by Anna Durand
My phone warbled. I jumped and fumbled to dig it out of my purse. Presley watched me with a bemused look on his face while I picked up the call, without even glancing at the caller ID.
"Where are you?" Lachlan's voice rumbled through the speaker, straight into my ear. "I knocked on your door, but you weren't there. Thought you might be getting ready."
"Um, getting ready for what?"
"Our trip. I hoped we might start it today."
"Oh, right, the trip." I wanted to turn my back to Presley, but the thought of him doing who-knew-what behind me made my skin itch again. Instead, I edged toward the windows. "I'll be home soon."
"Are you all right, gràidh?"
Despite having my ex staring at me, I started to melt inside when Lachlan called me gràidh. My cheeks heated. And so did… other places. I murmured into the phone, "Yes, I'm fine. I'll see you in a bit, okay?"
"I'll be waiting." His voice sank into sultry territory. "I've been imagining all the things I want to do to you. I'll strip you naked and — "
A frantic laugh hiccupped out of me. "Uh, sure, sounds great. See you later."
I disconnected the call before Lachlan could say another word. My cheeks were already on fire, and Presley was smirking at me as if he'd heard what Lachlan said. He couldn't have. But my embarrassment probably gave him a clue.
"So," Presley said, folding his arms over his bare chest, "are you moving to Nessie-land to have little Scotchie babies? Bet you look hot in plaid."
Enough of this. I'd get no closure here and I was sick of his taunts. I stomped past him, and as I grasped the door knob, I called over my shoulder, "Stay away from me or I'll throttle you myself next time — then I'll let Lachlan beat the crap out of you while I eat popcorn and cheer."
I stalked out into the corridor and slammed the door.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lachlan swooped me up in his arms and whirled us both around. My feet sailed through the air, but my heart soared even higher. He stepped backward and kicked the door shut behind us. I'd knocked on Lachlan's door a mere minute earlier, barely getting out my words before he grabbed me. He deposited me on the wood floor of the entryway, though he kept his arms around me.
"It's true?" he asked, his lopsided grin widening.
"Yes." I pecked a kiss on his mouth. I'd made my decision on the drive home from Presley's. "I want our road trip to start today. I thought about it all night and this morning and then in the car I realized — "
His lips cut off my ramblings. When we came up for air, he said, "How soon can you be ready?"
"Already packed. Got ready last night."
He looked entirely too overjoyed for a man who considered me his American fling. Don't hope, don't do it. He crushed me to him. "You're a miracle, gràidh."
The entire English language vanished from my brain. I opened my mouth but no words came out. Lachlan took my parted lips as an invitation for a deep, ravishing kiss that left my knees wobbly and my body humming. I breathed one word. "Casey."
"I asked Mrs. Abernathy. She'll take him while we're gone." He ducked his head. "Where we're going, they don't allow pets. I'm sorry, I tried to find a pet-friendly place."
"It's okay. Casey loves Mrs. Abernathy."
"Gave her my key to your house. Was that all right?"
"Yes." My lips enveloped his, my tongue thrusting into his mouth, rasping over his, ever starved for more of him. "Thank you for taking care of all the arrangements."
He nibbled my lower lip. "Welcome. Shall we go?"
A week on the road with my Lachlan MacTaggart. I was in so over my head, but I couldn't have cared less. I grinned. "Absolutely. Let's get on the road."
Lachlan painted kisses on my temple, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. "Got my bags in the car. Let's go grab yours, my sweet lass, and get on the road."
His sweet lass. His gràidh. Why did he have to keep saying things like that, leading me on? I stifled a groan. I was leading him on too. Pretending I could spend one week with him, say goodbye, and go on with my life, happy and content. But I wouldn't do any of it. My life was in the tank, the deepest, darkest tank on earth.
Lachlan grazed a hand over my cheek. Concern tightened his forehead. "Feeling unwell?"
"Uh-uh."
He slipped his hand around my nape, drawing me in for a sweet, sensual kiss. My body craved him more than ever and my heart longed for things I couldn't have. A man like Lachlan would stand by me, no matter what, he'd fight for me, anytime, anywhere. Except he wouldn't. Not for me. Another woman, one lucky enough to meet him after he'd recovered from whatever wounded him, would get the parts of him I only glimpsed.
