Zoe giggled. “You did mention it, yes.” She stepped out of his arms. “I don’t know what to make of this. How can I feel so much for you already? We’ve only been together for a few days, yet the thought of losing you sends me into major panic mode.”
“A powerful love like ours transcends time. We were meant to grow old together, to share our sorrows and joys and our defeats and triumphs. I love you as much now as I did sixteen hundred years ago. You were taken from me. Now you are returned. Nothing will keep us apart. Nothing.”
“Oh, Thomas.” Zoe’s body melted against his, and her arms encircled his waist. “What if you’re wrong? What if you have no choice?”
Sidney loved Sundays. She was always in a rush when she worked out during the week. On Sundays she could take her time. With the shop closed for the day she allowed herself to stop worrying about money and her fledgling business. Maybe she’d even indulge in a sauna and whirlpool.
She stood on the treadmill and dialed through her playlists until she came to Ben Harper’s Both Sides of the Gun. Her mind strayed to Dermot. Despite her best efforts not to think about him, he’d been in her thoughts every waking minute.
What would it be like to be involved with him? She loved the way he opened doors for her. He’d encouraged her to open up about her fears and really listened when she did. When he’d put his arm around her shoulders, all she wanted to do was snuggle into his protective warmth.
How had he taken her absence at the store yesterday? Neither David nor Zoe had much to say about it. Had he gotten the message? Would he give up and leave her alone?
Did she want him to give up? That’s crazy talking. Of course she did. A man like him would be great, but Dermot came with too much weirdness attached.
Something inside her wrenched at the thought of never seeing him again. What was it about the man that caused her to feel things she shouldn’t? It made no sense. She knew nothing about him or his character. Forcing herself to stop thinking about him, she put the earbuds in and pushed Play.
“Is that one of those wee music contraptions?” a deep voice with a heavy Scottish brogue inquired behind her.
“You.” Her whole body jerked, and her pulse flew off the charts. Had thinking about Dermot conjured him? “What are you doing here?”
“Same as you.” He shrugged. “Working out.”
She looked him over and rolled her eyes. “In jeans and a sport coat? Right. You couldn’t possibly be a member.”
“I am.” Dermot dangled his temporary membership card in front of her face.
“You followed me here.”
“Perhaps. Let me see your wee toy.” He took the iPod.
She snatched it back. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you any manners?”
He took the iPod from her hands again. “My mother never taught me anything. She died the day I was born.”
Sidney’s stomach clenched—compassion warred with her determination not to get sucked in. “I’m sorry to hear it.” She took the earbuds out and let them dangle from her confiscated iPod. She started the treadmill and tried to ignore him. Dermot was a large man. It wasn’t easy to do.
“I never knew her. How can one regret the loss of someone they never knew?”
“I’m sorry for your lack, then. Really.”
“My wife was the only one who ever tried to teach me manners.”
Don’t ask. Do not encourage him. She couldn’t help herself. “Was?”
“Aye. She was murdered on my twenty-fourth birthday.”
“Oh.” Her heart hurt. He’d managed to get to her with another outrageous story about his dismal life. Given away at birth, never had a mother, and now this. Was any of it true? Maybe she’d arrange to have a little time with Thomas to find out. Wait. Why would Thomas be any more honest than his boss?
“You needn’t vex yourself. Her death was avenged a long time ago.”
Avenged? Goose bumps rose on her skin at his words. She didn’t want to know what kind of vengeance he meant. “How long ago did this happen?”
“More years than I care to count.” Dermot studied her iPod. “She was pregnant with our first child and almost to term when it happened.”
Sidney tried to read the expression on his face and couldn’t. His words made her feel like weeping. “Here.” She stopped the treadmill, caught the dangling earbuds and thrust them into his hand. “What kind of music do you like?” If her iPod would get him to shut up and leave her alone, it was worth the sacrifice.
“You pick something for me.”
