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.
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.
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.
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