Kiss of the Highlander
Page 7

Lowering her other foot, Gwen grabbed her button-down and stretched her fingers toward the strap of her pack.
When the ground gave way beneath her feet, it was so sudden and unexpected that she scarcely had time to gasp before she plunged through the rocky bottom of the crevice. She fell for a terrifying few seconds, then landed with such force that the impact knocked the air from her lungs.
As she struggled to draw a breath, crushed rock and dirt showered her where she lay. Adding insult to injury, the backpack fell through the hole after her and thumped her in the shoulder before rolling off into the darkness. She finally managed a ragged breath, spit hair and dirt out of her mouth, and mentally assessed her condition before attempting to move.
She’d fallen hard and felt bruised from head to toe. Her hands were bleeding from her panicked attempt to catch herself as she’d plunged through the jagged opening, but, blessedly, it didn’t appear she’d broken any bones.
Gingerly, she turned her head and gazed up at the hole through which she’d fallen. A stubborn ray of sunshine filtered down on her.
I will not panic. But the hole was an impossible distance above her head. Worse still, she’d not passed any other hikers during her climb. She might yell herself hoarse, yet never be found. Shaking off a nervous shiver, she peered into the gloom. The shadowy blackness of a wall loomed a few yards away, and she could hear the faint trickle of water off in the distance. Obviously, she’d fallen into an underground cavern of sorts.
But the pamphlet said nothing of any caves near Loch Ness—
All thought ceased abruptly as she realized that whatever she was lying upon was not rock or soil. Stunned by the abrupt fall, she’d naturally assumed she’d landed on the hard floor of a cavern. But while it was hard, it was certainly not cold. Warm, rather. And given that until a few moments ago no sunlight had penetrated this place, what were the odds that something could be warm in this cool, damp cave?
Swallowing, she remained utterly still, trying to decide what she was lying on without actually looking at it.
She nudged it with a hipbone. It gave slightly, and it did not feel like soil. I’m going to be sick, she thought. It feels like a person.
Had she fallen into an old burial chamber? But, then, wouldn’t it be nothing but bones? As she debated further movement, the sun reached its zenith, and a brilliant shaft of sunlight bathed the spot where she’d fallen.
Summoning all her courage, she forced herself to look down.
Gwen screamed.
2
She’d fallen on a body. One that, considering she hadn’t disturbed it, must be dead. Or, she worried, perhaps I killed it when I fell.
When she managed to stop screaming, she found that she’d pushed herself up and was straddling it, her palms braced on its chest. Not its chest, she realized, but his chest. The motionless figure beneath her was undeniably male.
Sinfully male.
She snatched her hands away and sucked in a shocked breath.
However he’d managed to get here, if he was dead, his demise had been quite recent. He was in perfect condition and—her hands crept back to his chest—warm. He had the sculpted physique of a professional football player, with wide shoulders, pumped biceps and pecs, and washboard abs. His hips beneath her were lean and powerful. Strange symbols were tattooed across his bare chest.
She took slow, deep breaths to ease the sudden tightness in her chest. Leaning cautiously forward, she peered at a face that was savagely beautiful. His was the type of dominant male virility women dreamed about in dark, erotic fantasies but knew didn’t really exist. Black lashes swept his golden skin, beneath arched brows and a silky fall of long black hair. His jaw was dusted with a blue-black shadow beard; his lips were pink and firm and sensually full. She brushed her finger against them, then felt mildly perverse, so she pretended she was just checking to see if he was alive and shook him, but he didn’t respond. Cupping his nose with her hand, she was relieved to feel a soft puff of breath. He isn’t dead, thank God. It made her feel better about finding him so attractive. Palm flush to his chest, she was further reassured by his strong heartbeat. Although it wasn’t beating very often, at least it was. He must be deeply unconscious, perhaps in a coma, she decided. Whichever it was, he couldn’t help her.
Her gaze darted back up to the hole. Even if she managed to wake him and then stood on his shoulders, she still wouldn’t be near the lip of the hole. Sunshine streamed over her face, mocking her with a freedom that was so near, yet so impossibly far, and she shivered again. “Just what am I supposed to do now?” she muttered.