A Contemporary Paranormal Romantic Suspense set in Loch Maree Scotland.
Archaeology student, Regan Stanhope, lands the chance of a lifetime when she’s chosen to work on a summer dig in Loch Maree, Scotland. The ancient monoliths hidden beneath the loch are the most important discovery since Stonehenge. And for seven hundred years, they have been waiting—for her.
Saturation diver Quinn Douglas is contracted to recover some of the megaliths from the loch’s bottom. The job will breathe life into the struggling salvage business he and his brothers are building. But from the moment he arrives, Quinn is plagued by dreams and feelings from a past he did not live. Or did he?
Regan and Quinn are drawn to each other as they research the monoliths and the reason behind their shared visions. But both sense something mystical at work, delving into their minds, manipulating their emotions. And when they finally discover the monoliths’ extraordinary secret, they know they must seal them away from those who are desperate to unlock their power. Even if it means remaining caught in a timeless struggle between the past and present forever.
Excerpt
His voice rumbled beneath her cheek. “How did you know the song, Regan?”
The question sent her pulse racing all over again. “I don’t know.”
Her throat grew tight, and she shook her head.
Quinn resumed massaging her neck with his fingers. Her pulse grew slow and heavy. She loosened her hold on him and fought the urge to rub against him.
“You must have an ear for languages. You sounded like a native Scot singin’ in Gaelic.”
Beyond the phrases she’d learned from a class, she knew only a little of the language. What was she to tell him? How was she to explain what had happened? The sheer lunacy of the situation was beyond anything she could have possibly ever dreamed.
She wanted to burrow against him and block it all out. She wanted to share it with him, tell him what was happening. But if she did, he’d go straight to Dr. Fraser, and she’d be sent home. And the disgrace would follow her forever.
She forced herself to take a step away from him and folded her arms against the sudden chill the loss of his body heat created. Though her legs remained shaky, her control had returned.
Quinn’s gaze settled on her features, his expression expectant.
“I can’t explain it.” Her voice came out husky, and she cleared her throat. “I heard the melody, and I knew the song.”
Quinn retained a light grip on her arms, his green eyes sharp and searching.
“I’ve never even been to the pub before. Some of the others have, but I haven’t,” she said.
“’Twould have made little difference if they’ve been there or not. Tonight was the first time I’ve played the song since the lot of you arrived.”
“Maybe I’ve heard it on a tape or CD?”
He shook his head. “It hasn’t been recorded.”
“How do you know? Do you know every Scot ballad that’s been recorded?” She heard the desperation in her own tone and drew a deep breath to steady herself.
“No, lass. A good many, but not all. But I do know the ones I write, and I think I would know whether my own had been.”
She swallowed, the sudden resurgence of her pulse stealing her breath. God, this was impossible.
His frown grew intimidating, suspicion narrowing his eyes. “I’d be interested to know how you got into my room while you were aboard the ship.”
She shook her head. “I didn’t go into any cabin other than the one Rob took me to.”
His snort of disbelief was like a slap.
Had he been seducing her earlier for a purpose? Defensive anger coiled inside her and her face flashed hot. “I didn’t even know which cabin was yours. The only other places I went were the head and the galley.”
“How then do you explain writing the lyrics to it? ‘Twas a clever trick that. And you didn’t do half bad. I thought the part about burying the bairn quite touching.”
Reading the disbelief, the anger in his expression, Regan jerked free of his grip. She’d felt the crushing loss of sincere grief behind the lyrics as surely as it had been her own. “You’re a cold bastard, Quinn Douglas. How can you relegate it to just meaningless words? She lost her child. Her husband was gone, and she had to bury him alone.”
“She?”
Regan grasped the short thick hair on either side of her head and pulled, frustration driving a reckless spike of impatience through her control. Damn him for his condescending, suspicious, arrogance.
“Her name was Coira and her husband’s name was Braden. You’re the native Scotsman around here, you figure it out.” Regan swiveled on her heel and walked away from him. She stopped at the end of the dock and turned back to him for one last parting shot, hoping to rattle his insufferable confidence. “Before you lay claim to it, you’d best do some research. It was Coira who wrote the song.”
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