t react to that.

“Tell me what you know of the curse,” he asks.

I think about it for a second. “Legend has it that Marjorie cursed the McGregors for all time, that one son in every generation would forever be doomed to relive her pain.”

“And?” he prompts.

“And that’s all I know, really.”

If he looked intense before, Calum is downright freaking me out now.

“I promise I will not hurt you, Poppy. Do you believe me?”

“Hell no. I hardly know you.”

He frowns.

I relent, but not because I actually trust him. I just want to hear the rest of this.

“Ok, you won’t hurt me. Go ahead.”

I reach for the wine glass, our second bottle nearly gone. Oopsie.

“Do you have the word vampire in this time?”

I really don’t like where this is going.

“We do,” I say, hesitant.

“My family was cursed to relive her pain by watching our family members die. Every generation a McGregor son is born who is cursed with immortality. He cannae be killed but instead lives to see his parents, his siblings, his wife and children, if he is blessed with them, die, one by one. I am that son.”

Oh man. I was really prepared to overlook the whole “I’m from a different time” thing. But this? Yeah, no.

I stand up.

But Calum stops me from leaving.

Before I can wiggle away from his grasp, he opens his mouth. And just like that, where normal teeth were a few seconds ago, two fangs appear.

Because I’m clearly in shock, I don’t move. Or run. Or scream. Instead, I stupidly stand there and look at them. My finger lifts up, of its own accord, and reaches into his mouth. So real. Where did they come from?

And then, they retract.

He lets go of my arm.

Still, I do not run.

“Do it again,” I demand.

He does.

This is not real. He is not real.

Except, he is.

“Am I dreaming?”

In answer, he pulls me closer.

“I will not bite you without your permission,” he whispers. “But I’d show you that you are not dreaming.”

I let him kiss me, despite everything that’s happening, because, frankly, I’ve wanted to kiss him from the minute he appeared.

His hands clasp each side of my head as his mouth covers mine. Slowly. Gently. A chaste kiss, and not the kind I wanted from him. Not the kind that will convince me this is real.

So I take the initiative, as one does, and slip my tongue inside his mouth.

The damn breaks.

Apparently it’s the permission he needs to consume me. The undeniable pull between us has no barriers now. My mind is having a hard time catching up with what I just saw. And if Calum is truly a vampire, and the evidence was there, in front of my eyes, this could be really, really dangerous.

I’m not a risk-taking kind of girl. If I were, I’d have taken out a loan and bought the vineyard across the lake. Instead, I’m a go-to-work-at-nine-and-come-home-at-five-and-enjoy-the-weekends-with-her-friends kind of girl.

But not at this very moment.

As his hands explore my body, I encourage them. Kissing Calum isn’t enough. I want more of him.

All of him.

Is that strange?

Yes.

Too soon?

Hell yes.

Bat-shit crazy? After what I just saw?

Yes again.

But dammit, I’m going to find out what’s really beneath a Highlander’s kilt. Slipping my hand under the folds, it’s as I expected.

Except, he’s really, really big.

And hard as a rock.

Does a guy from the thirteenth century get off the same way a guy from this one does? I stroke him, thinking to find out.

But even though I can feel him groan beneath my mouth, Calum pulls away.

Rain pelts the roof of the bar. A flash of lightning lights up the lake. And honestly, Bob could come down any second to check on me.

But I don’t care.

My hand, still wrapped around his cock, falls away. He takes it, looking at me as if I’m a big slice of chocolate-peanut-butter pie. My favorite. Especially since I always eat dessert first.

Always.

“It can be broken.”

I’m definitely not understanding. Not after that kiss.

“It?”

“The curse.”

I’m all in now. My heart knows, even if my mind hasn’t really caught up.

“My great-great-great-grandfather fell in love with a Buiseid. She was forbidden to marry him, of course, given our family’s history. But she knew of the curse. A healer, like her ancestors, she was unable to break the spell for him. She bewitched the necklace instead. Once, and only once, it could be used to travel to another time.”

