Editor's Choice Volume I - Slow summer Kisses, Kilts & kraken, Negotiating point by Giordano Adrienne Spencer Pape Cindy Stacey Shannon Page A

that a railroad tycoon came last spring, looking for a private country estate. As Torkholm is about as private as an estate can be, he offered a great deal of money for the castle and grounds. He was quite irate when I refused, but this seems a bit excessive for a rebuffed merchant.”
    She made a sound of agreement low in her throat. “Isn’t the island entailed, anyway?”
    “No. The barony and estate predate the entailment laws of the last century. I can leave the property where I like, and the title can even descend in female tail—not that it ever has. Until now, the magick has made the decisions, it seems.” It galled him to admit it but he wasn’t sure if he had an heir for the barony should anything happen to both him and Quentin. Both he and his father had been only children. His great-grandfather had one younger brother, and Quentin was his only living descendent. “My will grants Torkholm to the next baron, but Quentin wouldn’t have truck with magick if he was trying to kill me. He could walk into my chamber and stab me in my sleep, if that was his goal.”
    “And if both you and Quentin die fighting the squid?”
    He sighed. “If the title becomes extinct, it goes to Rannulf and his children. I cannot see Catherine or Rodney behind this, either. They’re both more than happy in their own lives.”
    “Rannulf would cut off his own arm before he did anything to hurt you. Who does that leave?” She shifted closer, until she nearly leaned against his side. Did she know what she was doing to him? How thin his control was stretched?
    “I have no idea.” His voice cracked like a youth’s on the last word. The lemony scent of her hair robbed him of all sense or caution. He wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her snug up against him.
    “Do you think it might be Catriona or her mother?” Her voice wobbled, even as she plowed ahead. She rested her cheek against his chest. “I know you don’t want to think about it, but they’re the only people I’ve encountered here with magick besides yourself.”
    “Why would they attack their own home? I know they’ve given you grief, but I cannot make any sense of that.” Right now, he had better things to think about, anyway. He’d never seen her hair fully down, and he twined his hand in the springy curls, lowering his lips to brush across the top of her head.
    “Cat plans to marry Quentin.” Geneva spoke in a husky whisper. “Killing you would make him laird.”
    Magnus thought about it, but it didn’t ring true. Quentin would never be part of such a thing, and surely Cat wouldn’t do it without his permission. Quentin’s far-fetched thoughts on the magick made more sense to him. “Yes, but he has no desire to be laird. He’s the one who’s been nagging me to marry again and he’s right. I must remarry, and it should be an islander this time.” He pulled together the shreds of his control and stepped away from Geneva. “I wish—I wish things were different, lass. I wish I was different.”
    She looked up at him and smiled. “I’m not a lass, Magnus, I’m a woman grown—one who doesn’t plan to ever marry.” With that, she looped her arms around his neck and leaned up into his kiss.
    The sky could have rained fire and Magnus wouldn’t have noticed. Her lips were strong but soft, demanding and giving all at the same time. He slid a hand up her spine, and eased the other inside her wrapper to cup one heavy breast in his palm. Geneva groaned into his mouth and nipped his lip, which he took as permission to continue. Unbound by a corset, her figure was lush and feminine, flexible and resilient as willow. When he brushed her nipple with his thumb through the thin lawn of her nightdress, she pressed her flesh more firmly into his hand and speared her own fingers through his hair.
    He deepened this kiss, letting her feel his need, and splayed his hand across her breast.
    “Magnus, you make me ache.” There was wonder in her voice,