I reciprocated his kiss, imbuing it with every ounce of desire and yearning I possessed, praying he might feel my need for him, the man, and not just my sexual need for his body. Feel it, Lachlan, please.
He pulled away. "You still seem unhappy. Where did you go this morning?"
I opened my mouth to tell him it was none of his business, but a wave of weariness and resignation crashed over me. My shoulders drooped. I shut my eyes, exhaling a long breath. Might as well tell him. Staring at his chest, masked by a T-shirt, I let the words tumble out. "I went to see Presley."
"The erse who's been harassing you? Why?"
Every ounce energy flooded out of me as I replayed my conversation with Presley, and my throat constricted. I wrapped my arms around Lachlan, burying my face against his chest.
He stroked my hair, threading his fingers through it. "What happened?"
"Sure you wanna know?"
"Positive." He curled one arm around me, pressing me close.
I turned my head so my cheek rested on his chest. With his fingers in my hair soothing me, I lost any will to remind him of our agreement. How I needed him to care. "I thought I needed to confront him, to get some kind of closure. But he just made fun of me. Can't believe I was ever involved with him. Can't believe I actually thought he might — " I squeezed my eyes shut, desperate to stem the tears gathering in them. "Guess I needed to believe he wasn't a total slimeball. But he is."
Lachlan enfolded me in both his strong arms and kissed the top of my head. "What did he do to you?"
"Today? Not much. He was sarcastic and dismissive."
"I meant in the past."
"Don't think you really want to hear about it."
He rested his chin atop my head, his voice taking on a hint something resembling regret. "Whatever he did — and I won't push you to tell me, since I have no right to — but whatever he did, I hope it's over now. I hate seeing you like this."
"It is over. Way over." I wriggled out of his embrace, rubbing my arms. "Couldn't even get him to tell me why he keeps coming to my house.
I eased my hands into his, holding on tight. "Let's forget the serious talk. I want to go away with you and have fun."
"That I can give you."
Keeping hold of one of my hands, he led me out of his house and across the lawns to my front door. We collected my bags, piling into Lachlan's rented Mercedes convertible. He'd put the top down. The plush seat cradled me, much the way Lachlan did after we made love. I treasured those moments, the safety I found while cuddling with him, for a brief time.
The car rocked as Lachlan yanked his door shut. The engine rumbled to life, so soft I barely heard it over the classical music emanating from the stereo. Vivaldi's The Four Seasons. The MP3 player plugged into the stereo picked up in the middle of the fourth concerto — "Spring." A time of new beginnings, hope, promise. We should've listened to "Winter." It suited my future best. I sensed Lachlan's gaze on me, a warm caress of his undivided attention. The cold inside me thawed a smidgen.
He rested his hand over mine on the center console. "I won't ask what's been eating at you these weeks, but I want you to know you can tell me if you like. Maybe I can help."
Lend me a bank vault's worth of money, so I can hire detectives to ferret out evidence of Presley's guilt. As if I would ever ask him such a thing
. He couldn't do anything to save my future, but he helped my present more than he knew. I twined our fingers and gave him the best smile I could muster, which wasn't much. "Let's get on the road and have fun. That's all I want to think about right now."
He nodded, though he looked less than convinced. I'd learned enough about him to realize he wanted to fix my problems. He had no idea what they were, or how impossible fixing them would be, but he itched to dive in there and set things right. God, I loved him.
My heart thudded. A chill swept over me, though a deep and gentle warmth washed it away in a matter of seconds. I loved him. Holy mackerel, when did that happen? I slumped in my seat, the warmth fading away. Didn't matter what I felt. He'd leave anyway, even if I told him. Hearing and seeing his reaction to phone calls about his ex-wife confirmed it for me. He was damaged beyond anything I could repair.
So here I was. Erica Teague, wild woman. Hah. I was a complete and total mess, sinking ever deeper into the abyss.
I tried to focus on the scenery, to block out my melancholy thoughts. The streets of my neighborhood gave way to the urban roadways, packed with cars. My vision retreated into the recesses of my mind, the roads a blur of motion and color. Mozart had taken over for Vivaldi by the time we hit the freeway. The concrete roadway buzzed under us, as if a beehive cradled our car's wheels. Our car. I shouldn't think of it that way. Beginning in this moment, I had to separate myself from Lachlan, emotionally, and stop hoping for a future with him. Pull back. For both our sakes.