His hands lift to my shoulders as I move closer, between his legs.

“Why did you use it now? Why not someone before you?”

His eyes are so damn intense. I can’t look away.

“I was being hunted. We were told only to use it when in grave danger. If I didn’t take the necklace from Angus, I would have been killed.”

“Angus?”

I hate how sad he looks all of a sudden.

“My brother.”

“So you broke it? You broke the spell by coming here?”

That’s why he appeared so suddenly, like out of thin air.

“No.”

My stomach lurches.

“It’s broken only if I mate with the woman I’m meant to be with by sunset of this day.”

The matching birthmarks.

That I am a Bisset. And he, McGregor.

This pull between us.

It all makes sense.

“Mate with me?”

He nods. I look across the lake to, ironically, the Sunset Vineyards winery Another coincidence?

I don’t think so.

“Mate?” I ask suddenly. “You mean like marry?”

“Nay, lass.”

I do love when he calls me that.

“A creature such as me mates, but only once. I mean to draw your blood while we have sex. Only then can I stay in this time. As a man, no longer an immortal.”

Before the words are even out of his mouth, I already know I’m going to do it. It’s scary as hell, and totally bonkers, but I have no choice.

I want him. Need him. Like I need, well, wine. Or frosted Pop-Tarts for breakfast.

“Will it hurt?” is my only question.

My pain tolerance is pretty low.

“No. You’ll feel pressure, but that is all.”

I pause for a split second and then reach beneath his kilt once again. Calum closes his eyes, swallowing. That expression, of total and complete vulnerability, from a man like him, whose actual sword that he’s probably used to kill people sits two feet away, slays me.

As I kiss him again, Calum responds immediately. His head tilts for better access. His hands lift my sundress at the same time that I part his kilt. I’m going to make him wear this thing all the time. And call me lass, like every ten seconds.

Because I don’t wear underwear, a fact that doesn’t seem to surprise my medieval Highlander, we’re poised in no time flat. He hesitates, but I don’t let him stop.

When he stands, my back now to the bar, and guides himself inside, I think about telling him I’m on the pill and then realize how ridiculous that is.

He’s a fricking vampire. For now, at least.

Calum fills me so completely, I forget for a second what’s about to happen. Instead, I marvel at the way he uses his hips, and put to rest any notion that they didn’t know how to enjoy themselves in bed in the Middle Ages.

It’s only when he breaks away and pulls my hair to the side as he continues to expertly circle me that my heart does double time.

“I won’t hurt you. I will never hurt you.”

With that, his breath tickles my neck and then, just like he said, pressure. Like he’s giving me the biggest hickey of all time. I grab on to the material at his shoulders for dear life as his hips move quicker and quicker, his lips continuing to suckle my neck.

That whole “orgasm at the same time” thing I thought was baloney?
Out the window as my ass cheeks clench like it’s an Olympic sport. Waves of pleasure consume all of me as Calum finally breaks away, the faintest traces of my blood on his lips.

And he comes inside me with a roar that can only be described as . . . medieval.

I throw my arms around him, wanting to get closer as pulse after pulse takes me. Until finally, I can breathe again. I hadn’t even realized his hand fisted my hair until he let it go.

That’s a happy development. Rough, but not too rough. And oh so talented with his hips. Yeah, I’ll take him.

We stare at each other for a few seconds, enjoying the aftereffects of some pretty mind-blowing sex. Which is to be expected, I guess, when one mates.

“Well?”

He takes a deep breath, opens his mouth, and nothing.

Just two normal, non-vampire teeth.

Neither of us move for a while. Until my phone buzzes.

The spell broken, literally, Calum pulls out of me. I fix my dress as he rearranges that fine kilt of his.

Neither of us say anything at first.

“It stopped raining,” I suddenly realize.

He laughs, and I decide I like that sound. Serious, broody Calum is pretty sexy. But this smiling one is even better.

