Ronan drew closer to Kara, and her mind filled with the memory of his mouth pressed to her center, to her throat, his body flush against hers. A rush of desire coursed through her, and she licked her dry lips. It was difficult to focus when he was so close to her.

“And what is that?” she whispered.

She braced herself for him to ask her what the future was like, what would happen to Scotland, to his clan.

“Is there a man waiting for ye—back in yer own time?”

Raw vulnerability filled his expression, and she blinked at him in astonishment. Out of all the things he could ask, that's what he went with? But delight rippled through her at his obvious jealousy.

“No,” she said, smiling. “There's no one."

Stark relief entered his eyes, and he returned her smile. She stilled as a surge of her own jealousy filled her.

“And you?” she asked, recalling what Aislin told her about his mistresses. "Do you have a mistress or two tucked away somewhere?”

“No,” he said immediately. Her shoulders sank with relief. “And now that I’ve had a taste of ye, lass . . .”

His gaze darkened with lust, and he stepped even closer, encroaching upon her personal space. She met his eyes, heart hammering.

“No other lass compares.”

The moment stretched between them, fraught with erotic tension, until Kara couldn’t wait any longer. She took the initiative and seized his mouth with hers.

He growled into her mouth as they kissed and they moved in tandem to the bed. As they fell onto it, his hand reached down to lift her gown, his finger dipping into her moist center.

“Ye're already wet for me,” he murmured against her mouth. “The first time—that was pure lust. This time,” his voice lowered to a husky growl, “’tis for exploration. But first, I need another taste of yer sweetness.”

He sat her up as he removed her gown, tunic, and underdress, before lowering her back to the bed and peppering kisses along her abdomen until he reached her center, dipping his tongue inside of her. Kara let out a cry, gripping the sheets as he tasted her. His amber eyes lifted to meet hers, and he tore his mouth from her to whisper, "The wetness between yer thighs is like the sweetest wine.”

“Ronan,” she moaned, reaching down for him, aching for him to sink himself inside her, but he evaded her grasp.

“No. I told ye,” he said with a wink. “This time, ’tis an exploration.”

He kept his mouth on her center until her pleasure reached its climax and she came with a desperate cry. He stood, taking off his tunic and kilt, his eyes roaming her nude body as he did so.

“Christ, Kara,” he whispered. “Ye have the body of a goddess.”

Kara flushed hot at his compliment, but as she took in his body, all chiseled muscle, every inch of him gleaming and pronounced, she shook her head in amazement.

“And you have the body of a god.”

He chuckled, and she sat up, eager to take his hardness in her mouth, but he again pushed her back down.

“All in good time, lass. I want tae savor yer body the way it was meant tae be savored.”

He leaned down to seize her nipple in his mouth, laving it with his full attention before turning his focus to the other one. She wound her hand through his chestnut strands, reveling in the feel of him against her, as he bathed her breasts with licks and kisses.

Finally, he lifted himself up, keeping his gaze locked with hers as he buried himself inside her. Kara wrapped her legs around him, shuddering at the sensation of his length buried within her, and their eyes remained locked as he began to thrust.

Whimpering with pleasure, she lowered her hands to grip his buttocks as he moved within her. Their movements became frenzied, and Kara locked her legs around him, needing him closer as their bodies came together, over and over again, until their mutual pleasure built to a crescendo.

"Kara," Ronan gasped, shuddering as his body quaked with the force of his climax, followed by her own only seconds later, the room swimming around her as her body shook.

Kara struggled to catch her breath as they came back to earth, their bodies still entwined. Rona pulled her close, reaching out to stroke her hair.

“Yer hair is like burnished gold,” he whispered, taking her in with reverence. “Yer eyes like the meadows just beyond the manor. Ye are a witch, my Kara, but one of a different kind. Ye've bewitched me since the moment I laid eyes on ye. Do ye know how beautiful ye are?”

“You're beautiful too,” she whispered, taking in his tawny eyes, his strong jaw dotted with stubble, those sensual lips, and yet another surge of lust crashed into her.

“If a man said that, I’d spear him with my sword,” Ronan said, scowling.

“It’s a compliment,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You're the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

His eyes darkened. “And how many men have ye seen?”

She grinned. “None have compared to you.”

It was true. Even the first kiss she'd shared with Ronan outshone the mediocre sex she’d had with past boyfriends. A sudden pang pierced her. No other man would ever compare to Ronan.

“What is it?” he asked, noticing the change in her expression.

“Nothing,” she said, pushing aside the thought of the future, a future in which Ronan didn’t exist. “Is there anything else you wanted to know? About my time?”

“No,” he said, with surprising swiftness. “’Tis not my place tae know of the future. But—” he hedged, studying her with curiosity. “Where is this land ye’re from? That’s given ye and Fiona such a strange accent?”

"Are you sure you want to know?" she teased. "I'll have to tell you a little of the future."

"Aye," he said, "But try not tae divulge much of it."

“There’s a land that hasn’t been discovered by Europeans yet,” she hedged. “People from the countries of Europe will colonize it. After some time has passed, their descendants will speak a common tongue—the form of English I’m speaking now.”

“The English," Ronan muttered with an irritated growl. "They still exist in the future, then? The Scots willnae have wiped them out?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so,” she said with a rueful grin. She decided it was best to not mention the global dominance England would have in the future—or the fact that Scotland would become a part of the United Kingdom.

“Enough. I donnae want tae ken anymore,” Ronan said, his handsome face creasing with annoyance. “But I do want tae ken more about ye, Kara. Not the story ye told me before. The real ye.”

Kara rested her head on his chest. “Certain things I told you were true. I was close to my grandmother. She encouraged my love of writing. She was happy that I went into journalism as a profession, though I think a part of her hoped I would’ve taken more of an interest in history.”

She traced the lines of his muscled chest, before continuing, “I immediately started working after university, and I loved it."

"Lasses can attend university in your time?" Ronan asked, his eyes wide with surprise.

"Yes," she said, poking him. "And women can do many other things in my time as well. For years, my life was my work. I didn’t get to see Alice as much as I wanted. As much as I should have. I didn’t have much time for friends, relationships. Looking back, it’s like . . . I was searching for something.”

“What were ye searching for?”

“I don’t know,” she mused. “But I do know that my life felt empty when my job ended. I think . . . I was using my job to fill some kind of gap. I was aimless. And then Alice died . . .” The familiar pull of grief tugged at her, and she swallowed against a wave of tears. “I think that’s why I so badly want to do what she asked me to in her letter. This is my last tangible connection to Alice. And then . . . she'll truly be gone."

Her voice broke, and Ronan reached out to pull her into his arms. She buried her face in his neck, the wetness of her tears dampening his skin.

"When I lost my father, I was consumed by grief," he murmured, stroking her hair. "Uncle Bran would take me for long walks in those early days. When we took those walks, he told me tae say everything I wanted tae tell my father, tae pretend he was walking at my side. At first, it seemed mad, but when I started doing it . . . it made his loss bearable. Ye should do the same. Ye’ll always have a connection tae yer grandmother. Here,” he said, reaching out to touch the center of her chest.

She smiled through her tears, and he wiped away her tears with his thumb, his eyes soft with compassion.

Alice may be gone, and she was six hundred years in the past, but in this moment, for the first time in a long time, a sense of calm settled over her. A sense of home.