Travel through time to a meet a handsome British soldier and a brawny Highlander in the Amazon bestselling time travel series by Red L. Jameson.
Enemy of Mine
Kidnapping mortals to different eras is such fun. Trickster muse sisters, Clio and Erato, call it a glimpse, but military historian Minerva Ferguson, Erva, is fairly certain she’s gone nuts when she wakes two hundred miles from her apartment. And two hundred years in the past to Brooklyn, 1776. In an unfamiliar manse, during the American Revolutionary War, she’s not too sure how to regain her sanity. Especially when she realizes whose mansion she’s just woken in, the one British general she studied more than anything else, Lord William Hill.
When Will hears Erva’s screams of panic, he breaks down a door to save her, even if he can’t quite remember why she’s visiting. She calms, though, the instant she sees him, as if they’ve known each other for eons. From the second he sees her dressed in a toga made from a bed sheet to later when she’s with his troops, wooing them with her musket skills, he realizes he’s smitten. But he’s a weary soldier, shrouded in grief, while she reminds him of a sun goddess. Is she too good for him? Lord, how he wants her to want him.
How could Erva not fall for a guy who accidentally quotes a Cheap Trick song? But now she has to get to the bottom of if Will is really a rake, how to stop one of the most important battles of the war, and lastly how to stop her insane crush on the general. After all, he’s going to die in less than a week.
The muses have to work fast for this glimpse. But that’s when they work best. And as explosions erupt through New York, sometimes it’s not from the artillery.
Highlander of Mine
Trickster muse sisters, Clio and Erato, kidnap genealogist Fleur Anpao and dump her in the seventeenth century. Even though Fleur has never been to Scotland, let alone the Highlands, and feels like a modern-day fish out of an ancient loch, the muses have a plan. What it is remains to be ambiguous—they are mischievous muses, after all, and can’t just tell her. Though the logical genealogist wants nothing more than to return home, there’s something about this time and rough land that feels somehow familiar. And there’s something about Duncan MacKay—so strong, so brutally handsome, and so distracting.
As a mercenary for long years, Duncan has seen many things. But never in his life has he seen the likes of Fleur: more beautiful than any woman he could have imagined. It doesn’t matter she insists she’s from another time, or that she’s too far out of reach for a common man like him. He’s drawn to her intelligence and wicked sense of humor. However, Cromwell’s reign threatens anarchy, clan rivalries reach a peak, and a laird’s younger brother vies for her attention. He can hardly protect her from his county’s bedlam, let alone convince her he’s the better man. And if he does, will the bonny time traveler stay with him?
Making matters worse, a god wreaks havoc, or has fun as he calls it, with Clio and Erato’s mortals. The two firecracker time stewards might have to set down their margaritas for this glimpse!
Here's an excerpt from Enemy of Mine:
“Why
are you—” She stopped herself again. This time she bit her lush bottom lip and
looked away.
“Why
am I what?” He should have let her question falter, but he had to know for
himself if she were a spy or not. The more questions she asked, the more she
would reveal herself.
The
anomalous thought flittered through his mind though that he wasn’t too sure if
he cared if she were a spy.
She
glanced back up at him, her eyes wide and timid. “Why are you here?”
That,
he hadn’t expected. A spy would wonder about his men, his drills, his arms,
anything else that mattered to the war. Not a philosophical question about why
he was here. But even the reason why he was here could be used against him, if
court martialed. He hadn’t realized that thus far. Then again, he’d thought he
wouldn’t have survived this long in the war. In his mind, he would have no reason
to be court martialed. He wouldn’t be alive for it.
She
licked her lips and slightly shook her head. “I mean, you didn’t vote for any
of the acts the Americans protested. The newspapers said that you didn’t
support any kind of action against the Americans. You don’t support this war,
yet here you are. Why?”
“Why
not?” He tried to deflect the conversation.
She
narrowed her eyes, no longer looking sheepish but challenging, ruthless, and so
lovely. He liked her best like this, shooting faster than most of his men,
speaking of sedition to his superiors, the Howe brothers. Lord, how he liked it
when her eyes caught fire and turned back into dark red-brown honey. His veins
pumped his too hot blood through his body.
“Why
not, hmm?” She gave him a wicked smile. “Why not, indeed. I think you don’t
want to be here.”
“On
the contrary, there is no other place I’d rather be.”
She
blinked, then caught his meaning that standing so close to her was exactly
where he’d love to be. Arching a blonde brow, she said, “You know what I mean,
obtuse man.”
He
silently chuckled at his new name.
“I
think you don’t want to be in this war.”
He
felt his own mirth leave his face. “You might be right.”
“Then
why are you here? Why do you fight? Especially so efficiently?”
“Do
I?”
She
growled, making Will grin again. “Quit evading the questions with your own.”
“Why?
This is fun.”
She
smacked one of his shoulders, then he caught her small hand in his.
“Is
this fun for you too?” he asked, carefully gauging her reaction as he twined
his fingers through hers.
She
didn’t look at their hands. Instead, her gaze was focused on his chest. He
especially enjoyed that, as if she found him desirable. Lord, he hoped so, that
he wasn’t making a fool of himself.