“You’ve just given yourself to me, after learning I am a vampire from the thirteenth century, as you call it. And ’tis the weather you remark upon?”

“Given myself to you,” I say, catching that particular phrase. “Like sex?”

But Calum is already shaking his head. I knew before I even asked but wanted to be sure we’re on the same page. We are, quite literally, meant to be together.

“Wow.”

“What is this word, wow?”

Oh man, he has a lot to learn.

“Don’t worry about it. As long as you remember to call me lass, we’re all good.”

Calum pulls me up against him, my new favorite spot in the world.

“My bold lass,” he says, kissing me.

“Sassy,” I correct him. “Welcome to the twenty-first century. We don’t really say bold anymore.”

“My sassy lassie.” He winks adorably.

“My Highland vampire.” Two words I never thought I’d hear myself say.

Enjoy this story? I can’t point you to just one book of mine to read next since, as I mentioned, it’s very much a mashup. But here are some options:

• Boys of Bridgetwater (small town contemporary, get the prequel free here)
• Border Series (11 book medieval & Scottish romance, get the prequel free here)
• Order of the Broken Blade (5 book medieval & Scottish romance)
• Bloodwite (paranormal romance, Scottish vampire comes to modern time)
• Kingdoms of Meria (current series, mashup of medieval, Scottish & Viking set in an alternative medieval world)

There’s nothing worse than being immersed in a world only to be jolted back to reality with nothing on your TBR. Or maybe you have LOTS of books on your to-be-read list, but none you’re in the mood for. None quite like the one you just finished. And that’s what you’re in the mood for.

Sure you could spend countless hours scanning Amazon or Barnes & Noble virtual bookshelves, jumping into Facebook groups and looking for that perfect next book. But none are just like the one you finished, and that’s the book you want.

I give you, “What to Read After,” a new blog series that will tackle this very problem. From my own personal reading library, to favorite books from my own readers, we’ll pair books to help you find your next perfect read.

When one of my readers mentioned More Than Sexy by Carly Phillips as her latest favorite read, I immediately asked what she would be reading next. Another reader jumped in to recommend His Semi-Charmed Life by Lisa Hughey so, voila! And I would be remise if I didn’t mention my own billionaire romance, Billion Dollar Date, a sexy, small town and big city romance all wrapped in one.

Did you read a book after More Than Sexy you loved? Would you like to submit a book for “What to Read After” or a recommendation for one of your favorite books of all time?

Comment with answers to any of those questions below!

There’s nothing worse than being immersed in a world only to be jolted back to reality with nothing on your TBR. Or maybe you have LOTS of books on your to-be-read list, but none you’re in the mood for. None quite like the one you just finished. And that’s what you’re in the mood for.

Sure you could spend countless hours scanning Amazon or Barnes & Noble virtual bookshelves, jumping into Facebook groups and looking for that perfect next book. But none are just like the one you finished, and that’s the book you want.

I give you, “What to Read After,” a new blog series that will tackle this very problem. From my own personal reading library, to favorite books from my own readers, we’ll pair books to help you find your next perfect read.

I’ve asked by readers which books they are loving. And since one of my first three contemporary romance novels happens to be a sexy office romance, when they mentioned Inappropiate by Vi Keeland of course I thought to mention my own Last Call. It’s the first in a billionaire, small town series Boys of Bridgewater (yes, both billionaire AND small town) although I do offer a free prequel called Overruled by Love. Another office romance I’ve personally read and enjoyed was King of Wall Street by Louise Bay.

Did you read a book after Inappropriate you loved? Would you like to submit a book for “What to read after” or a recommendation for one of your favorite books of all time?

Comment with answers to any of those questions below!

I get this question a lot. And yes, my home state of Pennsylvania, the setting of Bridgewater in Boys of Bridgewater, is quite different than the places I write about in my books. Of course, I’ve never been to the Anglo-Scottish border in the 13th century, although I did visit it a few years ago for book research purposes (see left).