Her hands brushed his as she reached for the iPod. Electric heat surged through her at the contact. She started the playlist already selected as he put the buds in his ears. Starting the treadmill again, Sidney began her warm-up walk. Dermot’s gaze remained fixed on her, even though she refused to look in his direction. He didn’t leave. “Did you come here to exercise or to stare at me?”
“I came to exercise.” Dermot hopped onto the treadmill behind her and reached around to turn it off. “Staring at you is an added perk.” He moved so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. He placed one of the earbuds back in her ear so they shared the music. “Like the song says, I’ve been waiting for you,” he whispered into her ear and caged her in with his arms.
His proximity disturbed and thrilled her at the same time. His delicious scent filled her senses. How could a man smell so damn good, like the outdoors—fresh air, sunshine and pine-scented forest? His body, mere centimeters from hers, caused jolts of hyper-erotic sensation from her head to her toes. Goose bumps and flutter, shortness of breath—maybe he’d cast a spell over her. Did Druids do that sort of thing?
He’d managed to keep her off balance since they’d met. The faerie had warned her to stay away, and Sidney had tried. Never in a million years would she have thought he’d pop up at her gym. He reached around her with one arm and drew her against his body. Her heart raced. Knees, don’t fail me now.
“Want to know a secret?” he whispered into her bud-less ear and stopped the treadmill.
She shivered. “You have only one?”
“Nay. I have many. Only one I wish to share right now.”
“Must you?” His warm breath against her ear turned her insides to liquid.
“I must.” His hold tightened as he whispered in her ear again. “I want you, lass. I want to make you mine.”
His words brought her back to her senses like nothing else could. She turned in his arms to face him. The taunting and sarcasm fell away and she couldn’t help searching his eyes for…something. “Do you have the courage to make me yours?” Where the question came from, she had no idea, but she awaited his reply with bated breath. He said nothing.
Where did this sadness come from? Why did her words and his lack of response break her heart? “I don’t know you, Dermot. I’d never laid eyes on you before you walked into my shop. Yet, I feel such anger toward you…and sadness. I don’t understand it.” She searched his face for answers, while all the images she’d sketched went through her head like a slide show. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t connect the dots.
“You’ve reasons enough, lass. Today is not the day for that tale.” He ran a knuckle down her cheek. “Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”
“Not a good idea.”
“Wear something pretty. A dress. I want to see you in a dress.”
“I don’t own a dress.”
“I’ll have one sent round to your flat.”
“I decide what I wear, not you. Are you always so pushy?”
“I’m not pushy at all.” He leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Be ready at seven sharp.”
A shiver ran down her spine. “On one condition.”
“Does it have anything to do with wearing a dress to please me?” Dermot’s gaze roamed over her face, settling on her mouth.
His eyes had gone a darker shade of gray, and there was no mistaking the evidence of his desire. Surrounded by his heat and scent, her b
ody responded with a rush of throbbing need. “I’ve no wish to please you, MacMud.” She pushed at his chest to put some distance between them. He didn’t budge. “If you promise to tell me why you’re here, I’ll have dinner with you. If I have reasons enough for this anger and sadness, I have a right to know what they are.”
“Agreed.”
“I mean it, Dermot. If I don’t hear the truth, I’ll walk out of the restaurant and file stalking charges against you, and that will be the end of it. No more following me around. No more popping up wherever I am. Now let me exercise in peace.” She couldn’t believe she’d capitulated so easily. Was it raging hormones, or the need to know the source of all these feelings ricocheting inside her?
“Monday evening, seven sharp, Sidney.”
His lips brushed across hers, sending ripples of sexual current through her. Her knees buckled and she leaned against the treadmill for support. “Go away, MacMud, and give me back my iPod.”
The moment Sidney left his arms, every cell in Dermot’s body cried out in protest. He had to force himself to move away from her. The ability to think rationally had escaped him the moment he’d seen her across the room in those skimpy track shorts. The sight of her long, shapely legs had been worth the price of a year’s membership in the gym—even though he’d never set foot in the place again.
