A Highlander's Obsession (Highlander's Beloved)

“
A Highlander’s Obsession
is a passionately sexy paranormal romance. It is a full-length novel, but one of those stories you’ll want to read in a single sitting. It is perfectly paced and distractingly addictive. Creighton and Paisley share a passion that sizzles off the page, while the narrative is surprisingly witty. One minute Vonnie Davis’s writing had me shrieking with laughter, the next I was furiously fanning my face as Creighton and Paisley heated up the pages with their romance.”

—H
ELENA
,
Love Reading Romances Reviews

“One of my favorite reads so far this year … I loved
A Highlander’s Obsession
. I was pulled in from the beginning. It is sexy and funny with a strong story line. Creighton is swoon worthy and hot.”

—L
ORI
H
ALUSKA
-S
MITH
,
Hopelessly Hooked on Books Reviews

“While I enjoy all sub-genres of romance,
A Highlander’s Obsession
, Ms. Davis’s funny, sexy, and suspenseful new paranormal romance, has shot to the top of my list!”

—D
IXIE
L
EE
B
ROWN
, author of the Trust No One series

“Brilliant, sexy and laugh-out-loud hilarious,
A Highlander’s Obsession
belongs on the keeper shelf to enjoy again and again, right next to all of Vonnie Davis’s fabulous stories! Get ready to fall in love. Creighton Matheson has just skyrocketed to the top of my all-time favorite romance heroes list! I can’t
wait
for the other books in this series. Kudos to Ms. Davis for creating this memorable paranormal romance.”

—AJ N
UEST
, author of The Golden Key Chronicles series

“Sexy and funny with characters that walk straight into your heart … Vonnie Davis will have you rushing to turn the pages until the very last word. Scots, kilts, and bears … oh, my!”

—S
ARAH
G
RIMM
, author of the Black Phoenix series

“Vonnie Davis delivers a sexy paranormal romance to tickle your funny bone and leave you sighing.”

—M
ACKENZIE
C
ROWNE
, author of
A Song for Sophie

“
A Highlander’s Obsession
is one of those stories you never want to end. A sizzling romance packed with a hot, kilted hero, an ancient curse, and the magical beauty of the Highlands. I laughed. I cried. I cheered. I cursed. Don’t miss this delightful escape from ‘real’ life!”

—M
AEVE
G
REYSON
, author of
A Highlander in Her Past

“Charming, sexy, and full of surprises;
A Highlander’s Obsession
is all this and more. Add it to your ‘must-read’ list. Warning: You’re going to fall in love with Creighton and his clan.”

—A
MIE
L
OUELLEN
, author of
Ten Reasons Not to Date a Cop

Paisley Munro tried not to gawk at the two broad-shouldered men in kilts as she hefted her suitcase off the luggage carousel in the Inverness Airport, located northeast of the city referred to as the capital of the Scottish Highlands. Her grandmother, on the other hand, was all eyes.

“Before we leave this country, I’m finding out what they wear under those kilts, even if I have to hike one up and take a gander myself.” Her grandmother patted her curls. She’d dyed her hair dark red for the trip. Unfortunately, the inability of her white hair to absorb the dye’s full effect resulted in a halo of pink curls. The combination of her tresses and her pink pantsuit made her look like the Pink Panther with wrinkles, just as skinny and wiry, but without the tail.

“Behave yourself, Gram.” Paisley tugged her grandmother’s luggage off the slowly moving belt that squeaked with every couple of inches gained. No use telling the free spirit to act her age. At seventy-four, why should she start now? “Our ride ought to be here somewhere.”

Paisley glanced around for Fiona Matheson, who should be holding a sign for Matheson Lodge. Fiona had promised in her reservation confirmation email she’d meet them.

Gram elbowed her. “Good grief, they’re coming toward us. Look at those broad shoulders and hairy legs. I’m not drooling, am I?” She pulled her shoulders back and thrust out her chest. She lowered her chin to talk to her breasts. “Look perky, girls. Sexy hunks at two o’clock.”

“Would you
please
behave?” Paisley wrapped her hand around her gram’s bony elbow, prepared to lead her around the wall of Scottish brawn sauntering toward them. Who knew what kind of men they were.

“Guid eenin. Whit’s yer name?”

“Excuse me?” She’d hoped the language wouldn’t be a problem. Now she wasn’t so sure.

The honey-haired man cleared his throat. “Pardon, I forgot me English.” He bowed slightly.

Her grandmother all but purred.

“Good evening, ladies. Would ye be the Americans, then? The Munros?” His thick burr gave the English language a lyrical sway.

