My Seductive Highlander (3 page)

E
DINBURGH,
S
COTLAND

T
WENTY-FIRST
C
ENTURY

Three perfectly white crisp tickets slowly rose behind the screen of her laptop, bouncing back and forth just beyond the edge like dancing cardboard puppets. A teasing singsong voice kept time with the hopping tickets. “Lookie what I've got!”

“I'm busy, Vivienne. Go pester Alberti.” Lilia massaged the corners of her burning eyes then resettled her black-framed reading glasses back in place. She had to get the marketing campaign nailed down for store number three well before the projected grand opening.
Something fresh. Something new. Something spectacular.
Those words haunted her every waking hour, even bleeding over into her dreams—they constantly hummed in the back of her mind like a demented mantra.

Carefully targeted marketing plus word of mouth about her all-natural line of cosmetics and skincare products had boosted sales and built a large enough following to easily support a third store but nothing could be left to chance. It had taken a full year to recover from the gross error she'd made when she trusted the wrong person to help her make her dream a success.
I have to make sure this is right—absolutely perfect.

She closed her eyes and thumbed her pounding temples. After countless hours of staring at the computer and studying demographics, she very much doubted she'd recognize something fresh and new if it bit her on the ass.

Maybe that should be store three's angle:
Want your sweetie to nibble you straight to ecstasy? Vanilla-scented argan oil will guide your sexy bee straight to the honey pot.
Lilia massaged her aching neck. Coming up with unique marketing and ad campaigns sucked balls.

“Here. Drink yer coffee, m'wee grumpling. Have ye bothered eating today or do I need t'bring ye a biscuit?” Vivienne slid a steaming bright pink mug to the glass table then plopped down in one of the art deco steel chairs, wiggling in the seat until the black leather padding squeaked in protest.

Lilia curled the chunky ceramic mug between her hands, breathing in the blissful caffeine-infused aroma. Vivienne knew her well and took excellent care of her. Thank God for the day that Vivienne had burst into the first natural-beauty boutique Lilia had opened. The way Vivienne's shriek had split the air that day, Lilia had thought someone was trying to kill her. But then she had spotted Vivienne's hair and face and understood completely.

Lilia immediately suspected a botched home color job as the culprit. She'd never seen quite that shade of greenish purple before—except maybe in a Godzilla B-movie. Vivienne had also sported an inch-wide stain of bile green crawling down out of her hairline. The lizardy shade had striped down her forehead and zigzagged down the back of her neck as well.

It had taken nearly two full teacups of Lilia's stash of whisky at the shop to calm Vivienne enough to get the details of what concoction she'd used on her hair. After several hours, when Lilia was done, Vivienne's porcelain complexion was free of monster-green stains and her chicly spiked “do” was her now trademark electric fuchsia-red. Vivienne had sworn love and loyalty to Lilia that day, and even though that had been barely two years ago, it was as though they'd been the best of friends for a lifetime.

Vivienne tapped the glass table with a perfectly manicured nail. “Ye've wandered away on me again, ducks. I said we've some of those delightful cinnamon biscuits left from the preview party for the coconut oil line last night. Want I should reheat one for ye?”

“Believe it or not, I actually had a scone this morning.” Lilia took in a deep breath, struggling against the darkness and stress squeezing her heart until she thought it would surely crumble. “Eliza seemed a bit more stable today so I had breakfast with her.”

“Oh. Well…tha's good then.” Vivienne paused, her mouth pursed downward into a sympathetic frown. “I'm so sorry, lovie,” she whispered. Her deep brown eyes glistened with unshed tears. She cleared her throat and nervously fluffed her fingertips through her short spiked hair.

Lilia took another sip of the strong black coffee. Vivienne's unconscious habit of spiking her bright hair into an even wilder bush of abandon somehow consoled her. Vivienne only fiddled with her hair when extremely upset or royally pissed off. By the somber hue of her friend's aura and the echo of sadness emanating from her, Vivienne was just as upset as she was about Eliza's worsening condition.

“So what are the tickets for?” If she didn't change the subject, she and Vivienne would both be bawling. She slid her cup back to the table, saved the PowerPoint chart, then powered down the laptop. Enough planning for store three for one day.

