Highland Obsession

Table of Contents

 

 

“Watch out for your fingers. . . .
Highland Obsession
is on fire—a scorching page-turner from cover to cover! Sexy Highlanders and wickedly erotic romance, Dawn Halliday is the HOTTEST new voice in Scottish romance.”

—Monica McCarty,
USA Today
bestselling
author of
Highland Scoundrel

 

“Dawn Halliday blasts onto the erotic romance scene with a well-written, passionate debut certain to keep readers up all night.”

—Jess Michaels, author of
Taboo

 

 

 

 

“I found myself eagerly reading through the pages waiting to find out what would happen next . . . a wonderful summertime read.”

—Romance Junkies

 

“Joyfully Recommended! There was nothing about this novel that I didn’t like. Well, other than the fact that it made me sweat. Ms. Halliday gets two thumbs up . . . impressively awesome.”

—Joyfully Reviewed

 

“Passionate . . . a wonderful read.”—Just Erotic Romance Reviews “If you like your romance hot and sexy, this book is the one for you.”

—The Romance Studio

 

“[An] erotic treat . . . plenty of sensual thrills. Great job and I look forward to reading more from this author in the future.”

—Fallen Angel Reviews

 

“Absolutely sizzles . . . [a] well-crafted plot and steaming-hot sex. Definitely recommended!”—TwoLips Reviews

SIGNET ECLIPSE
Published by New American Library, a division of
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First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

First Printing, August 2009

Copyright © Jennifer Haymore, 2009

All rights reserved

 

SIGNET ECLIPSE and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA

 

Halliday, Dawn.
Highland obsession/Dawn Halliday.
p. cm.

eISBN : 978-1-101-10526-9

1. Triangles (Interpersonal relations)—Fiction. 2. Highlands (Scotland)—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3608.A54835H54 2009
813’.6—dc22 2009003849

 

 

 

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

 

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

 

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

With thanks to my super agent, Barbara Poelle—your support and enthusiasm inspire me to be the best writer I can be.

Thanks to my amazing editor, Becky Vinter, for your insightful guidance and for your belief in this story.

Thanks to all the writers who helped me so much in crafting this book: Anya Delvay, Evie Byrne, Moira McTark, Elayne Venton, and Maya Banks. I appreciate your tough critiques and your honesty as well as your hand-holding and friendship. You’re the best!

Finally, huge thanks to my family and friends for being so supportive and understanding, even when I lock myself in my office and write till midnight on weekends. I love you all, and I couldn’t do it without you!

CHAPTER ONE

 

 

 

 

 

C
am dismounted and tethered his horse to the spindly trunk of a juniper. Though a full moon had brightened the night sky earlier, clouds had gathered and now a soft mist fell. The horses’ heavy breathing steamed the air and their intermittent snorts contrasted with the whisper of water on the bushes and grass.

Ignoring the needles scraping his arms, Cam glanced back at MacLean, who remained mounted, waiting for Cam’s instruction. The man and his horse formed an inky shadow in the increasing gloom.

The ground sank under Cam’s feet and leaves rustled as he moved to take measure of the small valley below. He scanned the stables and few dark outbuildings hardly visible through the rain, but his gaze came to an abrupt stop when it collided with the largest dwelling in the enclave—Alan MacDonald’s two-room cottage near the banks of the loch.

Sorcha and Alan were inside. Alone at last on the first night of their marriage.

Hours ago, from behind an old cairn, Cam had watched the villagers dance around a bonfire as the lively tune of their fiddles and pipes echoed through Glenfinnan. Cold to the marrow of his bones, he’d stared past the stones down at them, at
her
. Sorcha smiling shyly as Alan led her in a reel, her skirts swishing around her calves. She looked as a young bride should: beautiful, happy. Innocent.

But she wasn’t innocent.

Her father had tried—and failed—to keep a tight rein on her. Now it was Alan MacDonald’s job. Cam knew Alan would do it better.

Smoke puffed in small clouds from the chimney and light spilled out from the cottage windows onto the water, making it glitter as it splashed gently against the pebbled shore.

Again Cam glanced at MacLean, who sat patiently upon his horse, reins held loosely in his meaty hands. “Wait here. Come only if I call for you.”

MacLean nodded. Cam didn’t allow his gaze to linger on the big man—he didn’t want to see any sign of disapproval, though logic told him MacLean followed him blindly with no interest in separating right from wrong. If Cam saw disapproval in MacLean’s expression, he’d be conjuring it from a blank slate.

Swiping the back of his hand over his stinging eyes, Cam stared at the cottage. He had no choice but to go down there. He had to see it through to the end. Maybe then his obsession with her would end.

“Stay out of sight,” he murmured to MacLean.

“Aye, milord.” MacLean’s rough voice came from behind him, but Cam hardly heard. He was already striding down the wet slope toward the cottage.

Sorcha
. Her name rose in his mind, peaked and receded like a delicate wave. How had it happened this way? And why, for God’s sake, did it even matter? He’d thought Sorcha was a toy, an entertaining plaything. A dalliance. Nothing more. How wrong he was.

Over a month ago, her father had left Cam’s service and moved his family to Glenfinnan. The day before she’d gone, she met him in his bedchamber. After they made love, she’d clung to him, and her eyes had glistened with tears as they’d murmured their farewells.

Cam assumed he’d forget about her. He predicted he’d easily find another skirt to amuse him. Instead, he’d thought about her daily. He ached to see her, to hold her again. To touch her silken skin. To see her generous smile, then kiss her into submission.

When he learned of her upcoming marriage to Alan MacDonald, something had snapped in his consciousness. Thoughts of her began to occupy his every waking moment. He’d tried to stop. He’d schooled himself to restraint and resolutely kept out of her affairs.