The shorter of the two men, sporting a close-cropped beard and mustache, had his hand
over his mouth, pinching his lips together as if to keep them from spreading into a smile. Too bad the mirth twinkling in his brown eyes gave him away, that and his eyebrows rising to kiss his chestnut hairline. His gaze alternately slid from Gram’s pink hair to the pink pelican bedroom slippers she insisted on wearing whenever she flew. “Conversation starters,” she called them. Finally, the battle lost, he turned his back to them, the beads in his shoulder-length braids clacking as his shoulders shook with silent laughter.

Paisley pushed her glasses up her nose and scowled at him, trying to decide if she should ignore his rudeness or call him on it. Figuring it wasn’t worth upsetting Gram, she turned to the other man. “Yes. Who might you be?”

He extended a large hand. “I’m Ronan Matheson and this is me youngest brother, Bryce. We’ve come to take ye to Matheson Lodge.”

“I was expecting someone else.” Should she trust these strangers?

“Aye, lass. Me mum, Fiona. Bryce’s daughter has a wee bit o’ colic, so Mum stayed home to care fer her.”

She relaxed and exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Tension eased and her shoulders dropped. Traveling across the Atlantic was a strain under the best of circumstances. Bringing Gram here to the northeastern edge of Scotland so she could attend the funeral of her uncle doubled the stress. She worried the trip would be too tiring for her. “I’m Paisley Munro and this is my grandmother, Effie Iverson Munro.”

Ronan took Gram’s hand. “So this
young
lady is Angus Iverson’s niece, then? Why, yer too pretty to be a relation of old Angus, the goat.” He winced. “God forgive me fer speaking ill of the dead.” He bowed and kissed Gram’s hand. “Ye have our deepest sympathy, Mrs. Munro.”

The man certainly knew how to schmooze the customers. Or was he a natural flirt?

Gram batted her eyelashes. “Aren’t you the cutest thing? Thank you. Your concern is quite touching. Although, I must admit, I haven’t seen Uncle Angus since I was a teenager and he came to America on a steamer for a visit.”

Ronan reached for the handle of Gram’s suitcase before bending his elbow toward her. “Well, lassies, we should head off. Creighton will be expecting us.”

“Creighton?” Paisley allowed Bryce to take her suitcase.

“He runs the lodge, miss.” Bryce’s lips were bright red from being pinched so hard. “He’s our eldest brother. We’ve a family-run business. Our mother handles reservations and
oversees the hired help. Ronan sees to the interior workings of the lodge. Plumbing, electrical, and carpentry. I see to the upkeep of the grounds and the vehicles. I also help take care of our stock.”

“And Creighton?”

“Hell, Creighton sees to everybody.”

Both men chuckled.

Bryce cleared his throat. “He’s the
heid bummer
 … ah … the boss, lass, bein’ he’s the eldest, ye see.”

Gram walked between the brothers, and slipped an arm through each man’s bent elbow. When she glanced over her shoulder at Paisley, her eyes gleamed with pleasure. “These two are mine, sweet pea. The next man in a kilt is yours. In Scotland, it’s every woman for herself.”

The pair in plaid laughed and inclined their heads to the older woman as she prattled and flirted in a way Paisley never tried.

She shook her head and followed. No use to fuss at her; let her have her fun. Gram had to be exhausted. After a five-hour layover in Atlanta, the flight from the States, including a four-hour break at Heathrow and an hour in Aberdeen, their last-minute trip was nearly twenty-two hours of a sardine existence. They each needed a hot bath, a cup of herbal tea, and a soft bed.

Once they’d left the lights of the town of Inverness and sped down the two-lane country road to Matheson Lodge, darkness surrounded them. Strong winds shook the vehicle as they got closer to what Ronan called Mathe Bay. Rain seemed to come horizontally, and Ronan slowed the car as he leaned over the steering wheel to peer into the storm.

Evidently, the continual ground turbulence soothed Gram, for she was asleep within a few minutes. Paisley slipped off her jacket and laid it across Gram’s small frame. There was no one she loved more than this feisty woman.

When Paisley turned twelve and entered the emotional stage of puberty, more than the typical hormonal changes occurred. Her parents, obsessed with elevating their status within the business world, possessed little patience for a preteen who suddenly claimed she heard animals speak. She became an embarrassment to them. An oddity. A freak.

Gram came to her rescue. She took Paisley into her home and loved and accepted her—the good, the bad, and the different. Where would she be without this elderly dynamo? A long sigh escaped and she shifted in her seat to stare out the window into the darkness.

Ronan stepped on the brake and the Land Rover hydroplaned for a short distance. He fought to keep control. “Bloody hell, I can barely see beyond the end of the hood. The weatherman didna predict this storm.”