My Highlander Cover Model (3 page)

A sexy growl left his lips as he tunneled his hands through her hair. He deepened the sensual assault on her mouth, bringing her in tight against his body. A solid, rock wall. Even more unyielding than she remembered. How could that be? She shook away the crazy observation, and let herself become lost in his thorough and savage pillaging of her mouth.

Cailin rotated his hips and the long length of his dick brushed against her thigh. Had she just thought of him as Cailin? Beyond that, her legs nearly gave out at the feel of his rigid cock. He pulled back. His green eyes glittered with lust. Oh, he was glorious.

“Aye, Cailin. And doona forget it, lass.”

Hell no, I won’t forget. Cailin. Right
. Her whole body trembled with unsatisfied desire. His massive chest rose and fell with each ragged breath he took. Skye’s gaze couldn’t help but wander below his waist. A substantial erection strained against the leather.

Holy. Shit
. No wonder it felt like he had a broom handle in his pants.

“Listen, ah—Cailin. I have to borrow your car again. I only live a few miles away, and I need to pick up a few things. The doctor says you shouldn’t be left alone tonight. I’ll sleep in the spare room. I assume you have one….”

“Nay.”

“What?”

“If you spend the night lass, ’twill be in my bed.”

A blast of hot liquid pooled between her legs at the suggestion. Masterful. She kind of liked it. Who was she kidding? She liked it a
lot
. Placing her hands on her hips, she shook her head.

“I’m not having sex with you.”

“’Tis a fair statement, Skye. But you’ll sleep in my bed, regardless. We Thorburn men protect our women.”

He was taking this highlander-alpha-testosterone thing a little too far. No use arguing the point.

“While I’m gone, you can fix us something to eat. I’m sure you have food in the house.”

“I doona know how to cook. My mum and sisters prepared the meals.”

She stalked past him into the kitchen area. He followed right on her heels. She opened the fridge, and he exclaimed softly. There wasn’t much in there, just some organic lettuce and alfalfa sprouts, a few apples, and containers of yogurt.

“Where does the cold air come from? ’Tis magic!”

Skye rolled her eyes and slammed the door shut.

“Sit down in there and don’t touch anything until I get back. I’ll get us some takeout—food. Stay put.”

Cailin glanced around the kitchen. Skye watched as his intelligent and curious gaze absorbed everything. He strode past her into the living room, and sat down in the leather recliner.

“Aye, lass. As you command.”

***

Forty-five minutes later, Skye drove back toward Cailin’s house. She might as well think of him with that name. The doctor had said to humor him for the time being. As soon as she’d left the house, Skye had dropped back to the clinic and spoken to the doctor again. She explained the man thought he was from 1814, and a highlander to boot, but the doctor didn’t seem overly concerned. A CAT scan was scheduled for the day after next. Meanwhile, she had to babysit this Cailin. Great. While waiting for the doctor, she called Gayl at Night Moon and explained the situation, leaving out the highlander stuff. The photo shoot would be rescheduled to the next week. Gayl told her to take the time off and look after him.

“Lucky woman,” Gayl teased.

Was she? Since when did looking after a confused cover model become part of her job description?

Skye would say one thing: she liked his taste in cars. This Lincoln MKS rode like a dream. Taking the train into New York every day meant she didn’t bother with a car of her own. When she went to visit her parents in Portland, she usually rented a car or flew into Maine.

Skye’s thoughts drifted from automobiles to lip-numbing kisses. The one Cailin had given her was for the books. Scorching didn’t even begin to describe it. Beyond the kiss, what in hell was really going on? Was Roderick-Cailin playing a game? He was arrogant and egotistical enough to pull off a stunt like this. How to explain his reaction in the parking lot? The man had genuinely been confused and overwhelmed by everything around him. He’d seemed to be in shock the whole time they were at the clinic and on the drive to his house.

Either he really believed he was this Cailin, or was worthy of an Oscar for best actor. Skye supposed the knock on his forehead had caused him to—what? The doctor said when it came to the brain, he’d seen stranger. Maybe a second opinion was in order. Wait until the CAT scan, and then decide.

The odor of hamburgers and fried onions filled the car. She had run into McDonald’s and ordered a ton of food. She’d need to go to the grocery store tomorrow, but in the meantime, she would try to be compassionate to the situation and humor the guy. Besides, what choice did she have?

