“Is there no some classic American joke about how long it takes you women to get dressed?” Ian’s voice drifted up from the lower level of the cottage.
“Several of them,” she called back, turning from the mirror and starting for the stairs. Pep rally was over. Time to head out to the big game.
She came to an abrupt halt at the bottom of the stairs as Ian emitted a long, low whistle.
“And worth every minute of the wait.” He nodded appreciatively. “It looks even better on you now than it did in the shop. You’re a vision tonight, Sarah.”
“Thank you.”
She was sure he would have complimented any woman he escorted, but his words warmed her. And the look on his face when he took her arm at the door made her feel as lovely as he claimed she was.
Her flattery-induced euphoria lasted until they reached the terrace and the party already in progress. She wasn’t sure whether she was more uncomfortable with the angry daggers shooting their way from Brad or the looks of unabashed curiosity coming from his baby-faced wife.
“Wait here.”
The words Ian breathed in her ear triggered a moment of near suffocating panic when he dropped her hand and walked away. But he returned carrying two glasses of champagne before she could react.
I can do this.
He placed his hand low on her back, and once again his breath brushed against her ear as he leaned in close.
“Relax, luv. Dinna let him get to you. You’ve nothing to fear.”
She stiffened. “He doesn’t frighten me.” Technically true. It was only what he might say that frightened her.
“Of course you dinna fear him.”
Ian’s light chuckle against her ear sent chills down her back and heat rushing to her face. Was it even possible to feel hot and cold at the same time? Possible or not, she did.
From the quickly averted gazes of the other guests, Sarah realized how their actions were being interpreted. Ian was doing this intentionally, to foster that impression, to help her. To bolster her self-confidence in dealing with her ex-husband and the others.
Why was he doing it? It didn’t matter anymore. Just as she’d given herself permission to relinquish control to whatever higher powers were responsible for her “feelings,” she now gave herself permission to enjoy this moment in her life. An opportunity to have a man like Ian pretending to be attracted to you came along more rarely than…what? More rarely than Will’s imaginary Faerie ancestors showed their faces. She’d be a fool not to take advantage of the adventure.
She turned her face to his and smiled.
“Thank you,” she whispered, closing the small gap between them, brushing her lips lightly across his.
Her own actions might have shocked her had she not found his unexpected response so astonishing. Astonishing and thoroughly enjoyable.
His eyes widened in surprise a second before the grin forming on his mouth traveled to them. The hand at her back pulled her tightly to him and he turned the kiss from the light touch she had intended into something else altogether—something that stole all thought of where they were until the sound of a throat clearing next to them brought her back to reality.
“Bravo, old man.” Danny stood next to them, grinning. “But perhaps you could hold off until after dinner is served?”
Ian pulled away, but continued to hold her gaze. “Perhaps.” Turning to his friend, he mirrored Daniel’s grin. “But dinner had better be spectacular.”
The hand at her back loosened, guiding her across the terrace.
Sarah breathed deeply, working hard to keep her trembling legs moving forward. She was keenly aware that the tremors racing through her body had nothing to do with the open stares of the other guests and everything to do with what she had just experienced.
Ian’s response to her had been honest and open, clearly transmitting his emotions. He hadn’t been acting. His kiss was filled with desire. Desire for her.
I can do this?
Her cheerleader seemed to have deserted her.
* * *
“Dammit, Ian, you’re not listening to a word I’ve said.” Daniel slammed his glass down, the contents spilling out onto the gleaming cherrywood of the old desk.
“Aye, Danny, I am.” Ian turned from the glass doors to look at his friend. “Dallyn says there’s movement in the Nuadian energy field.” He turned his gaze back to the terrace, pausing to open the doors a crack. With only a little effort he’d be able to hear the conversation he watched so intently.
“This is important,” Danny grumbled as he wiped at the spill on his desk.
“Important, aye, but it’s no unexpected. Dallyn has said all along that one of the Nuadian High Council is involved. Sooner or later, we knew there would be movement in the energy field.” He glanced back again for a moment. “It means our wait is almost over. Soon we’ll know who it is we’re facing.”
“Yes, well, not at the rate we’re going. That assistant, O’Dannan, arrived earlier this evening, but sent word down claiming he was too tired to join us tonight. And then he announced that the chairman, this Ray Servans, is bringing his brother with him. I’m telling you, Ian, it doesn’t feel right. It’s not any of the men we’ve interacted with so far, I’d bet my estate on it.”
“You dinna have to bet anything. We already know it’s none of them. When our man shows up, I’ll feel it. I know my own kind.”
Ian only half listened to Daniel’s continued discussion of the possibilities. He believed in concentrating his efforts on what was real, what was at hand. Possibilities meant nothing until they materialized, until they were on his field of battle. And once they were? Then he’d deal with them, neutralize them as he always had.
For now, he was much more interested in what Brad Tanner was saying to the small group gathered around Sarah. He didn’t like the looks of that. Opening the door wider, he slipped through, listening intently before he approached.
“I don’t care what it looked like, princess.” Tanner leaned into his wife, speaking loud enough to be heard by the whole group—loud enough that Ian didn’t need to use any special effort to hear the slurred speech.