Despite his best efforts, he meant what he’d said. He wanted her, and the curse be damned. When had he ever allowed himself the luxury of taking what he wanted? Never. They’d have a fortnight together, hardly long enough for her to become emotionally attached. Besides, he’d tell her about the curse first. The decision would be hers, and he’d be absolved of any wrongdoing. Right? He turned back to take one more long look at her. Gods, never had he wanted a woman the way he wanted Sidney St. George.
He stopped midstep.
When had he ceased thinking of her as Mairéad? For that matter, when had he ever desired to shop for a woman’s dress? Dermot shook his head. What had she said? He didn’t have the courage to make her his? Nay, it wasn’t courage he lacked—it was willpower. Hadn’t he vowed to leave her alone? His body and mind battled for supremacy, and his mind had lost. Aye, he’d lost his mind, and with it, all control. “Excuse me, miss.” He stopped a young woman walking down the stairs. “Can you tell me where I might shop nearby for a fancy dress?”
“Um…”
The odd look she gave him made him chuckle. “I wish to buy my woman something nice to wear for a special occasion.”
“Oh, sure.” She nodded in understanding. “There’s a Macy’s down the road about four blocks east and a block north. Take a right as you leave the building.”
“My thanks.” Dermot smiled as he punched the elevator button to leave. A new experience—hard to come by when you’ve lived as long as he had. Dermot MacKay, the Druid Laird and stuff of legend…shopping for a dress. He laughed out loud, uncaring of the looks he got from people on the sidewalk. Courage, indeed.
Chapter Six
“Drive another block north until you see Macy’s department store, and look for parking.” Dermot shifted to peer out the windshield as they drove.
Lachlan glanced at him and tapped the wheel with a finger. “Macy’s?”
“Aye. We’re going shopping.” The brick department store came into view. He nodded toward the ramp adjoining the building. “Here.”
“Begging your pardon, Laird, but you have found Mairéad, aye?”
“Aye.”
“The anniversary of her murder is a mere sixteen days away.”
“Spit it out. What’s on your mind?”
“We’ve precious little time left. I’m wondering what you could possibly need at Macy’s.”
“A dress.”
“A…dress?” Lachlan’s eyebrows shot up, and he hit the brakes. Drivers on the ramp behind them hit their horns. He inched forward again, his expression pensive. “I always wondered what you did locked away in that stillroom of yours.”
“By the gods…” Dermot scowled at him. “I’m—”
“Oh, I understand. You’ve kept your secret all this time.” He gave him a sympathetic look. “It explains a lot. I’ll no’ tell a soul, and we’ll get you the poshest frock they have at this Macy’s.”
“It’s no’ for me, man!” Dermot shook his head.
“Of course it isn’t.” Lachlan nodded, a satisfied half smile on his face. “The size will no’ be a problem.” He looked Dermot over. “Length will be a challenge though.”
“It’s for Sidney. I’m buying a dress for Sidney St. George.” He glared at his companion.
“If you do no’ mind my asking, why would you buy her a dress?” Lachlan scanned the ramp for empty spaces.
“Why would I buy myself one?” Dermot snorted. “I’m taking her to dinner tomorrow night.”
“It’s true, then, you are dating her. Is that wise? Are you no’ encouraging her affections? Once we’re gone, if she’s attached to you…”
“Nay.” His gut twisted with guilt. “I’m gaining her trust so she’ll return to Scotland with us willingly.”
Lachlan frowned. “Why no’ compel her?” He pulled the SUV into an empty spot and shut off the engine. “It’s what you would’ve done a few centuries ago.”
“I canna. Her grandfather forbade Áine from interfering, and me from the use of compulsion.”
“Aye, but the king’s command won’t stop Áine. She’s already interfered, hasn’t she? Otherwise, you would’ve found Sidney when she was still a wee bairn instead of a grown woman.”
