KISS ACROSS TIME BOX ONE by Tracy Cooper-Posey

Kiss Across Time series. Book 3.5 

Vampire Menage Urban Fantasy Time Travel Romance Boxed Set

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Excerpt

EXCERPT FROM KISS ACROSS TIME BOX ONE
COPYRIGHT © TRACY COOPER-POSEY 2018
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Note:  Excerpt contains frank language.

“And blood-dipped spears waved beyond thy doors
Foretelling thy doom to me this day of days.
I knew of thy love before thee spoke of it to me
Say not of what is in thy heart for it must not be spake.”

Taylor shivered as she listened to the poetic words, sung at a fever pitch, thundering out of dozens of speakers ten feet high, accompanied by the screech of heavy metal guitars, while fifteen thousand screaming fans pummeled and thrashed around her.

She really was here listening to this, she reminded herself. She really had heard the words. It hadn’t been her imagination. She gripped Andy’s arm even harder.

“Told you,” Andy yelled in her ear. “Can we go now?” He was anxious to get her the hell out of here before he was spotted with his uptight, anal and not-cool history professor neighbor.

At least he could give her brownie points for trying to dress the part. She’d squeezed herself into a lace-up leather miniskirt and black leather bustier she’d borrowed from a Goth ex-student, poured on the black eye makeup and slid into black stiletto ankle boots. But she stood out like a flamingo in the Sonora desert here. Mentally, she’d shrugged. At least she hadn’t worn her business suit and put her hair up. Andy would have been horrified.

“Are you kidding?” she yelled back at Andy. She had no intention of giving up now. “How do I get backstage?”

He looked like he was choking. “Are you fucking kidding?” He waved a hand toward the stage. “This is Nocturnal Rain! You don’t just wander backstage!”

“I have to talk to them!” she screamed in his ear. “I have to find out where they got those lyrics!”

He shook his head, mulish. “Not unless you fuck one of ’em, Taylor! It ain’t happening. Not with their security.”

Taylor gripped the railing of the first tier balcony and stared down at the stage in pure frustration. She had to find a way to speak to Brody Gallagher, because he’d had access to the works of Inigo Domhnall and that made him her new best friend.

The lead singer, Gallagher, was gyrating at the crowd and the mosh pit was going crazy. From where she stood on the second balcony, most of the pit seemed to be women and those women were showing a dazzling amount of cleavage.

A couple of wranglers were on the stage now, working on something behind the singer.

“Shit…damn.” Andy turned to Taylor. “Stick your chest out, Taylor,” he yelled in her ear.

“What?”

“I forgot about this. Look as fuckable as you can manage.” Andy lifted his hands as if he was going to arrange her clothing to add to the fuckable quotient, then he dropped them, as if the task was beyond his capabilities. “What about just smiling, then, huh?” he suggested. When he was sober and straight, Andy was smart and quite good company. Since she had barged into his apartment yesterday morning, she had come to like his quiet intelligence. He was not in the slightest dazzled by her academic credentials, or his lack of them and that impressed her a lot.

“Thanks,” Taylor said, gritting her teeth and smiling. She turned to face the stage.

The singer had been attached to a pair of wires and now he began to soar into the air above the heads of the audience, out beyond the stage. The crowd went wild, screaming and waving. Everyone around Taylor began to shove and press closer to the balcony and she realized that they were trying to get the singer’s attention.

The singer was coming closer. The hysteria around her seemed to rise in exponential proportion. Now she could get a much better look at the guy. He was older than she had first thought. Perhaps it was her complete ignorance of heavy metal in general and death metal in particular but she had assumed that only teenagers and people in their very early twenties would want to listen to the stuff or play it. This guy looked like he was his early thirties. That put him just a few years older than her.

He was gorgeous. No wonder the audience was packed with women verging on hysteria. Dark hair, darker eyes, white skin. She classified the combination almost automatically as classic Celtic looks. He was broad shouldered, defying what she was sure was supposed to be a wasted, frail look for head-bangers. Black jeans, black designer tee shirt, with designer rips and tears and chains looped across the open spaces. Touches of red among the black. A black iron belt buckle down low over an impressive bulge.

Then she blinked. He was looking directly at her and floating on the wires straight toward her.

Andy was tugging on her arm. “Taylor, he’s spotted you!”

She barely heard him.

The man’s hand came up and pointed at her, obviously giving the people controlling the wires directions. At once, he drifted toward her and the hysteria around her intensified. Everyone was screaming, not just the women. Even Andy was banging on the balcony rail.

The man’s hand curled around the back of Taylor’s head. She understood that this was probably a standard ritual at these concerts and tried not to freeze or look bewildered, even though she didn’t know for sure what was going to happen next. But her runaway heart had a pretty good idea and her suddenly throbbing clit actually thought it was a good idea, and that horrified her.

He kissed her and Taylor closed her eyes. She could still hear the screaming but it changed in quality and became fear-filled. That made her open her eyes again. Fear was not good.

She was not at the concert any more. She looked around the rustic room, blinking. What the hell?

The singer had her in his arms still. There was no balcony between them now.

His hands slid into her hair, keeping her head still. “Not yet,” he begged, sliding his lips down her throat, nuzzling her jaw. “There’s time yet, Toiréasa,” he murmured. “Time to say fare thee well properly.”

“We should have returned to Ireland, Breandán,” she whispered, as he loosened the ties on her gown and dropped it from her shoulders. The words came to her naturally, even as a tiny voice was raging in her mind, “What on earth are you saying, Taylor?” But that voice was being drowned out by the pure sensuousness he was stirring in her.

“Arthur would have been short a good officer if we had,” he said against her breast, just before his teeth caught the nipple. His hands stripped her gown from her and in the soft morning light pouring through the cloth over the door, he lowered her to the bed in the little cot that had been theirs for the last few years. He unbuckled his sword belt and put it to one side, watching her as she lay waiting for him. He stripped his tunic, trews and boots. He was stiff and ready for her.

He lay next to her and pulled her to him, his thigh thrusting between hers. She was moist and ready for him, aching to feel him slide into her. “Take me, Breandán,” she coaxed, tugging at his hip.

His full lips curled in a smile. “Yer a wanton, Toiréasa, lass and I’ve always lo—”

She quickly covered his lips. “No. Don’t speak of it.” She shook her head. “Tell me later, you understand?”

His dark brows came together. “Later then,” he said, his voice thick. He lifted himself and drove into her with a powerful thrust, his hand under her hip, the tendons in his neck straining with the effort.

Toiréasa gasped, her hands gripping his shoulders, her eyes closing. Breanden’s mouth came down upon hers, his lips demanding, his tongue thrusting inside. She opened up to him in every way, knowing it might be the last time, even though neither of them could voice that thought aloud.

Outside the cot, the fear-filled screams of their neighbors went on and on, as the Saxons came closer.

Abruptly the screams shifted and changed in cadence.

Taylor blinked and opened her eyes again.

It was the death metal concert. Nocturnal Rain. The lead singer was hanging from wires eighteen inches away from her. He had just kissed her. He was staring at her while eighteen thousand death metal fans went ballistic around her.

She licked her lips. What the hell had just happened? Did that happen to every fan he kissed?

Gallagher pointed to her again. He dropped his chin down and said something into a tiny voice pickup on his shoulder.

Andy was tugging on her arm again and she had a feeling she was going to be very sore tomorrow, thanks to his yanking. “You did it, Taylor! You did it! You got yourself a backstage pass!” He was screaming in her ear.

“I did?” Great. Now the last thing on earth she wanted to do was face that Brody Gallagher backstage. She never wanted to look him in the eye again.

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