Vivienne's face lit up and she excitedly patted both hands atop the table. “Ye know Fringe Festival starts tonight. And look”—she grabbed up the tickets, fanned them out, and waved them under Lilia's nose—“the Highland LARPers are putting on a special performance. The tickets were sold out in just under an hour but I scored three of them so you and I and Alberti can go and do a bit of
covert surveillance
.” Her voice had deepened to the deliciously wicked tone it always took whenever Vivienne was in full plotting mode. She excitedly bounced up and down in her chair as though prepping for liftoff. “We'll totally win the competition against them later this fall. There'll be no stopping us at the Grand Highland Games if we can study their bit of swordplay and horsemanship and plan our attack accordingly.” Vivienne pointed both index fingers at Lilia. “Ye could win the title of Grand Swordsmanship Champion two years straight! A pair of trophies would balance out a shelf quite nicely.” Vivienne squealed and patted the table again. “Wouldn't that be bangin' hot?”

LARPing, or Live Action Role Playing, had been Lilia's saving grace when, just over a year ago, she'd nearly lost her constant battle against the crippling darkness of depression. Gifted—or cursed depending on your viewpoint—with prophetic visions and painfully fine-tuned empathy, life got overwhelming fast. Drugs hadn't helped, and neither had therapy—especially when she couldn't exactly be totally honest with the doctor when it came to her family history. If she'd told the psychiatrist she was the youngest member of a family of time-traveling women, born in thirteenth-century Scotland then whisked to the future by her grandmother to save her life, the doc would've surely locked her in a padded room and thrown away the key.

But the intense physical workout and the strategic planning involved in their LARP war games and swordplay competitions had helped—that and Vivienne and Alberti's close watchful care.

Vivienne had introduced Lilia to Alberti after the infamous screaming match she'd had with her former business partner, David Sommers, over some entries in the company's accounts he couldn't explain. Vivienne had never trusted or liked David, but as Granny would say, “The man could charm a dog off a meat wagon” and he knew how to double-talk better than any politician. Whenever Lilia had lowered her shields and scanned David, she'd never come up with any sense of guilt from him so she'd liked him and took him at his word. Of course, now she knew he never felt any guilt because the bastard hadn't possessed a conscience.

But then Vivienne had brought in Alberti. She'd known him since college and anyone Vivienne recommended was fine in Lilia's book. A savvy businessman, financial whiz, and even a licensed physical trainer on the side, Alberti had jumped at the chance to invest in Lilia's beauty business—a business that for all intents and purposes should have been thriving but, strangely enough, seemed to be losing money.

Thank God for Vivienne and Alberti. Not just for being business partners but also for being non-judgy confidants and friends. They knew and unconditionally accepted the parts of her heritage she'd risked sharing. And if not for those two, she would've gone off the deep end and drowned in her sorrow a long time ago.

A sharp clap startled Lilia back to the present.

“Yer worse at yer wanderin' today. Did ye no' sleep last night? If yer gonna get lost in yer thoughts, snag a juicy moment of goin' up against the wall instead of that dark shit that puts the shadows 'neath yer eyes.” Vivienne scooped up the coveted tickets and waved them under Lilia's nose again. “Come on, ducks. Ye know a bit a swordplay always cheers ye up. Say ye'll come.”

Lilia plucked the tickets out of Vivienne's hands, leaned back in the plush office chair, and slowly swiveled back and forth. “The Highland LARPers, huh?”

“Aye.” Vivienne patted her hands on the table in rapid-fire drumming. “We'll have a grand evening of swords, archery, and horsemanship and then it'll be off to the pub to toast our warmongering genius at strategizing the perfect coup for the upcoming battle this fall!”

“Have you told Alberti?”

“Has she told Alberti what?” Alberti, tall, slender, and attired in his usual state of impeccable fashion perfection, leaned through the partially opened office door. “What debacle has Vivienne embroiled us in this time?”

“Piss off, Berti.” Vivienne affectionately extended her middle finger with a casual flip of one hand. Only Vivienne could turn a rude hand gesture into a sign of endearment.

