NAKED ON THE STAIRCASE -Time Guardians Book 4 ...

A Time Guardian Halloween Tale

A demon stalks Druidess Aron MacKintosh, trying to use her to gain control of the timeline in present-day Scotland. Time plows toward Samhain when the doorways open between the Now and the Happy Otherworld. She finds herself in a strange alliance with an unusual time guardian, Cowboy. The duo struggles to defeat the demon. If Cowboy can’t earn her trust, the integrity of the timeline could be endangered. Only Cowboy’s charm and southern idea of chivalry has what it takes to leave an ancient evil bound NAKED ON THE STAIRCASE.

~REVIEWS~

"Druids, magic, time travel. They’re all present in Naked on the Staircase. The title of this book intrigued me, but by the time I’d finished reading I understood why the author chose this intriguing title. The entity is a mystery being whose identity is not solved until the last few pages, but its very existence holds the story together. Naked on the Staircase is well written with intrigue, mystery, magic and time travel, ingredients that work well in a fantasy novel. The interaction between Aron and Cowboy was excellent and the background of the story was skillfully woven into the book. I enjoyed reading Naked on the Staircase and would like to read more of Skhye Moncrief’s novels." ~Orchid; The Long and Short Reviews

"I enjoyed the chemistry between Aron and Cowboy and they had some really hot intimate moments that had me glued to the page. Cowboy rescues Aron from being tortured. They have some intense sexual energy and I loved watching them find their way together and realizing that they were soulmates and she would do anything to bind her heart to his." ~Jolene A. (posted on Amazon)

 EXCERPT~

We rolled another full circle until clearing the bottommost step and stopped in a jumble of arms and legs.  

The babe felt too soft. Too amazing. But I needed to get on with duty. I gazed down into her blue eyes.  

"Let go of me, you bastard." She punched my shoulder.  

Why do I want to hold on? Because she's the most beautiful woman. Ever. That's why. Mean as a pit bull, too. But exquisite, with perfectly chiseled features and those eyes are so big and helpless--until she squinted with malice.  

She socked my cheek. "Curse you to bloody Hell. Let me go."  

Maybe not helpless, by the fire burning the side of my face. A deserved punishment for my palms pressed into her lower back and ass. Like I needed to hold her to conceal her or shield her from these bastards because, inside the safety of the blister void, we could never be found. I released the sexy pit bull's iron little bottom and shoved onto my knees.  

She scrambled away, to the edge of the curved translucent wall, in all her naked glory, scanning the bluish boundaries of the fairy armor, then clutched her arms over her breasts.  

So much for perks from duty. But she had every right to protect herself. I can't hold that against her. "You're safe now, Sister." I'd rather call her Beautiful.  

All the blood raced to my loin.  

Beautiful pulled her knees to her chest, too.

"What do you mean? Who, by all that is sacred, are you?"

A man with a mission. And the Gods would find it humorous in sending me after an annoying redhead. Saucy redheads always made me rock hard. I shifted to crouch on my ankles and thrust my fingers through my short spiked hair. "I'm Cowboy. I've been sent to retrieve Aron MacKintosh."

"That's all they told you for orders?"

Women. "No. You don't need to know the rest." A lie never hurt when a man's pride is at stake. Besides, she's awfully rude seeing I just saved her fine bare ass.

"How am I supposed to believe you're not one of them?" She thrust her chin at the milling dupes.

And those geniuses kept charging through the void as if we aren't here.

They'd never us. "Do I look as stupid as them?"

The babe went slant-eyed. "If you're not with them, you'll give me your shirt."

Really? I stared into her insistent challenging gaze. Beautiful could play a mean hand of poker with those squared eyebrows. It couldn't hurt to soothe her anger though. "My shirt will make things better?"

"And your pants."

Beautiful must be kidding. But the gamble just might pay off. I could be trapped inside a blister void with a woman determined to escape or give her my pants. Gods, after the initial unobstructed view I got of her nude body, I'd be better off with those curves covered.

****

He's giving me his clothes? The blond man tossed his ammo belts over his head, tugged his black tank top from where it was tucked into the narrow waistband of his gray, black and white camouflage pants, yanked the stretchy fabric over his head, and extended the shirt to me.

No way. He isn't just going to give into my demands. Could the God-dess-Spirit have sent a Brother to my aid? I gulped and took the soft cotton.

The warm fabric felt wonderful against my bare breasts. But with the nidium shackles on, I can't stick my arms through the armholes. I can only tuck fabric under my armpits to cover some of my nudity. Good given I'm tired of being nude. A Brother would help a Sister. Like this man. And, his weapon appears to be fashioned from the God's metal--nidium, metal that slices through stone. A man wielding such a blade must be a Brother. Only Brothers had fairy-forged nidium blades--fey-forged edges capable of cutting fey-forged shackles. Like my chains. "Is that a nidium dirk?" If he replies yes, he's a Brother.

He nodded, unsheathed the huge glinting weapon, and cocked one of his blond eyebrows. "Shall I release you from those manacles?"