A police car passed us on the left. I watched it recede ahead of us and for a moment I indulged in a fantasy that Lachlan had broken me out of jail and we were on the run together, a pair of romantic fugitives, our love too strong to be severed by anything. Even if Lachlan wanted to break me out, I would never let him. So I'd do what I advised Lachlan we should do. I'd enjoy this time with him. And deal with the future later.
I crossed my legs and massaged his thigh. "Where are we going, Sex God?"
His face scrunched, he shifted position as I slid my hand higher. "Our destination is a surprise."
"Oh?" I edged my fingers closer to the enlarging bulge in his pants.
He grasped my hand, settling it on the center console beneath his. "You'll like it, I promise."
"Will it be sexy?"
He flashed me a secret smile. "Patience, mo leannan. Patience."
* * * * *
On our drive south from Chicago, I discovered my companion had a fetish for cheesy tourist traps. We stopped at the Paul Bunyan statue in University Park, where the ginormous lumberman slumped as if too wiped out to hold himself up, his axe dragging on the ground. My cheery mood waned a bit looking at that statue, because I could identify with poor Paul's weariness. Life was dragging me down too.
Way to dive into the fun, eh? I chewed the inside of my lip and tried to shake off the malaise. Lachlan seemed to notice my mood change, because he rushed at Paul's giant axe, pretending to strain to lift it, his face contorting with mock effort. He fell on the huge blade with a death scene deserving of a Shakespearean tragedy — if not for the wildly overblown horror on his face.
I couldn't help it. I laughed, so hard my sides hurt.
Lachlan gave up the stage show and marched back to my side. He laid a hand on my cheek, running his thumb over the upturned corner of my mouth. "That's better. I'll humiliate myself anytime to see that beautiful smile."
All I could do was gaze up at him with what must've been idiotic adoration. How could I not love him? He'd make a fool of himself just to cheer me up.
After that, our tour of tacky monuments revved into high gear with a water tower emblazoned with a smiley face, a statue of Abe Lincoln holding a "Go Bears" sign, and a Nazi buzz bomb. Roadside attractions had never intrigued me, but Lachlan's boyish enthusiasm for them infected me. Before I knew it, I was getting excited at the prospect of taking a detour off the interstate to see the first Dairy Queen franchise.
We kept traveling south down Interstate 45, with the scenery whizzing past our windows. In the town of Loda, Lachlan exited the freeway to head for another attraction, though when I asked what it was, he simply told me, "You'll see."
When we pulled up to the village park and the attraction came into view, the blood fled my brain. A chill raced through me, prickling my skin. There, on the grassy lawn of the park, stood a large metal cage marked with a sign identifying it as the Loda Jail.
Lachlan pointed at the cage. "A hundred years ago, they kept prisoners in that contraption. Must've been a pleasant experience, eh?"
His tone was casual, his expression was interested. I gulped against a lump in my throat, but it remained stuck. Fidgeting, I struggled to sound unaffected. "Yeah, I'm sure it was a pajama party."
My voice cracked, just a bit. I hoped Lachlan hadn't noticed, but no such luck. His head swung around, his gaze homing in on mine. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." I tried to relax back into my seat in a casual way, but even I realized I looked awkward and tense. "Jails aren't fun, that's all."
A vision flared in my mind, of me locked in the Loda Jail for four to fourteen years. In my nightmare fantasy, Presley stood nearby snickering while Lachlan led a parade of tourists past me. In a disinterested tone, he informed them, "And for our last attraction, here's the world's dumbest girl, who let a scunner con her into taking the fall for him."
The real Lachlan cupped my face in both his warm hands, leaning in until his breaths tickled my skin. The intensity of his gaze made the hairs on my neck and arms stand up at attention.
"Erica," he murmured, "please don't cry."
Oh no. I was about to cry. Tears welled in my eyes, stinging and threatening to spill out. I blinked them away.
He brushed his lips over mine, his kiss soft and tender. "I never meant to upset you, but clearly I have. I'm sorry."
