My chats with Charles and Logan

Hello and welcome!

Today I bring you not one, but two hunks who seduced me thoroughly and just like Margot I could not choose between them, so I didn’t 😉 met them at different times and different locations.

First up is the contemporary hunk.

Welcome! Welcome!

What is your full name?
Charles Lawrence McNeil.

Do you have a nickname?
Margot calls me Charlie.

What is one word best describes you?
Tenacious.

Describe what you are wearing now to our readers.
Blue jeans, a starched, white long-sleeved shirt and a leather jacket.

Do you think the author portrayed you accurately?
Ms. Scott portrayed me quite well. We spoke often and I answered her questions openly and freely. She was a lot of fun.

What makes you laugh out loud?
Catching an intelligent woman off guard. It’s not easy to do.

source

What is your favourite dessert?
I’m rather boring. I love cranberry scones.
That is so not boring! Never had them, but they look rather delicious.

What is your favourite drink?
A good ale brewed on the Isle of Lewis by my Uncle Clyde at his pub McNeil’s.

What is your greatest fear?
My greatest fear is that I won’t be able to stop Margot from investigating her cousin’s death. Something is wrong there, and Margot won’t let it go.

What is your favourite colour?
Blue, the color of the sky—when we can see it past the clouds here on the Isle of Lewis.

What do you wear when you go to sleep?
No more than boxer briefs—and not even those, if I have company in bed.

What is the perfect romantic date?
I’m remembering an encounter on the beach where Margot and I… Well, we spent a most pleasant hour together. I believe that qualifies as the perfect romantic date.
I remember reading about that, I was fanning myself…

How ticklish are you? Where are you ticklish?
No respectable SAS agent would own up to being ticklish.

What’s your favourite smell? What does it remind you of?
My favorite smell is freshly baked scones. My grandmother made the best scones I’ve ever eaten. One of my favorite childhood memories is of waking to the smell of her scones in the oven.

When you look at a woman what catches your interest?
Her eyes. No man can truly know what a woman thinks, but he can see in her eyes what she’s made of.

Do you have somebody in your life now?
I do, a beautiful Mississippi Deputy Sheriff, Margot Saulnier.

What is one word best describes her?
Charles laughs Like me, she, too, is tenacious.
You can say that again, a few times I wanted to grab her hand to hold her back.

Is your book part of a series? What does the future hold for the readers of the series?
“Seduced” is not part of a series, though I do believe Tarah has planned other books that are similar.

Thank you so much for taking the time for a chat, Charles, I really enjoyed your story. Hugs to Margot and take care of each other.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Not over yet… remember, I promised two chats? Come run with me to Castle Morrison and let’s meet the other hunk. He is from the past.

Hello! Anybody there?

I feel, more than hear, him approach and I am getting goosebumps…

He scowls at me, but I know he means no harm, so I hurry on with my questions

What is your full name?
Logan Alexander Morrison

Do you have a nickname?
I have no nickname.

What is one word best describes you?
Lost.

source

Describe what you are wearing now to our readers.
A white lawn shirt, kilt, and boots.
I am really appreciating the view

Do you think the author portrayed you accurately?
She did. The lady is thorough.

What makes you laugh out loud?
Logan’s eyes darken It has been too long since I laughed, at least three hundred years. I canna’ remember what it is like.

What is your favourite dessert?
Shortbread

What is your favourite drink?
Ale

What is your greatest fear?
My greatest fear is that my brother will find the woman who can free him from our prison. And I fear that woman is Margot Saulnier.

What is your favourite colour?
Yellow, the color of the sun. But I havena’ seen it in over three hundred years.

What do you wear when you go to sleep?
Hush, lass. Have ye any notion of the danger in asking such a question here in Castle Morrison? Promise me ye will never repeat that question while anywhere on the Isle of Lewis.

What is the perfect romantic date? Romance?
Romance does no’ exist here in Castle Morrison. Caterine Bowers, the new owner of Castle Morrison, would have ye believe romance is behind the curse of Castle Morrison. But that’s a lie. It’s death. 

How ticklish are you? Where are you ticklish?
I was ticklish on the soles of my feet when I was a lad. But that passed once I became a man.

What’s your favourite smell? What does it remind you of?
The smell of the sea. The smell of rain after a storm. The smell of a woman… Ye asked for one. There are so many. I miss them all.