On the other hand, as an author of Scottish and medieval romance novels, as well as contemporary romance under the pen name of Bella Michaels, I can attest to one thing that stays very much the same. Love.

But wait? It did not! Nobles married for advantage, not love, in the middle ages. Right?

“I think the most widespread impression of medieval marriage is that of a cold, loveless, and practical union, made simply for the purpose of transferring real estate. This could certainly be a frequent occurrence, especially among the elite, but was not always the case,” says Danièle Cybulskie of Medievalists.net.

Years after the setting of my book, William Shakespeare wrote a prologue to a little play called Romeo & Juliet. In it, he sets the stage for a story of love, betrayal, sex and tragedy. Do those themes sound familiar? If so, it’s probably because you just watched a Netflix show with some or all of them, just as the hero and heroines of my novels would be familiar in their time with the ideas lust or love.

If I’m able to seamlessly navigate between a medieval woman who feels jealousy at the prospect of her intended being in love with another woman and a book heroine who feels stuck in her career it’s because the human condition is timeless, as evidenced by a study of literature. Take Lays by Marie de France (yes, a medieval woman writer!) which offers readers stories of love won and lost by knights and ladies. Cool, right?

Looking to read a bit of love through the ages? 

Since it’s nearly Valentine’s Day, check out The Chief to wet your palate. It’s a novella, so a quick read, with a fun Valentine’s Day theme. Although it is the final book in my Order of the Broken Blade series, it’s a standalone HEA. Or, if modern day love is more for you, jump into the world of big city billionaire Enzo DeLuca, a sexy small town romance (yes, it’s both!) with a best friend’s little sister twist.

Download The Chief on Amazon or read in Kindle Unlimited

Download Billion Dollar Date on Amazon or read in Kindle Unlimited

Brand new to me? Start here with free stories!

Get a free medieval romance prequel or a free contemporary romance prequel

Boys of Bridgewater

In 2020 I launched this series as Angel Inc. and changed it just recently to reflect the small town romance vibe coming your way as we head back to Bridgewater for the remainder of the series. Although the first two books, Last Call and Billion Dollar Date, mix small town sexy with billionare romance as our two heros struck it big with their synthetic alcohol brand, the remainder of the series will follow characters such as Enzo’s brothers– Tristano and Gian– as well as his sister Lusanne and his friend Devon.

Look for Tristano’s story next and follow its progress on my Instagram account. Books three and four will be release July and November 2020.

But first, starting January 2nd, Overruled by Love, a sexy lawyer prequel novella, will be released FREE exclusively to newsletter subscribers ahead of its January 27th release. This page will update with each weekly newsletter giving out the entire story one day pre-release. Although starting in January, it will be password protected, so be sure to sign up for the Bella Michael’s Insider here.

You may notice one other change as well in the Boys of Bridgewater series. The Billion Dollar Date cover has also been re-designed to match the others. Miss the old dark cover? (Me too, loved that one!) No worries.  A limited edition paperback of the original, as well as a Last Call dark version, will soon be available.

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In other news. . .

If you’ve never read a historical or medieval romance before, give it a try! The first book on my brand new series Kingdoms of Meria is available on Amazon and in Kindle Unlimited, and book two, My Highland Bride, is coming January 7th.  Like the Bridgewater series, both books are rich in world-building with plenty of sexy bits, albiet between a knight and his lady instead of a billionaire bad boy and the woman strong enough to tame him. They are also set in the Kingdom of Meria, so if you’re a fantasy lover, this might be the perfect series for you!

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I think that about does it. What are you most excited about for 2021? Leave a comment below and HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Title: The Mistletoe Kisser

Author: Lucy Score

Also in Kindle Unlimited

Title: A Very Bossy Christmas

Author: Kayley Loring

Also in Kindle Unlimited

Title: Naughty or Nice

Author: Alexis Winter

Also in Kindle Unlimited

Title: My Fake Christmas Fiance

Author: Julie Kriss

Also in Kindle Unlimited

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