"You didn't do anything." I fought the impulse to crawl into his lap and curl up there. "Can we just go somewhere else, please?"
He nodded and released me so he could steer the car back toward the freeway. We made no more stops to gawk at odd monuments. And I stared straight ahead at the freeway unreeling before us, a gray strip extending beyond the horizon. Gray. Colorless. Lifeless.
My future, embodied in asphalt.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Just outside of Champaign, we pulled into the semicircular, brick-lined drive of a historic mansion. Sky blue trimmed the white mansion and slender Corinthian columns buttressed the wraparound porch, while lacy railing lined the porch and the second-floor balcony. Lachlan opened my door for me and took my hand as we mounted the brick steps toward the mansion's front door.
A sparrow landed on the brick steps to my left, fluttered its wings, and flew away. I wished my anxieties could flit away as easily.
Hand in hand, we strolled into the bed & breakfast. Though the place was gorgeous, with hardwood floors and wall paneling and a crystal chandelier suspended over the entryway, it didn't suit Lachlan. He should've slept in a stone castle with ancient weapons on the walls instead of Victorian paintings. A pretty gray-haired woman signed us in, regaling us with tales of ye olden days, which flew right through my distracted brain. The countdown clock in my head banged with jackhammer strength. A handful of days to go.
"Have a wonderful stay, Mrs. MacTaggart."
I startled at our host's statement. "I'm not — "
"Thank you, Mrs. Wilkins," Lachlan said, tossing an arm around my shoulders. "I'm sure we'll both love it here."
He hauled me away from the desk toward the sprawling staircase upholstered in crimson carpeting. Constrained by Lachlan's arm, I performed a little contortionist act to twist around so I could wave at Mrs. Wilkins. I elbowed Lachlan, muttering out the corner of my mouth, "Why'd you let her think we're married?"
"It made her happy. She adores newlyweds." He spoke the last two words in a ridiculous imitation of Mrs. Wilkins's voice. "Where's the harm in letting her believe it?"
A spark of hope flic
kered into a tiny flame inside me. Maybe he wanted to believe it, or play at being married to see if it wasn't as bad as he remembered. Right, and Presley wanted to fall on his knees and beg my forgiveness right before turning himself in to the police.
When we reached our room on the second floor — with balcony access, naturally, and picture windows granting views of both the tree-shrouded drive in front and the lush gardens behind the mansion — he unlocked the door and cracked it open a few inches. I scrunched my eyebrows. Before I realized his intention, he picked me up and, kicking the door inward, carried me over the threshold. I held my breath, my body weightless in his arms. Men carried their wives over thresholds, not their concubines. Get real, Erica.
He set me down beside the bed. Our bags already awaited us, tucked in between the dresser and the wall, across from the four-poster bed. The male half of the husband-and-wife team who owned the bed and breakfast had brought up our luggage while we signed in and got our room key. I shuffled toward my wheeled suitcase, glancing out the windows. Ivy surrounded the panes, while flowering trees and bushes painted a colorful vista below. The B&B boasted a magnificent garden, with tables for dining outside. So romantic.
Lachlan hooked an arm around my waist to turn me toward him, pulling me tight against him. "Like the surprise?"
"I love it." Linking my hands behind his neck, I rested my cheek on his chest. "I wish we could stay here forever, on a never-ending honeymoon."
He flinched from head to toe. His entire body went rigid.
Cripes. Had I said that out loud? I jerked my head up and clamped my lips between my teeth. I stopped blinking, afraid to move the tiniest muscle for fear of what I'd blurt out next. When I dared to speak again, I cleared my throat and gave a nervous laugh. "I meant a fake honeymoon. You know, like Mrs. Wilkins thinks we're doing now."
Lachlan's gaze had gone inscrutable again, his emotions and thoughts shuttered behind a mask. His arms fell to his sides. Sheesh, it wasn't like I'd said I loved him. He backed away a couple steps, eyes unblinking. I opened my mouth to make a sarcastic quip but stopped. His hands were trembling, his jaw too. Our gazes converged and for a few seconds I swore I could read his mind, experience his true feelings for me. Those blue eyes pleaded with me. Just say it, Lachlan, promise to stay with me. But then his gaze darted away, snapping the thread that united us.