She
never answered, but looked up at him, her long lashes batting. He took hold of
her candle and set it on a nearby table. In so doing he’d gotten that much
closer to her, and just as he was thinking of holding her other hand, she
reached up, probably on her toes, and kissed him.
This
time he reacted immediately. His lips melded with hers. She tasted strongly of
mint, and he licked the seam of her lips to enjoy. She opened for him, and he
dove his tongue into her mouth. God, she was sweet. Her arms wrapped around his
neck, and he pulled her closer by holding onto her not-corseted waist. Next her
tongue was inside his mouth, and he couldn’t help but pull her even closer, her
stomach against his, her breasts crushed against his chest.
Will
felt Erva fiddle with the ribbon at the nape of his neck, and his hair was
released from its hold. Instantly, her hands raked through his mane. It gave
him silent permission to finally take hold of her tresses with one of his
hands. Pure silk ran through his fingers. He loved her long hair, so wild and
free this moment. Like the color of corn silk, Erva’s locks were close to white
with a light dandelion sheen. He fisted what he held, which tilted her head
back, all the better to deepen the kiss. She moaned into his mouth. All his
blood rushed south. That little noise was his undoing.
Meet Red
As a military historian by day, sometimes
Red does feel a bit clandestine when she writes romance at night. No one knows
that while she researches heroes of the past and present, she uses everything
for her characters in her books. Her secret's been safe . . . until now.
She lives in Montana with her family and
far too many animals but never enough books.
You can find Red L. Jameson:
E.E.: What’s
your favorite fairy tale?
Red: As
a little girl, my first memories of reading are of the Grimm Fairy Tales. I was
in the basement of my family’s house, absorbing the stories as if they happened
to me personally. I’d hold my breath as monsters tried to abduct, witches tried
to con, and princes would rescue. I’d laugh when I’d solved the puzzle. Or I’d
cry as the ending revealed the moral of the story. Those kinds of fairy tales
didn’t necessarily have happy endings. Fairy tales were the stories told for
thousands of years to teach us morals that resonate within our bones. We know
they are right, because we feel it. And I knew I wanted to write something like
that, even back then, I knew I wanted to tell stories that people would feel
inside their bones.
E.E.: What
is your favorite tradition from your childhood that you would love to pass on
or did pass on to your children?
Red: Poetry
and fairy tales. These are two things I found on my own though, since I don’t
think either of my parents was fond of poetry or fairy tales. But as a child,
as I stated earlier, I loved fairy tales. And poetry came soon after. By
fifteen I was in love with Shakespeare—truly, in love. I’d have married him if
I could’ve. And now I recite odd little snippets of poetry all the time to my
poor son. He’s fond of some of the poets from the Romance Era, which are some
of my favorites too.
E.E.: Describe
an absolutely perfect day.
Red: Well,
I think magic would have to be involved, because I would love it if my house
were clean and stayed that way the whole day. Also, even though I do enjoy
cooking and baking, during my absolutely perfect day, I would do neither.
Instead, the yummy food would just appear. With that in mind, I’d wake up and
write for an hour—like I usually do anyway. Then spend time with my son. Write
for hours more. Drink lots of coffee. Go on a hike with my dog and my son. Read
the beginning of a great book. Write some more. And eat great food during the
whole day. Oh! And somewhere in there I’d have enough time for a bath. Love
baths.
E.E.: What
drew you to write in the genre(s) you do?
Red: You
know, I wasn’t first drawn to writing romance. Romance had been a dirty genre
or at the least something to make fun of. I hadn’t even read a romance until I
was in my thirties. I was what I would call a romance snob. I would make fun of
it, without ever having read it. I had begun writing and joined a critique
group, where one of the members said I wrote the best romance she’d ever read.
I figured, it was time to get over myself and find out more about romance. So I
started reading a romance book. That first book was magical for me. When I
finished I actually said out loud, “Where have you been all my life?” I LOVED
that first romance book. And I was hooked. Now, I consider myself one of
romance’s strongest advocates. No other genre digs into the deep issues of the
psyche, spirit, and sex. Romance isn’t just a genre. When done well, it is like
the fairy tales of my childhood, where the storyline resonates within, because
it teaches us the very basic elements of what it means to be a human—how to
love.
E.E.: What
is your hope for the future of romance publishing?
Red: I’m
in love with indie authors! Thanks to them they are pushing the boundaries of
romance. Now, books are chock full of resonating themes related to psyche,
spirit, and sex. Granted, each book entertains, but it also is there to lift
the soul, enhance our hearts, and help us remember what love is. My hope is for
authors to keep pushing these boundaries. Lastly, I would like to see the
romance genre no longer under the stigma it is.
E.E.: What
dreams have been realized as a result of your writing?
Red: I
haven’t shared this with many, but for the last couple months, I’ve been
writing full-time—no day job, no extra research for someone else. I feel like
I’m jinxing myself by acknowledging that fact, which is silly. But I’m a bit
silly, so there you go. Anyway, I never thought this was possible. But here I
am, very quietly happy dancing.
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