She pulled into the driveway, turned off the ignition, grabbed the bag of greasy goodness plus her overnight bag, and headed into the house. Naturally, the chair was empty. Where in hell had he gone? Skye set down the food and her bag and called out.

“Rod…um…Cailin? Where are you?”

She heard a grunt of disgust come from the bathroom. She hurried down the hall and opened the door. He stood before a full-length mirror completely naked. Skye’s mouth went dry. From behind, he was a stunning figure of brawn, strength, and masculinity, from his broad shoulders, breathtaking back, well-shaped ass, down his long, muscled legs.

Holy. Shit. Again.

He turned to face her.

“Has this laddie been ill? The man has no body hair to speak of!” He lifted his arm to show her. “No bluidy hair here, and no’ even on his ballocks!”

Skye’s gaze traveled downward. Huge cock—enormous—and he was right, no hair. And he was uncut. Not used to seeing men with a foreskin, she liked it. A bolt of lust shot down her spine. Maybe she’d been a little too quick earlier when she’d stated “no sex.” “Models can’t have body hair. You’re a model. So it’s removed. That’s a conversation for another time. Can you please wrap a towel around yourself?”

Cailin’s gaze narrowed. A slight smile curved at the corner of his lush mouth.

“Do you no’ like what you see, Skye?”

She damn well did. Big time.

“You’re sounding like the Roderick I know. Arrogant, egotistical….”

“Nay. I’m no’ that. ’Tis no shame I feel about being in the altogether.”

He reached for a towel and wrapped it around his muscular hips. Good thing he did, because his cock had grown hard under her admiring stare, and she could see the evidence rising farther.

“These fine clothes dinna fit. Are there any others?” He turned and flushed the toilet. “It took me a wee while to figure out what this bowl be, but ’tis a workable chamber pot, aye?”

Skye couldn’t help but smile. “Aye. Stay here, I’ll find the bedroom and bring you some clothes.”

When she stepped out of the room, she fanned herself with her hand. Wow. He could be carved out of marble. Why hadn’t the clothes fit? How could he grow so quickly? Walking down the hall, she peered into a couple of rooms until she found what she assumed could be his bedroom. It was tastefully furnished. The rusty-red-colored walls accented the dark wood sleigh bed and matching dresser. Not a thing out of place. A brown comforter and tan leather roll pillows lay on the bed. Ocean and lighthouse prints adorned the walls. Skye flicked on the light switch, and the ceiling fan above hummed to life and cast a slight breeze.

For a narcissistic man, he had no pictures of himself around. Just one eleven-by-fourteen framed print in the living room. He was dressed in a tux, holding a snifter of brandy. He looked elegant, sexy, and very James Bond. The ad was for Black Tie Brandy. Other than that, no other self-aggrandizing shots. She’d expected mirrors on the ceiling and a huge oil painting over the bed with himself as a centaur, like that jerkweed baseball player she’d read about.

Skye walked to the dresser and picked up a framed print of Roderick-Cailin with an older couple. Must be his parents. She could see where he’d inherited his good looks from. The three of them were standing on a dock with a sailboat and a pristine blue sky in the background. Cailin-Rod stood in the middle, his arms around his parents. His face appeared relaxed, and the love and respect he held for the couple was obvious. What did you know; Rod the Clod was human after all. Sliding open the closet door, she smiled at the amount of clothes. The Clod was a neatnik too, it seemed. Reaching for two white shirts, she turned to the dresser, pulled opened drawers, and grabbed T-shirts, sweat pants, and jeans.

Skye sprinted back to the bathroom and dropped the clothes on the floor except for a white shirt. She held it up for him.

“Slip into this.”

Cailin stuck his arms through the sleeves, and as he pulled the shirt up over his shoulders, the fabric across the back strained, then ripped. Damn. He
was
bigger. Not by much, but enough that his shirts no longer fit. She shook her head in confusion and tossed him a T-shirt. At least there was some give to it. She also reached for a pair of black sweats.

“When you’re dressed, come to the kitchen. Supper’s getting cold.”

Skye had to admit, he was different. She’d seen a transformation while he lay unconscious on the floor of the studio. The changing lasted only a few seconds, but the proof stood before her. Roderick’s body had altered. He was an inch or two taller. A size larger. The lean musculature had more definition, more—muscle. He’d definitely gone through a transformation. So much so she began to wonder if what she originally thought was a temporary personality displacement due to the smack on the head could be something beyond her reasoning.

