Sunday Snog--

Nathaniel emerged from the trees onto Rothesay Castle road. He glanced toward the streak of gray hinted at in dawn’s overcast sky. He started for the castle, hesitated, then turned east, toward the perpetual thrash of waves against the cliffs. Up the incline he strode, hands moving in listless rhythm with his body. He kept his eyes ahead, where the heavy sky met earth. It seemed a storm always prowled about Rothesay Castle. It had always been so. Only before, it hadn’t mattered.

He crested the hill and froze at sight of a female figure at the cliff’s edge. Her cloak snapped violently in the wind, yet she stared out over the sea, her body so steady, it seemed rooted to the earth.

Maggie. God in heaven, she had escaped the underworld. In the early days, he had prayed—begged—for her return from Tir Na Nog. Had those supplications freed her at last? His heart leaped. Or was this just another version of the familiar dream? When had he ceased roaming the night and fallen asleep? No answer came, and he realized it didn’t matter. What mattered was holding Maggie before reality yanked him back. Fate wouldn’t cheat him this time. This time, fate would bow to him.

Nathaniel bound forward, then lurched, his progress hampered by the unseen pull that entangles mortals within the subconscious world of dreams. She turned and tilted her hooded face as if fascinated with his struggle. Onward he drove himself until, at last, he was near enough to touch her.

“My sweet love,” he whispered.

He grasped her shoulders and tried to make out the penetrating eyes he recalled with such clarity, the mouth, always quick with a smile, but the swirl of dark hair veiled her features within the shadows of her hood. Nathaniel closed his eyes and brushed his lips across hers. His heart thudded against his chest. Blood pounded mercilessly in his ears, and the crash of waves faded to a low din.

Nathaniel deepened the kiss, and her lips parted with an innocence that hadn’t existed since their first joining. Her arms stole round his neck in a sweet, yet unfamiliar embrace. He pressed her closer. She gasped. The sound startled him, striking an alien chord. He ignored the disquiet and slid his mouth down her chin, then along her throat. A quavering sigh broke from her lips. Again, something in her voice niggled at him, but feel of her soft curves as he slid his hand up past her waist heated his blood past caring. She shoved at his chest as he fumbled for the clasp of her cloak.

“My lord!” She shoved harder.

Nathaniel froze, lips still on her neck.

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Three cheers for another Sunday Snog with Victoria Blisse!