The Immortal's Redemption. Kelli Ireland

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       “Make me forget, Dylan.”

      He rolled them over swiftly, reversing their positions. Wrapping her hair around his fist, he began to kiss his way down her neck.

      His heart thundered in his chest with a locomotive’s fierce, ground-rattling force. Blood hummed under his skin. Nerves began firing faster, yet he didn’t struggle to control the situation. No, with Kennedy’s soft encouragements, he simply let go and followed where the moment led.

      “You’ll be the death of me, Kennedy Jefferson.” He raised her hands over her head, his hands tracing down the soft undersides of her arms and down her sides, thumbs tracing the outer swells of her breasts.

      “Dylan.” His name was a tender plea from her lips.

      KELLI IRELAND spent a decade as a name on a door in corporate America. Unexpectedly liberated by Fate’s sense of humor, she chose to carpe the diem and pursue her passion for writing. A fan of happily-ever-afters, she found she loved being the puppet master for the most unlikely couples. Seeing them through the best and worst of each other while helping them survive the joys and disasters of falling in love? Best. Thing. Ever. Visit Kelli’s website at www.kelliireland.com.

      The Immortal’s

      Redemption

      Kelli Ireland

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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      To Kate Hollister, author and fellow lover of all things that go bump in the night.

      Contents

       Cover

       Introduction

       About the Author

       Title Page

       Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

       Chapter 6

       Chapter 7

       Chapter 8

       Chapter 9

       Chapter 10

       Chapter 11

       Chapter 12

       Chapter 13

       Chapter 14

       Chapter 15

       Chapter 16

       Chapter 17

       Chapter 18

       Chapter 19

       Chapter 20

       Extract

       Copyright

       Prologue

      Scotland, 1718

      A damp cold seeped into Dylan’s bones. He and another young assassin had spent the night in the hillside cave again, waiting. It was the worst part of his job. He’d rather be active, engaged, whether in subterfuge or killing, because activity meant progress. Waiting meant...waiting. Nothing happened. The sun and moon chased horizons more slowly. And one could only prepare so much before the actions became habitual. And habit would get you killed.

      Dylan flipped his kilt СКАЧАТЬ