When you look at a woman what catches your interest?
Her eyes. And her laugh. You canna’ see her laugh, of course, but a woman’s laugh tells a man much about her.

Do you have somebody in your life now?
Nay. I can never again have someone in my life. The woman who has been visiting me, Margot, can never be anything to me.

What is one word best describes her?
Foolhardy. Nay, that isna’ completely fair. She does not understand the danger here at Castle Morrison. That is what frightens me.

Is your book part of a series? What does the future hold for the readers of the series?
Nay. Seduced is no’ part of a series. Be glad for that, lass. Otherwise, more women would die.

Thank you for your time Logan, I really loved reading your story especially the good ending. I was happy you found love and peace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

And there you have it. Thanks for dropping by and I hope you enjoyed both chats.

Charles and Logan both hail from “Seduced” by Tarah Scott. Previously published under the title “Labyrinth”

It’s a Mississippi Deputy Sheriff’s duty to bring a serial killer to justice…even when he’s a three hundred year old Scottish lord. It’s an SAS agent’s duty to save her. With each passing day, Lord Colin Morrison grows more furious…and more desperate. In three hundred years, not one of the women who shared his bed broke the spell that imprisoned him in Castle Morrison. Margot Saulnier is different. She can save him. All she has to do is give in to her desire for him. Then die.

Deputy Sheriff Margot Saulnier knows her best friend murdered her husband—Margot’s cousin—but she can’t prove it. Now, four years later, out of the blue, Cat calls Margot from Scotland and invites her to visit. Margot turns in her badge and leaves Mississippi. This time, she’ll do whatever it takes to prove Cat murdered Donny. Margot didn’t plan on falling in love with an SAS Agent—or a three-hundred-year-old Scottish lord. Now she must choose.

SAS Agent Charles McNeil is going to keep Margot Saulnier out of trouble—whether she likes it or not. He understands her need for justice, but with no proof and no authority, she’s headed for serious trouble. So is he. Charles didn’t plan on falling in love with Margot. Neither did he plan on saving her from a serial killer.

My review here.

Buy links: Amazon US • Amazon UK • B&N (paperback)

Read on! Excerpt coming up…

This is when Charles meets Margot…

“Ms. Saulnier.”

The deep male voice caused Margot to slow her walk along the east garden path and glance over her shoulder. A tall, sandy haired man approached. Blue jeans hugged long legs, and a brown bomber jacket stretched across broad shoulders. Arresting blue eyes held her gaze. Margot’s pulse skipped a beat. Well, damn, Scotland was the place for good-looking men.

She stopped and turned so he could catch up with her. “Sugar, I don’t think we’ve met, but I’m glad you didn’t let the possibility of rejection stop you. Not that there’s much chance you’ll get rejected.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. “Special Director McNeil, at your service.”

Margot startled. “What?” Before he could respond she murmured, “Hicks.”

She was a fool. She’d known Chief Hicks enough years to know he wouldn’t let her walk out and not keep tabs on her.

“You’re going to get me killed,” she said through tight lips.

McNeil’s brow lifted. “That could get me a discommendation.”

“A comedian,” she muttered, then shot a glance past him at the castle battlements visible beyond the trees. Who had he talked to at the office? She turned and started down the path. He fell in alongside. “Want to tell me what you’re doing here?” she said.

“Professional courtesy.”

“Bull—” The brow shot up again and she gave him a sweet smile. “You’re checking up on me, sugar.”

“A moment ago you seemed glad a stranger had the bullocks to approach you.”

His cultured tone did nothing to belie the sensual undertone in his voice, and butterflies tickled the inside of her stomach at thought of those bullocks and the matching cock. A man appeared on the path ahead, pushing a wheelbarrow filled with gardening tools, and the erotic picture evaporated. Margot cursed at recognizing the head gardener. Reports of her meeting with a man in the garden would reach Cat within the hour.

“Once Cat gets wind that the Northern Constabulary paid me a visit, she’ll know this isn’t the vacation it’s supposed to be,” Margot said.

“That shouldn’t prove a problem,” he said. “I’m not with the Northern Constabulary.”

She started to ask, then knew. “Scotland Yard.”

He smiled, and she remained quiet as the gardener passed with a sidelong glance in their direction. Margot took a deep breath and waited until they reached a branching path, then turned left.

“Look,” she said, “you’ve got to see this from my point of view.”

