He was sitting, too, a magnificent sight. “Evil preys on the Innocent in every age, Ailios. Pleasure crimes have been sung about by the ancient bards an’ there’s a need for Masters in the past, too. There are Masters in every time.” He added softly, his gaze locked with hers, “I’m sorry ye have been alone so long.”
Allie looked up at him and saw his intense, searching stare and couldn’t decide what it all meant. But there was so much hope. The good guys had superheroes on their side, too. Battles had been lost, but the war wasn’t over, not by a long shot.
And she wasn’t alone anymore.
Her heart seemed to be singing a very happy song.
A seductive smile began. He said softly, “Ye may be holy an’ ye have the gift of white power, but yer Innocent, too.” And he reached for her.
Allie went into his arms, astride his hips. As he pushed slowly against her buttocks, she felt faint with impending pleasure. “What does that mean, exactly?” she whispered. She shifted and began rubbing herself over his massive length.
“I’m sworn to protect Innocence. I’m sworn to protect ye.” He grasped her hips and held her still.
She seized his wrists. “I like your idea of protection.”
“I thought ye might,” he said, holding her so she could not move. Very slowly, he began to penetrate upward.
So much pleasure crested, hollowing her. “It’s my turn,” she gasped, “to be the tyrant.”
He laughed and flipped her onto her stomach, pushing even deeper as he did so. “I dinna think so,” he said.
Allie couldn’t protest. There was too much rapture trying to explode. “Let me come!”
“Aye,” he gasped.
WHEN ALLIE AWOKE the second time that day, his side of the bed was empty and she was alone. The sun was high beyond her window. She grinned and wiggled her toes. She was a very feminine and sensual woman, but she had never felt so sexy and so desirable.
And she had never felt so happy, so light. But why not? She had the hunk of all ages, literally, as a lover—and he was also an überhero. In fact, they could go cruising together tonight. He’d fight the demons while she healed their victims. It was going to be perfect.
And her silly heart was grinning, too, swollen with happiness.
It felt suspiciously like love.
She slid from the bed, realizing this delirious high was just that. She was falling in love with her golden, not-so-medieval hero. She had thought herself immune to love, and had even wondered if her heart was somehow defective. She had rationalized that love was not a part of her very definite Fate, but apparently she had been wrong.
She laughed and as she showered and dressed, she hummed her favorite country songs, off-key and uncaring of how awful she sounded. She’d had the best sex of her life. Royce was to die for, and she couldn’t wait to see him, exchange smiles and ask him to cruise with her that night. She couldn’t wait to be in his arms and tell him how she felt—and that this was so new for her.
A tray had been set outside the bedroom door with coffee and scones and several newspapers. As it was half past four in the afternoon, the coffee was ice cold. She retrieved the papers, then headed downstairs for hot coffee and a gargantuan breakfast. She was famished.
She did not know the house, and she wandered from the great room past several salons before stumbling across the dining room. Royce was seated at a long wood table, reading a newspaper, apparently waiting for her. Her heart tried to burst from her chest and she felt happy enough to float to the ceiling. He looked up and smiled at her, then shot to his feet.
She walked up to him, thinking about his body, his kisses and how damned great he looked in a dark polo shirt and Italian trousers; he took her hands in his and pressed them to his chest. “Hi,” she breathed.
“Hallo,” he murmured back, his gaze terribly warm.
Absurdly it made her think about lots of great sex—not that she’d ever really stopped thinking about last night. “Wanna cruise with me tonight?”
He didn’t seem to understand.
“I need to heal—you can fight the demons,” she said softly.
“I can think o’ better things to do tonight,” he murmured.
She flushed. “I’ll bet you can.”
He guided her toward a chair. “Come have lunch with me. Then we’ll plan our day. If ye like, I’ll take ye on a tour of the country.”
Our day. Allie sat, realizing eating would be impossible, because all she wanted to do was stare at him, drown in his masculine beauty and pinch herself to see if she was dreaming. He grinned, as if he guessed her thoughts. “Mrs. Farlane? Miss Monroe has come down to dine,” he called. Then he poured her coffee.
IT WAS LATE when they returned to Carrick, having spent the entire day touring the Highlands in his silver Lamborghini. He drove well but fast and they hadn’t talked very much—there was no need. Allie had been so happy just to be with him. They had stopped for lunch at the magnificent Dunain Park Hotel in Inverness, where the proprietors had fawned over them both—she had been recognized. And they had wandered about the ruins of Urquhart, where they’d also made love behind a ruined stone wall. Now, as Royce parked the car in one of his garages, Allie wandered back into the castle. Supper would be a late affair, but she didn’t care.
She was about to go upstairs to freshen up and call home when she caught a flash of brilliant color from the corner of her eye. Posed to go upstairs, her heart leapt and she turned around to face the aura that had caught her attention. A strange man stood in the great room. He emanated the same warrior power as Royce: holy strength vibrated from him in red and gold waves of light. Testosterone charged his aura, too. But he also radiated a white, healing light, even if faintly. Most importantly, the blue and purple in his aura told her that his Karma was huge—but far from mastered. In fact, he would pay a high price for it.
Allie knew she was meeting another Master, and excitement began. He stared at her, as well, smiling. She came forward curiously. Taller than Royce, he had fair skin, dark hair and he was Hollywood-leading-man handsome. He was wearing a slick black leather jacket with distressed jeans and he was young—maybe her own age.
He grinned more widely at her, revealing two dimples, while his gaze slid over the ivory corset top she wore with a print circle skirt. “Hallo.”
Her interest peaked. He appeared modern, but she had a sudden sense that he was not from the present, in spite of his clothes. “Hi. You’re a Master, too.”
His eyes widened. “Royce has talked very freely in yer bed.”
“I can see your aura and it reeks of a few pretty specific traits. I’m Allie.” She came forward and held out her hand.
He took it and, instead of shaking it, lifted it to his lips. “I’m the lord of Awe, the earl of Lismore. But ye may address me as Aidan.” A grin followed his rather arrogant tone.
Allie wasn’t all that surprised by the gallant, Old World kiss. Definitely for Tabby, she thought. “How old are you?”
He dropped her hand, amused. “I’m old enough for ye, lass.”
“I’m with Royce.”
“T’is evident. I’m pleased for him. But I willna mind much if ye decide Royce is too old for ye.” His smile flashed. “I’m only thirty an’ two years of age.”
This man was wearing modern clothes, but he was not a modern man. “What year did you come from?”
He