“No matter. I won’t interfere with her free will.” He was grasping at straws and knew it. He could compel Sidney and keep her in a trancelike state until after his soul departed this world. Not even the high king of the Tuatha could condemn him for it once he knew his daughter had already broken her word. Why didn’t he? For that matter, he could compel her into his bed. Tempting.
“Still,” Lachlan persisted. “A dress is an intimate gift. One a man might give his wife or girlfriend.”
“She mentioned she doesn’t own a dress.” Dermot swung out of the SUV. “So I’m providing her with one.”
“You could provide her with a sizable portion of your fortune once you’re gone. After all, she was once your wife.” Lachlan got out of the truck and faced him over the hood. “She could buy any number of dresses for herself then. Have you put your affairs in order?”
“I’ve no’ had the time.” The thought of his approaching demise unsettled Dermot. A twinge of regret pricked him. For centuries he’d longed for the end, and now he dreaded it. “Come. I’ve set out to buy a dress, and so I shall. Let us speak no more of what is to come. Today is no’ the day we die.”
Lachlan grumbled to himself as he followed him into the building. The scent of leather, perfume and newness permeated the first floor. Dermot approached a salesclerk behind a glass counter displaying cosmetics. “Excuse me, could you direct me to women’s finer dresses?”
“Up the escalator to the second floor, and straight ahead.” She smiled up at him. “Through intimate apparel.”
Lachlan in tow, Dermot headed up the moving steps and disembarked. He stopped in the middle of the lingerie section. Beside him, Lachlan inhaled sharply and stared at the mannequins in their bits of satin and lace. Dermot’s gaze lit upon a rack of teddies. Dare he buy one for Sidney? Gods, what he’d give to see her in such a garment.
“I should perhaps seek…ah…” Lachlan stammered. “I mean, we’ve so little time left. ’Twould be a shame not to…There are willing women aplenty. Lovely women…”
Dermot turned to stare at the man he’d known for almost two millennia. Crushing remorse overwhelmed him. “It has been difficult for all of you, no’ being able to form attachments or to have the things in life that bring a man comfort, a wife and family, a home.”
“It has, and that’s a fact. I watched my own children grow old and die, and their sons and daughters as well.” Lachlan reached out and rubbed the
edge of a pair of lace panties between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ve never stopped missing my wife. Brief flings and the companionship of a professional are no match for the love and trust between a husband and wife.”
Dermot nodded. “Moving around so frequently to avoid notice, forming no bonds beyond those you share with the rest of the men, no’ a day goes by I don’t regret what happened.” The familiar oppressive guilt settled in his chest.
“None of us blame you.” He put his hand on Dermot’s shoulder. “You are no’ the one who cursed us. Has it no’ been hard on you, as well?”
Two large men drooling over women’s intimate apparel and engaging in a maudlin conversation. Dermot gave himself a shake. They were attracting attention. “Come, women’s dresses lie ahead.”
He turned away from the flimsy underthings. Lachlan and the others had never accused him of being to blame for their cursed existence. Yet it was he who’d agreed to wed Mairéad against his better judgment. As laird, the welfare of his people was his responsibility. The blame rested solely upon his shoulders, and it fell to him to make it right.
Zoe snuggled into the down mattress pad covering the hotel bed and luxuriated in the feel of 800-thread-count cotton sheets and Thomas against her bare skin. Great sex. The best she’d ever had. Lord, the thought of waking every morning in the shelter of his arms made her ache. She wanted it so badly, wanted so much to let go, take the plunge and give Thomas her unconditional love. If it weren’t for the possibility he’d turn into a pile of dust soon, she would. Zoe sighed.
Thomas cupped her breast and spooned closer, throwing one bare leg over hers. He nuzzled her hair and inhaled. “I hope that’s a sigh of contentment, love.”
“Oh, I don’t even have the words to tell you how wonderful that was.” Zoe turned in his arms to face him.
“I want to put a ring on your finger before I return to Scotland.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Don’t you think it’s a bit soon to talk about rings and marriage? We’ve only known each other a week.”
Heart of the Druid Laird Page 7