“Actually, Ms. Saulnier, I don’t. You’re a visiting law enforcement officer. That accords you professional courtesy—as I said earlier—but make no mistake, I do not have to understand your point of view. Rather, you need to understand mine.” He paused. “Your police chief strongly suggests you return home.”

“He’s not my police chief,” Margot corrected.

“He said you’re good, the best, but you’re mistaken this time.”

“Did it occur to you he might be mistaken?”

“I’m not in a position to judge him.”

“No, you’re not. You’re also not in any position to hassle me.”

“Not hassle,” McNeil began in a mild voice, “let’s just say I am in a position to advise. Though, given a choice, I’d prefer another position, altogether.”

She blinked. “You’re propositioning me?”

He shrugged. “How often does a man meet a beautiful Mississippi Deputy Sheriff?”

“Ex-Mississippi Deputy Sheriff.”

“Your badge hasn’t yet grown cold.”

“I doubt I’ll be here long enough for any position. By now, that gardener has reported to Cat, and she’s checking you out. By the time we’re finished with this walk, she’ll know Scotland Yard paid me a visit.”

He shook his head. “Cousin Harry sent me here to investigate the castle. He’s rich as the Devil, and is interested in bringing his wife here for holiday.”

“Don’t kid yourself,” Margot shot back. “Cat will check you out—you ensured that by waylaying me.”

“Waylaying?” he repeated, voice laced with a heaping of amusement that made her want to throttle him. “Waylaying would be if I dragged you into those trees and had my way with you.”

Margot did a double take with the mental picture of her pressed against a tree, dress bunched up to her waist as his cock thrust hard and fast into her. His face snapped back into focus and she found him staring.

Heat spread across her cheeks at flashflood speed. “Cat won’t be fooled by a Scotland Yard cop showing up at Castle Morrison, no matter what story he spins.”

“She won’t find Charles McNeil on any employee list,” he replied.

“What? Scotland Yard’s cops aren’t clandestine.”

“Correct. But SAS is.”

“Special Air Services?” What kind of favor had Hicks called in? “What is special forces doing on a case like this?”

“John realized that a visit from a Bobby might compromise your cover so he called me.”

“John?”

“John Gordon.”

She gave a small nod. John Gordon, Chief Constable of the Northern Constabulary. She’d checked out local law enforcement before leaving the States. First Hicks was on her tail, now the head of the whole damn island.

Margot gave McNeil an appraising look. “That’s some favor your constable called in.”

“He’s a close friend.”

“What’d he do, save your life?”

“Something like that. So, where shall we go for dinner?”

She stared. “Are you kidding?”

He shrugged. “How better to keep you under surveillance?”

“You could simply leave me alone.”

He shook his head. “I have my orders.”

“Just what kind of uncover work do you do?”

He turned his gaze onto her “A kind sure to please you.”

Her pulse skittered, but she forced her chilly cop’s voice, “You’re damned sure of yourself.”

“I’m a trained professional. Shell we say seven? I know the perfect restaurant.”

Margot narrowed her eyes. “This is blackmail.”

He shrugged. “All part of the professional courtesy.”

“Professional courtesy, my ass,” she muttered, and wondered what Hicks would do if she sent him a thank you note for keeping tabs on her.

And another excerpt, this one when Logan meets Margot…
A tad on the naughty side, so if this kind of read offends you, please skip it!

Margot turned right and another hallway in the castle stretched out before her, this one in deeper shadow than the last. She glanced behind her. A single sconce created an eerie shadow dance across the stone walls and floor. She startled at sight of a heavy oak door on the corner of the bend in the hallway. The doorway hadn’t been there when she’d walked past. Besides, how could a room be built on the corner of two hallways? Margot hesitated, then faced forward, took one step, another, and another until a door came into view on the left.

She stopped at the door, grasped the handle, and pressed down on the latch. The soft click of latch releasing from catch sent a prickle up her arms. In the last two hallways, door after door had been locked. Her fingers trembled on the handle. Well damn, what would the boys back home in Wilkinson County think of Deputy Sheriff Saulnier unnerved by an unlocked door?

Margot released the handle and pressed against the wood, easing the door open. To her right, low flames bobbed in a fireplace. A sword and dagger hung over the mantle. The blades pointed toward an antique bowl and pitcher sitting on a small table between an open door in the corner of the room and the floor-length curtains opposite her.

