Kenzie Jacobs is fascinated by a portrait of the roguish Highlander, Black Ben, which hangs in her ancestral home. There’s a mystery surrounding his death, and Kenzie longs to solve it by traveling through time to 17th century Scotland—and perhaps meet the gorgeous laird who haunts her dreams.

Black Ben, Laird of Ross, suited his dark name more than ever since his wife died in childbirth. He has vowed never to marry again. But Kenzie is an intoxicating elixir and even more potent than whiskey. As confusing and crazy as she may seem, he can’t get her out of his system. But there’s no way they can ever work, as she does not fit into his plans.

Fate has brought them together, and Ben can’t stop Kenzie from returning to her time, though he would do anything–except marry her–to keep her with him. Kenzie has a life to get back to but leaving her favorite, though infuriating, Highlander behind, might be the toughest thing she’ll ever have to do.

Excerpt

His contemplative gaze raked over her form, and she shivered. What was it about this man that made her react in such a way? For a start, he stank, seemed to be an alcoholic, and was nosy, to boot.

Dismissing her stupid reaction, Kenzie concentrated on rubbing the cloth over his temples and working her way down his neck. The scattering of hair peeking through the top of his shirt gave her pause, and she wondered if he was overly hairy or just a little as she preferred. No one wanted to sleep with a bear, after all.

“A relative of both of theirs, eh?” He groaned and rolled to his side, forcing her off the chair. “A bucket. Quickly, lass.”

“Oh my God, seriously?” Kenzie looked about the room, and spying a peat bucket beside the fire, she tipped the little bricks of peat onto the ground and raced back to his side.

Great heaving and the sound of a lot of whisky coming up filled the room for the next few minutes, along with a smell that Kenzie never wanted to experience again.

Rinsing the cloth, she passed it to him when he seemed to be finished and watched as he wiped his mouth and chin.

“You’re very pretty lass, and very similar to my Gwen.”

The word ‘my’ wasn’t lost on her, nor did she like hearing it. “Gwen isn’t yours, sir. And I don’t care if you find me pretty or I remind you of Gwen. You, sir, are a sickly drunk who doesn’t have any respect for his own wellbeing.”

It was his turn to look stunned. “Sickly drunk? I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, but those two terms have never been two of them. Perhaps you ought—”

Kenzie held up her hand. “I don’t want to ‘ought’ anything. All I wish is to get you better so you may leave and get on with ruining your own life, which, if your appearance here this evening is any indication, you’re quite on the road to doing. Laird indeed…”

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About Tamara Gill

Tamara is an Australian author who grew up in an old mining town in country South Australia, where her love of history was founded. So much so, she made her darling husband travel to the UK for their honeymoon, where she dragged him from one historical monument and castle to another.

A mother of three, her two little gentleman in the making, a future lady (she hopes) and a part-time job keep her busy in the real world, but whenever she gets a moment’s peace she loves to write romance novels in an array of genres, including regency, medieval and time travel.

Connect: Website | Twitter: @Tamara_Gill | Facebook: tamara.gill.author | Street Team