Her Highland Fling: A Novella
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Let the Games Begin …
William MacKenzie has always been protective of his Scottish village. When Moraig's economy falters, he has the perfect solution to lure wealthy Londoners to this tiny hamlet: resurrect the ancient Highland Games! But for this to work, William knows he needs a reporter to showcase the town in just the right light.
A female journalist might be a tolerated oddity in Brighton, but newly minted reporter Penelope Tolbertson is discovering that finding respect in London is a far more difficult prospect. After receiving an invitation to cover Moraig's Highland Games, Penelope is determined to prove to her London editors just how valuable she can be.
Penelope instantly captures William's heart, but she is none too impressed with the gruff, broody Highlander; however, as she begins to understand his plans, Penelope discovers she may want more from him than just a story. She's only got a few days … but maybe a few days are all they need.
clothes?” His brows pulled down in confusion as he accepted the shirt from her. His fingers crumpled in the fabric, but he looked at a loss to know what to do with it. Ah, there was the return of the bumbling giant. She was discovering she enjoyed being able to pull it from his university-educated skull. “I was merely enjoying all the views Moraig has to offer, MacKenzie,” she answered, though her unaccustomed boldness meant her cheeks felt as though someone had held them too close to a
on the top of her fair head and a discreet inhalation to preserve the precious scent. “ ’Tis lovely, though in truth I’ve only seen a b-bit of it.” She hesitated. “B-both times I’ve come to Moraig, I’ve stayed with Caroline, you see, so my forays into town have been limited.” “Perhaps you ought to stay a night or two in town,” James suggested, smiling down at his wife and daughter. He reached out a finger, which Lizzie grabbed, gurgling happily. “After all, there’s a room still held at the Blue
brute strength,” he reminded her. “Yes, as you’ve said.” A serene smile claimed her face, but it held a bit of the devil in it. “And I’ve a notion you know how to aim your stick.” She stared straight ahead, as though they hadn’t been tangled skin to skin last night and as though they weren’t carrying on a conversation filled with enough innuendo to sink a ship. He looked hungrily at her, wanting only to take her by the arm and drag her into some private corner, his own upcoming toss with the
her fair shoulder, knowing the moment of reckoning was here. “I love you, lass.” She stiffened. “You d-don’t mean that.” Her voice sounded muffled against his chest. “We hardly know each other.” “I do, Pen. I would marry you tonight if you would but have me. And we could, too. The blacksmith is just beyond Main Street.” He could feel her start to shake, but was it with emotion or regret? “MacKenzie,” she said, her voice small and uncertain. “William,” he nearly growled. “I’ve a j-job in
distance to the beach, but the fact that he’d been caught. She couldn’t quite place the man’s accent, but it wasn’t Scottish. American, perhaps. What did she care where he came from? The problem was what he was doing here. “I’m not a governess,” she said. “I’m Macrath’s sister, Ceana.” He bent and retrieved his shirt from a pile of clothes beside the door, taking his time with it. Shouldn’t he have begun with his trousers instead? “Who are you?” she asked, looking away as he began to don the