How many readers want to trade places with the heroine in their favorite romance novel?
Gabby
Stone is getting that chance.
Gabby has
spent months obsessed with her new book boyfriend, Devlin McAlister. Despite
the fact the actual romance sucked, she’s read Devlin’s Destiny numerous times because she can’t get enough of the
sinfully sexy Scottish laird. When she wakes up in a medieval castle, she
believes she’s having an erotic dream and jumps right into the fantasy. But she
quickly learns that this is no dream. The impossible has happened and she is
now starring as the heroine next to the yummy-as-hell hero.
Choosing
between finding a way back to her shambles of a life or shacking up with a
muscular kilted highlander is an easy decision…or so she thought. It quickly becomes
apparent that her new living situation comes with major strings attached and
being the leading lady isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.
With each
turn of the page, obstacles are thrown in her path as a war between love and
written words ensue. Can Gabby overcome an author’s vision to claim Devlin for
her very own?
What kind of
parallel universe had she warped into?
Gabby Stone rubbed
the sleep from her eyes as she sat up in bed. Blinking, she studied the
tapestry adorned stone walls surrounding her.
Yep, still there.
What. The. Hell?
How had she gone
from her queen-sized bed in her modest cabin to a monstrosity of a wood-framed
bed in a dungeon?
Nope. That was
crazy thoughts. People just didn’t wake up in what appeared to be a medieval
chamber. She still had to be dreaming.
An icy breeze caused
her to shiver. She crossed her arms over her chest, frowning when her hands
came into contact with fabric. Being one to sleep in the nude, finding
something other than skin was weird. Glancing down, her eyes widened at the peculiar
shirt she wore. Gabby held up her arms, staring at the cream-colored folds
hanging from her limbs.
What was this? The
land of the pirates?
She gingerly
lifted the string that held the shirt’s large V-neck closed and examined it. Which
yummy argh matey did it belong to? Captain Jack Sparrow? A dark, brooding Once
Upon a Time’s Captain Hook? Both? Man, now that would be a kickass dream.
Either way,
whoever the shirt belonged to, the person was huge. Gabby’s body practically
disappeared underneath the material. Lifting the shoulder of the shirt to her
nose, she took a tentative sniff.
Aw, hell.
Closing her eyes,
she buried her face in the fabric and inhaled. What was that mouth-watering
smell? A mixture of sandalwood and smoke, not cigarette smoke, but that
outdoorsy, wood-burning fire sort of smoke teased her senses. A kind of smell
that spoke of a man who worked with his hands and enjoyed the outdoors.
Her kind of man.
Another icy breeze
hit her and she shivered again. The least her stupid dreaming self could have
done was pick a nice warm place to drift
off to. The Caribbean would’ve been nice. Spotting a dying fire in the grate
against the adjacent wall, she pushed back the covers and stood. Frigid stone
met her bare feet, the cold air wrapping around her naked calves and knees. She
hugged her arms around her body tightly and hurried toward the orange embers
glowing in the fireplace, the air warming as she stepped closer.
Should she have
these sensations in a dream? Had she had them before and just forgot about them
the moment she woke? Did she ask herself this every time she had a dream—every
night?
She shook her
head. Jeez. It’d explain why she never felt rested.
Everything that
surrounded her felt so real. As if she truly stood in a dungeon.
“Ye awake, lass.”
At the deep
masculine voice, Gabby squeaked in surprise and whirled around.
Standing in the
doorframe, not ten steps away, was the largest man she’d ever seen. Well over
six feet tall, he towered over her own diminutive five foot two form. Dark hair
spilled over powerful shoulders that spanned the width of the doorframe. A blue
and gold patterned kilt rode low on his hips. His white shirt hung open to
mid-chest and matched the one she wore.
Ahhh. Not pirates. Highlanders. Even
better.
Her dream man
stepped further into the room, making her heart speed up. It’d been awhile
since her subconscious had indulged in a good ole’ fashion wet dream. And boy
had her mind conjured up a doozy of a man for her to play with. If a hot romp
with a sexy Scottish warrior was what her body needed to release some sexual
tension, who was she to fight it?
She bit the tip of
her finger and sent her dream man a coy look. “Whatcha got waiting for me under
that kilt, you fine piece of man meat.”
An odd expression
crossed his face, and he paused, standing so still it was like he didn’t even
breathe. Then he blinked. “What say ye?”
She crooked her
finger at him, beckoning him closer. “Come and get me, big boy.”
When he didn’t
move, Gabby almost lost her seductive pose to a frustrated stamp of the foot.
What the hell kind of dream was this? She liked to be taken. Why wasn’t he
taking?
Instead of
crossing the room and sweeping her up into his arms as he should have, he stood
a few feet away staring at her as if she’d lost her mind. Fine. Whatever. If she
had to do the work, so be it.
Walking toward him,
she swayed her hips in a slow back and forth motion. Her dream man’s gaze locked
onto the seductive rhythm, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. For such a
dominating presence, he sure was a timid thing. She stopped in front of him,
placing her hands on his chest. The scent of sandalwood and smoke filled her senses.