Alberti rolled his eyes, ignoring Vivienne with a sleek dark brow arched directly at Lilia. “Have you forgotten we've a meeting with the zoning commission today and—as God is my witness—please tell me that is not how you intend to wear your hair?”

Lilia fingered the heavy blonde braid hanging down the right side of her neck. The tethered tip of the long ponytail nearly brushed her lap. “What's wrong with a braid? I just re-blonded everything so I'm trying not to stress it out by taking the flat iron to it.”

“Re-blonded? Seriously…” Alberti smoothed a hand against his perfectly styled black hair with just enough graying at the temples to sex him up a notch. “Be that as it may, at least coil it into a neat chignon. Much more professional than a braid and a great deal less…” Alberti waved a hand in the air, struggling to find the words. “A great deal less Viking opera or queen of the Valkyries.”

“Show him the tickets so he'll get off my ass about my hair.” Lilia pushed the tickets across the table toward Vivienne. She stiffly rose from the chair, stretching her arms high in the air and twisting from side to side. Damn, she'd been sitting hunched over the computer too long.

“This'll throw ye in a tizzy, Berti.” Vivienne skipped across the room in her spike heels, waving the tickets in the air. “Ye'll have to leave work a bit early this afternoon t'make sure they've sauced up our costumes good and proper. We canna attend a show like this in dreary old street clothes. After all—'tis the start of Fringe, ye ken?”

She slid the tickets into his hands then hugged up against his arm, excitedly bouncing them both with every word. With an innocent smile, Vivienne almost purred as she batted her false eyelashes up at him. “And this time could ye make certain my outfit's a bit less whorish?”

Alberti's gaze slid from the tickets to Vivienne, his expression shifting from
interested
to
skeptical
with a twitch of a brow. “A bit less whorish?”

“Aye.” Vivienne grinned and bobbed her head.

“Have ye looked in the mirror today, dearie?” Alberti wrinkled his nose, quietly emitting a disapproving
hmph
as he took in Vivienne's leopard print spike heels then swept up her black leather leggings to her extremely low-cut silky-white tunic. He leaned a bit closer, lowering his voice. “And ye have camel toe, lovie—I mean really, Vivienne.”

“Ass!” Vivienne smacked Alberti on the shoulder and then toddled away, all the while yanking her leggings away from her crotch.

Lilia snorted out loud, nearly blowing the last sip of coffee out her nose. Life would be so unbearable without these two. Rubbing her stiff neck with one hand, she moved out from behind the long glass table. “Play nice, you two, or I'm going to sit you in the corner and make you touch noses until you get along.”

I can't believe I just said that.
Lilia's heart hitched a double-thump then plummeted nearly to her stomach. Granny had always used that threat when the four sisters got into a spat over something infinitely stupid.

Damn, I miss them.
Visiting through the fire portal kept them all in touch, but it was nothing like really being there and it had been so very long since she'd had the time to jump back for a proper family get-together.

“Now, now, lovie. I ken that look. Shake them away. Dinna let those dark demons take hold.” Vivienne hugged an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “Berti and I still think ye should take a wee bit of time off. We'll take care of the shops. Why don't ye jump back and visit yer family for a spell? 'Twould do ye a world of good.”

“I can't.” Lilia blinked hard, forcing the tears back where they belonged. “I can't leave Eliza. I just don't think she's got that much time left.” Dear, sweet Eliza, the woman Granny had sent to watch over them when she'd decided to stay with Trulie in the past.

Eccentric, bawdy, and a force of nature, Eliza had quickly taken up residence in the Sinclair girls' hearts. But now Eliza was dying. At ninety years old, she'd opted out of the recommended therapy to try and rid her lungs of the cancer. She'd said there were a great many things on this Earth worse than dying, and having your loved ones watch you with pity in their eyes was one of them. She'd opted to slip away with as much dignity as she could without going through the torturous regimen of chemotherapy and radiation and the resulting side effects.

Lilia had begged and pleaded with Granny, Trulie, and Mairi to come to the twenty-first century long enough to rid Eliza of the damn cancer with the healing touch the Fates had given them. But they'd all three sadly declined and Lilia knew why. She'd received the vision too. Eliza had reached the end of this life's path. It was time for her to move on.