She leaned forward and peered around the door. An ornate four-poster bed stood against the left wall, gray draperies swaged between posts. The burgundy quilt that covered the bed was turned back as if in invitation to crawl between the snow-white sheets. An odd sense of familiarity nudged. Had she been here before?

Hairs on the back of her neck rose to attention. She swung her gaze to the right and sucked in a breath. A man stood in the corner doorway. Intense brown eyes stared back at her just as they had that afternoon when she’d seen him standing in the main entrance of Castle Morrison.

Butterflies tickled the inside of her stomach. Standing this close, she wanted to run her fingers through the tousled dark curls that brushed his shoulders. Low firelight softened the square jaw shadowed by stubble. The green and red checked sash that had draped his shoulders earlier now hung loosely about a kilt held in place by a thick leather belt and buckle. A crisp, white shirt stretched taught across his muscled chest. Margot released a silent breath. Memory hadn’t done him justice. He seemed taller, broader…more dangerous.

His eyes narrowed. “How did ye get here?”

Despite the soft burr that caressed her like a summer breeze heavy with damp heat, she couldn’t miss the recrimination in his voice. She didn’t know how she’d gotten here, any more than she knew how he had appeared in the painting of the castle that hung over the fireplace in her room. When she’d arrived at Castle Morrison that afternoon he hadn’t been in the picture. But she’d woken from her nap two hours later to see him standing in the main entrance, his expression of anticipation painted in exquisite detail. He’d been waiting for someone. A woman, she realized.

“Did your lady friend show up?”

Surprise flashed in his eyes, but vanished in thin-lipped disapproval. “You will return from whence ye came, if you have any sense about you—” his tone suggested she had no sense, “—and quickly.”

His gaze raked her body, and she glanced down at the gold colored, satin pajamas she’d worn to bed. Her nipples stood at attention. Tit for tat, she figured, and shifted her gaze past the kilt to his bare legs. Her pulse skittered. She’d heard that Scots didn’t wear underwear under kilts. No doubt about it, underwear or no underwear, that outfit would get him arrested in her hometown of Woodville, Mississippi. The entire population, a whopping one thousand, two hundred and fifteen, would show up, Bibles in one hand, rifles in the other, to ensure he dressed as every God fearing person was meant to dress.

“I felt certain you had more sense than the others,” he said, then added in a mutter, “Foolish girl.”

“What others? You know me?”

“If you believe he will let ye escape—”

Awareness zipped up her spine. She glanced sharply behind her through the open door.

“What is amiss?” he demanded.

The faint crash of waves caught her attention and she looked to the curtains at the far side of the room. Memory struck a cord. She had been here before—or in the castle, that is. This was Castle Morrison. She’d arrived that afternoon. Desire ripped through her.

Margot yanked her attention back onto the man. “You wouldn’t be dabbling in bayou magic, would you, sugar?”

She’d never put much stock in the black magic the women back home secretly practiced, but neither had she felt anything mess with her insides like that.

“Magick?” he repeated.

Unease brought the hairs on the back of her neck to attention. “You stay right there,” she ordered, and turned back to the hall.

Margot glanced right, then left, and spotted another door up ahead on the right. Well, damn, another door had magically appeared. An uncomfortable flush warmed her as she took a step toward it. Another wave of longing tightened her belly. Strong fingers closed around her arm and yanked her back into the room. The door slammed shut with a crash and he shoved her against the hard wood. Margot yanked her gaze onto the stranger’s face. He stared down at her, the dark irises swirling as if a tornado raged in their depths. She sucked in a breath. Bayou magic, if ever she’d seen it.

A prickle dug into her flesh like tiny needles, but she kept her gaze locked with his. “I don’t take kindly to be accosted.” She tried stepping past him.

He shoved her back against the door. “Do no’ be a fool.”

“Not many folks call me a fool to my face.”

“If you answer his call, you will be a dead fool.”

She tensed, but said in her cool cop’s voice, “That sounds like a threat.”

“No threat. Fact.”

“I like threats even less than being accosted.”

His eyes darkened. “He shall not have another victim.”

He yanked her to him. His belt buckle dug into her stomach, but the pressure of his erection against her belly caught her attention. The need to impale herself on him halted the fist she had ready to punch his belly. Sweet Christ, it had been some time since she’d had a man, but had it been so long that the first hard cock to come along was enough to induce her to fuck a stranger?

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