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Kilted Lover: Chapter 1
“My amulet isn’t for sale,”
Leslie Livingston said for the second time, wishing this line at the refreshment stand would move forward already. Every minute
that the Charleston sun beat down on her was another step toward dehydration. And the jerk harassing her about the amulet
made the situation twice as annoying.
“Come now, luv, I’ll give you a hundred US for it.” The gray-haired
Englishman sipped his cola. Too bad she couldn’t have gotten in line ahead of him.
“No, thanks.” Her
grandmother had given her the amulet years ago and she would never part with it. Even if it was worth only ten dollars, the
sentimental value was priceless.
“Two hundred, and I’m being very generous.” The man beside her inched
closer. His black dress pants and white button-up shirt seemed out of place at the Scottish Games.
She took a step back,
hating close-talkers. “Nope, sorry. Why are you so interested?”
“I’m a jeweler and it’s an
unusual piece. Two-fifty?”
Leslie sighed, though she felt like screaming. “No,” she said in a firmer
tone.
“You’ve got to be joking. It’s only a peridot, for God’s sake. It can’t be worth any
more than that.” His pale gray eyes took on a menacing quality.
Leslie was tempted to grab his drink and pour it
over his head.
“Clearly it is, or you wouldn’t want it so badly.”
“How much did you pay for
it?”
“It was a gift.” Move forward, people, she mentally shouted at those in line ahead of her.
“Three
hundred, and you’ll be robbing me blind.”
“Leave me alone,” she said through clenched teeth. “Even
if you offered me a thousand dollars, the answer would still be no.” The man’s hand shot out toward her chest
and the amulet. She jumped back and slammed into a body so solid that it didn’t budge. Big hands caught her upper arms.
“What
the hell are you doing?” The deep voice almost growled the words.
“I’m sorry—” Leslie began.
But his eyes were fixed with malicious intent upon the British man.
“The lady said no. So beat it.”
With
her back pressed against his hard chest, she felt his words resonate.
“Fine.” The Brit looked like he wanted
to snarl, but he strode away, muttering about ignorant Americans.
Her rescuer released her.
“Thank you.”
Leslie couldn’t help but stare up—way up—into his sexy face. His narrowed, sea-green gaze was pinned on
someone far off to her left. The frown and clenched jaw emphasized his rugged, masculine bone structure. She noted his long,
sun-streaked sandy hair, the white T-shirt stretched over his enormous chest, and the plaid kilt belted at his waist. A low-slung
silver chain held a black leather sporran in place at the front of his kilt. Male earthiness emanated from his skin. But for
the t-shirt, he might have been a fearsome warrior transported through time from the Scottish Highlands.
“No problem.”
He fully focused on her, and the temperature climbed ten degrees. That made it around ninety in the shade, not unusual for
September in the Low Country.
Music swirled from bagpipes in the distance. Voices mixed with laughter, and for an instant,
she imagined herself far, far away with this luscious hunk. In Scotland? Chills and heat raced over her skin.
“That
is an unusual amulet. What makes it light up?”
“What?” The large peridot encased in gold was indeed glowing.
She
lifted the stone and the heat from it surprised her. “I have no clue.”
Though her grandmother had given it
to her fifteen years ago, today was the first time she’d worn it. The story of its origins was lost in the mists of
time. She’d always considered it gaudy and unfashionable, but she thought it appropriate today, a Celtic amulet worn
to Scottish games.
“How old is it?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” Now was he interested in
it, too? Surely not. He didn’t look as if he would wrestle her for it.
“It’s your turn.” His attention
lifted to her eyes and held her captive with the power of his stare.
Okay, that was just too sexy. Heat and awareness rushed
over her. “My turn?”
He grinned and gestured toward the vendor.
“Oh, sorry.” She spun around,
feeling a bit lightheaded, not to mention idiotic, and placed her order. Dear God, he was yummy. She had the mad urge to lick
him.
That’s just stupid, Les. You’re a mature, responsible,
respected veterinarian. You don’t have those kinds of thoughts.
Nicole North - Kilted Lover, Red SageCopyright © Nicole North, 2009
All Rights Reserved, RED SAGE PUBLISHING,
INC.
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