Gorgeous. He's cut from Gods' cloth. But can he be trusted any further than The Master's lackeys? "Don't touch me."

The curious arch to his brow softened.

As if he was pained I didn't trust him. But the Goddess knows how The Master's men poked and fondled me as I hung on the stairs for three bloody days. Can this man keep his hands to himself? That's the only way I'd believe he'd been sent to assist me. To help me escape. And, ultimately, escape involves losing the handcuffs.

His attentive gaze made me feel like I'm a hunk of meat. The cretin. Where's evidence of his sympathy now? I need to get out of here. Without the fetters, I can escape. Even him if necessary. I thrust the bloody cuffs beyond my knees and nodded.

The man carefully wriggled the tip of his blade beneath one bit of metal and pressed.

The back of the knife pushed fire into my raw skin. I winced, closing my eyes, to hide my need to run. Or scream.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

The restraint popped loose.

At long last. "Praise the God-dess-Spirit," I whispered.

The dirk wormed beneath the other choking nidium hobble sending fiery pins to sting my other wrist. I had to gnaw on my lip to stay quiet. The cuff popped free.

Och! To breathe freely again. Unencumbered by three days of stage time on the stairs. Naked. To a pack of bastads who willingly taunted me. But I beat them. Beat The Master. And I'll beat this man as well. I shook the accursed cuffs from my arms, grabbed the tank top, and jerked the shirt over my head.

The armholes gaped way below my breasts where the seam dipped. But the limited privacy the shirt offered far outweighed wearing nothing. But I need more. Something else to help hide what I couldn't protect all those days on the staircase. "Your pants."

His handsome stare melted into a scowl.

An amazing grimace. The man was tanned, muscled, and had a friendly look to him, like he smiled all the time. But he isn't smiling now. "Your pants."

He rose, unfolding overhead. Muscles bulged along his arms, traced out his ribs, and twitched along the unyielding line of his square jaw.

Is he struggling with cooperation? Goddess, is he going to hand over? What a chivalrous deed. No. No, I had demanded the gesture. There's no valor in his straight- lipped scowl. More like pure resentment.

He unbuttoned the fly, wriggled his hips, and shoved the pants down to his black combat boots. Then he straightened his shoulders to face me once again.

White boxers shorts? A man into comfort. But he didn't seem comfortable the way the white fabric of his shorts bulged straight outward at me like a female detector pointing toward the closest female. With all those muscles and the determination etched into his facial features, he certainly could have his way with weak little me. I'm no match for someone like him. He could pin me down in a heartbeat. Take what The Master wanted. I'd fail. No. I haven't failed. I held out, saved the timeline and my maidenhead. And the Gods had sent this Brother in exchange for my dutiful actions. At least, I hope he's my savior. I could be his captive. His kind actions might just be part of his plan to capture me. But I must believe in his weapon--an odd Brother's nidium blade. Since when do fairies award a brother anything other than a Celtic sword? What am I to believe? Can I trust him. I must. I have no choice with the dullards running willy nilly about the castle entrance in search of us. Aye. I will buy into this story of his. Time will reveal if he's my guardian or in cahoots with The Master.

He suddenly sat, untied his boots, and tugged the pants off. "You want them, honey, you've got them."

Dear Gods! He's giving me his pants too.

He tossed the camouflage pants.

The soft fabric hit my knees.

Pants. I can cover up everything.

He thrust a socked foot back into one of his boots and tugged on a long black lace.

If the twinkle in his blue eyes was anything but feigned amusement, I'd have flayed him with his pants. It's as if he wanted me to bend over. Cast him a fine show of parts no man would be seeing again anytime soon. But there's no time for tirades. He'd handed over. A lass would be a dolt for wasting an opportunity to clothe myself and escape whomever required escaping. I thrust both legs into the warm pant legs and drew the soft fabric up to my hips where I sat.

Concealed. Aye. At long last. Naught was like wearing clothing.

His interested gaze monitored my every move.

The pig. "Turn around," I growled.

He rose, planted his hands on his hips, turned his broad back to me, and sighed, loudly.

As if he couldn't believe I snarled after he gave me his pants. I shot to my feet, fingers fumbling for the buttons to secure the baggy pants around my waist, all the while studying his wide muscled shoulders.

The muscled man looked quite silly in knee-high sweat socks, combat boots, and white boxers.

"Have you finished, honey?" he droned.

Not with his attitude. He needed a lesson in manners. "Give me your under shorts."

He whirled, eyes half shuttered, and took a step toward me. The air grew tight, pressing against my body. His blue gaze dropped down to within two inches of mine.

Gods, he's glorious. All muscle and sinew. Deadly.

A warm almost tingly sensation shimmied through me.

Who is he? Really? Friend or foe?

Morganna save me from his seriously severe focus. And the three freckles on his nose. Three's a lucky number, universe. Luck born out of grave conditions. Maybe I'm wrong to be cautious about him. Maybe I should trust him.

"You get the shorts, honey, and you get everything else. Comprendes?" he snarled his warning.

So much for three.

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