Unable to help herself, she leaned closer and inhaled.
“It’s you. God,
you smell so freaking yummy.”
She slid her palms
up his chest, only stopping when his large hands engulfed hers and pressed them
against his shirt.
“What are ye doing?”
His brogue poured
over her. Warmth cascaded through her body to pool between her legs. Oh yes,
pillow talk with the scrumptious man would be divine.
Tilting her head
back, she met hot-cocoa colored eyes. “Waiting for you to kiss me.”
She brazenly rubbed
her lower body against his, enjoying the feel of his cock skimming her belly.
His face may have been stern, but his body screamed hell-yeah.
“Ye should rest.”
“One kiss.” She
pouted her bottom lip out. “Please.”
He muttered under
his breath before releasing her hands and crushing her to his chest, his lips
claiming hers. All his hesitation evaporated. When he swiped his tongue
deliciously across the seam of her lips, Gabby eagerly opened for him and stood
on her tip-toes to press closer. He delved inside, and she was stunned by the
taste of him—an intoxicating blend of red wine and apples.
She groaned. This
was no ordinary wet dream kiss where she watched herself going through the
actions like a movie. This kiss…God…this kiss, she felt everything. The
pressure of his tongue moving against hers, his hands roaming her hips and ass,
the scrape of the stubble on his cheeks against her skin. The sensations
bombarded her and her clit throbbed with the beat of her heart. She shifted against
him, needing his hand to move between her legs, needing him to make the ache go
away.
Whenever she
awakened from this delicious dream, she’d be in bad need of her Jack Rabbit
vibrator. Thankfully, she kept it in the nightstand beside her bed.
His wandering hands
stopped where her butt and thighs met. Effortlessly, he hoisted her up. As she
wrapped her legs around his waist, Gabby’s nipples hardened into tight peaks.
Needing friction, she wound her arms around his neck and grazed his chest with
her breasts. The scrape of the fabric sent desire shooting through her body,
making her ache all the more. She rubbed herself against his cock. Her dream
man made a noise in the back of his throat before his grip tightened and he
walked forward, each step an exquisite lesson in pleasure.
As he laid her
down on the furs covering the mattress, his body pressed into hers. She clawed
at the fabric covering his ass, wanting him to do away with the kilt and just
fuck her senseless. Instead he ran his teeth along her jaw line, down her
throat and across her collarbone as he covered her breast with his hand,
kneading, tweaking, making her body beg to be filled. She widened her legs, bucking
against him, whimpering.
She arched her
back off the furs. “God. Please.”
Lifting his head, he
stared down at her, eyes blazing with passion. “Gabrielle, my bonny lass, how ye
taste, ye smell.”
She stilled
beneath him, a creepy sense of déjà vu breaking through the mist of desire.
“How do you know my name?” She never went by her full name, so why would she in
her dream?
“Ye jest,” he
said, jerking back. The desire evaporated from his eyes and a muscle twitched
in his jaw.
Gabby blinked as
he jumped off her, cursing. “How could ye lie with me when ye doona know me?”
The déjà vu
increased and a rock formed in her stomach. She snapped her legs closed. Why
would she dream this?
Dream, my ass. She was having a
nightmare. Only a nightmare would leave her body throbbing with no relief in
sight.
Wake up, fool.
But she was firmly
planted in the dream, even knowing exactly where she was and how this would
end.
Her. Unsated.
She watched Laird
Devlin McAlister, her dream man, pace the room. He didn’t look exactly how
she’d pictured him. Taller by three inches and wider across the chest, this
Devlin put her version of him to shame. His hair was darker, more like black
coffee instead of the lightly creamed colored she’d imagined. It was also
longer, flowing over his shoulders instead of merely grazing them.
But one thing had stayed
the same.
The hurt and
confusion she’d read over and over was etched on his face. Her heart constricted
as it did every time she read this scene.
Gabby looked away.
She guessed it was possible to read a
book one too many times and she was a
little too obsessed with Devlin’s story, as she’d been told by her co-worker on
countless occasions.
Though she refused
to admit that to her friend, she could now admit it to herself.
How many times had
she imagined herself in this very scene, in Devlin’s arms, knowing how relieved
he was to finally have the woman he loved show some sort of emotion toward him—that
was until he realized she had no clue who he was.
She knew he paced
in front of her, thinking himself a fool for believing Gabrielle had finally
come to her senses.
As expected,
Devlin stopped and gave her one more searching glance, sadness exuding from his
powerful frame.
“Ye doona know
me?” he asked, barely above a whisper.
She could have
recited the words with him.
Unsure of what to
say, she stuck with the book. “Nay, milord. I doonae.”
He knotted a hand
in his hair. Without looking at her, he spun and stalked from the room.
Gabby flopped back
on the furs and groaned.
Okay. It was so
time to wake up now.
Too bad the Jack Rabbit
would no longer be needed.
