He stepped closer, the scent of peat smoke and rain following him. Elena found herself backing against the rough stone of the manor wall, her heart hammering a rhythm that had nothing to do with business. He wasn't just defending his home; he was challenging her to see past her spreadsheets and schedules.
In that moment, the mist seemed to close in, isolating them in a world where the only thing that mattered was the heat radiating between them. The contract in her bag felt like a relic of a distant life. Here, under the shadow of the mountains and the gaze of a man who refused to be tamed, Elena realized that some temptations weren't meant to be resisted—they were meant to be lived.
The mist clung to the Scottish Highlands like a heavy velvet shroud, but for Elena, the chill was the least of her concerns. Standing before her, framed by the jagged peaks of Glencoe, was Lachlan MacKinley—a man who looked more like a storm personified than a Highland laird. With his broad shoulders draped in the faded greens and blues of his clan’s tartan and eyes the color of the restless Atlantic, he was the very definition of a temptation she couldn't afford.
"And what of you, Lachlan?" she whispered, her resolve wavering as he leaned in, one calloused hand resting on the stone beside her head. "Are you part of the land, or just another ghost guarding it?"
Ese Highlander Es Una Tentacion - Jenny Del-hol... Review
He stepped closer, the scent of peat smoke and rain following him. Elena found herself backing against the rough stone of the manor wall, her heart hammering a rhythm that had nothing to do with business. He wasn't just defending his home; he was challenging her to see past her spreadsheets and schedules.
In that moment, the mist seemed to close in, isolating them in a world where the only thing that mattered was the heat radiating between them. The contract in her bag felt like a relic of a distant life. Here, under the shadow of the mountains and the gaze of a man who refused to be tamed, Elena realized that some temptations weren't meant to be resisted—they were meant to be lived.
The mist clung to the Scottish Highlands like a heavy velvet shroud, but for Elena, the chill was the least of her concerns. Standing before her, framed by the jagged peaks of Glencoe, was Lachlan MacKinley—a man who looked more like a storm personified than a Highland laird. With his broad shoulders draped in the faded greens and blues of his clan’s tartan and eyes the color of the restless Atlantic, he was the very definition of a temptation she couldn't afford.
"And what of you, Lachlan?" she whispered, her resolve wavering as he leaned in, one calloused hand resting on the stone beside her head. "Are you part of the land, or just another ghost guarding it?"