Could he really be a highlander from 1814?

Chapter Four

Cailin frowned at the food set before him. What the bluidy hell was this? He lifted the piece of bread and curled his lip at the round piece of suspicious-looking meat.

“What did you say this was again?”

“A hamburger.”

“Lass, I know ham when I see it, and this brown thing is no’ ham.” He slammed the bread back on top of the meat. Skye blinked at him and tried to bite back a sigh. Aye, she was frustrated. The emotion was plain on her lovely face.

“The meat is ground beef, shaped into a patty and fried. Next to the burger are fries, fried potato pieces,” she explained patiently.

“A hamburger.”
More to remember. ’Twas bluidy mystifying
. “Hamburger. Then why isn’t it called beef burger?”

“It’s just a name and a long story and not important. Go ahead and eat. Try it; maybe the taste will jog your memory. Or maybe you’re a vegetarian, judging by the food in your fridge. Yikes, I should have asked first. Sorry about buying the hamburgers. I should have got you a salad or something. When I’m uptight, I crave something greasy. ”

He watched as Skye lifted the bread in her hands and took a bite. Shrugging, he did the same. He had to admit, ’twas tasty, and aye, greasy.

“Fridge—the cold cupboard the food is stored, aye? And you say ’tis run by
electrical current
. I want you to show me everything after we eat.” Cailin grabbed the potato fries as Skye did, and bit into them. Fascinating. “Now, you say Roderick is a model. What is that? Is the lad part of a clan?”

Skye grinned. Her bonnie, sweet smile lit up the room.

“You could say that. It’s a small, exclusive club. You saw the picture above the fireplace? Roderick dresses up and has his picture taken to help sell products to the public. He is also on romance book covers to help sell the books. I can’t believe I’m talking about him like he’s a separate person.”

“He is, lass. I told you.” He hesitated. “The picture, ’tis like a painting, aye?”

“Yes and no. The picture is taken with a camera. I’ll explain later.”

“So, this camera does the painting?”

“In a way, yes, but I’ll explain later,” she repeated brusquely.

Skye placed her elbows on the table, her chin resting in her palms.

“Tell me this. If you’re here in Roderick’s body as you claim, then where in hell is Roderick?”

Cailin froze and halted the meat burger halfway to his mouth. Skye was a bright, intelligent lassie. He’d never taken a moment to consider his possible descendant’s fate. He felt deep in his soul the lad was a descendant, probably from one of his brothers. Another sad fact gripped him. If there were Thorburn in North America, it meant they’d been driven off their lands. He dropped the meat to his plate. His appetite had disappeared.

“I dinna know, lass. Mayhap he is in my body, in 1814.”

Skye shook her head. “So this is like
Freaky Friday
? Never mind, it’s a movie. I’ll explain later.”

“Are you mated to Roderick?”

“What? God, no!” she recoiled.

“Why no’? The lad’s handsome enough.”

Skye nibbled on her fries. “Yes, but he’s a pig. Well, at least around me. I’m doing it again. Like he’s not here,” she murmured.

“A pig? Roderick dinna look like a fat lad living in muck.”

“It can also mean an unpleasant man, a jerk, stupid, ignorant…never mind,” she grumbled.

“You dinna believe me at all, do you, Skye?”

Her gaze softened, as if indulging a simple child. Pity he did not need. His temper boiled and he tried in vain to rein his frustration back. No bluidy luck. With a sweep of his arm he sent the platter and the food crashing to the floor. The plate smashed into bits. Cailin stood. He pounded the table with such force, his glass tipped over. The fizzy drink—soda, as she called it—dripped into a large pool on the floor.

“I am Cailin Thorburn! I dinna know how I came to be here, or what my connection is to the lad, or where he is. Do you think I want to be here?” He strode toward her. Grabbing her shoulders, he brought her to her feet. “Look into my eyes, lass! Do you see this Roderick you hold in such disdain?
Amhairc fhéin cridhe
. See my heart.” He snatched her wee hand and laid it on his chest and held it there. “Feel my heart,
mo eudail
.”

Her eyes widened. It was not his intent to scare the sweet lass.