“She’s a cold fish, completely frigid. And I, of all people, should know. Shouldn’t I, Sarah?” He turned, lifting his glass in salute, sloshing the contents over the side. “My Ice Queen, I called her. My Virtual Virgin.” He shook his head. “Not an actual virgin, mind you. I saw to that, and pretty damn well, too, I might add.” He chuckled and lifted his glass for a drink, looking surprised when he found it empty.
His wife tugged at his sleeve, casting apologetic glances at Sarah, who stood still, frozen in place, as the others looked on in obvious embarrassment.
“No, Nicki here can vouch for me on that count. I’m damn good in bed, but this one”—he swung his glass toward Sarah—“this one is like screwing the dead, completely incapable of enjoying sex.”
“Oh, Sarah, I am so very sorry.” Nicole moved toward her, hands lifted helplessly. “It’s the painkillers he took for his poor back. I warned him not to drink after taking the meds, but I’m sure you must remember how stubborn Brad can be.” She shrugged.
“So I wonder what excuse she uses for his being an ass all the rest of the time,” Marlena Stephenson murmured to her husband, who looked down, attempting to hide the smile on his face.
“It’s why she writes those freakin’ romance books,” Brad interrupted. “Because she can’t do it, she writes about it. Fiction all the way in her case.” He snorted, laughing at his own joke, and turned toward the bar, snagging a filled glass.
Ian reached her then, putting his arm around her shoulders. He’d expected trembling, but found nothing. She felt as frozen as she looked, staring straight ahead at Tanner, her cheeks a flaming red.
Rage grew, dancing through his blood, causing his hands to curl into fists. With effort, he relaxed them. The man was thoroughly intoxicated, barely able to stand on his own.
“I believe it’s time, Mrs. Tanne
r, that you help yer husband retire for the evening. Allow the alcohol to work its way out of his system.”
Either that, or he wouldn’t be responsible for what was about to happen to Bradley Tanner.
“I’m not going anywhere, Lord Boy Toy.” Brad threw his glass to the ground, where it shattered, pieces scattering around his feet. “Unless you think you can make me go.” He leaned toward Ian, belligerently thrusting out his chin. “You want to try to make me go?”
“Daddy,” Nicole shrieked as she turned to an older gentleman standing quietly on the edge of the group.
Alexander Storey stepped forward, putting an arm around Tanner’s shoulders. “Why don’t you let me help you back to your room, Brad?”
“No. I’m fine. I’m enjoying myself. I can take him. I work out.” He stumbled against the older man.
“Paul?” Storey motioned to Stephenson, who hurried forward. Between them, they managed to assist Brad inside, Nicole trailing in their wake.
Marlena Stephenson reached out a hand, touching Sarah’s arm to get her attention. “Don’t pay any mind to him. He’s always unpleasant, although I don’t think I’ve ever seen him quite this bad.” She patted Sarah’s hand. “Do you truly write romance, my dear? I love romance novels. I simply devour them. Have you been writing for long? I wonder if I might have read something of yours.”
Sarah stiffened and then sighed before answering, as if resigned. “I’ve been writing for several years.”
“I find her writing to be quite good.” Ian smiled down at her as she turned to him, a surprised look on her face. She hadn’t realized he’d bought the book she’d dropped in that little shop. “Of course, I am only reading my first one and I do admit to being a wee bit prejudiced.” He looked back at the women. “She writes as S. J. Douglas.”
“No,” Nessa squealed, grabbing Sarah’s hand. “I have your latest book on my nightstand right now. I can’t believe you’ve been here this long and I didn’t know who you were.” She glanced accusingly at Ian. “And you didn’t say a word to me.”
Marlena stood back and nodded appreciatively. “I’m impressed, Sarah. As a matter of fact, I have all your books back home. I love your heroes. They’re so…”—she gave a little shiver—“alpha male.” She smiled mischievously, tilting her head. “I guess now that I’ve met the prototype for them, I can understand why.”
“Oh, no, I—” Sarah started to protest, but Ian cut her off.
“Why, thank you, Mrs. Stephenson. I appreciate the compliment. And now”—he dropped his hand to Sarah’s waist—“I think my little author and I will hit the buffet table. I seem to have worked up quite an appetite. If you’ll excuse us?”
He guided her to the opposite side of the stone pond, where the buffet had been arranged. He’d filled their plates and found a bench at the far edge of the terrace for them before she finally spoke.
“Thank you for coming to my rescue. Again.”
He shook his head slowly as he sat down next to her. “I dinna do anything that any other man would no have done in my place.”
“Oh really? Because I could swear there were other men standing around, and none of them stepped forward to stop Brad.”
“Well, I did say ‘any man in my place.’ None of them were lucky enough to be yer escort this evening.”
“You and I both know that doesn’t have anything to do with it. You would have stepped in to prevent any woman from being treated that way, wouldn’t you?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps I’m simply no as tolerant as other men.”
“No, that’s not it.” She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. “There’s something terribly gallant about you. Something old world. As a matter of fact, now that I think about it, I can see why Marlena would assume that I patterned my heroes after you.”
“And why is that, luv?”
“Well, just like my heroes, you’re a pretty take-charge kind of guy.”
He nodded. “Go on.”
“You’re chivalrous, considerate and extremely helpful.”
Another nod. “Continue.”
She sat back, a confused smile on her face, as he’d expected. “More? What else would you have me add to that list?”
“Well, so far you’ve described every boy scout in the country. But according to what I’ve read in yer book so far”—he raised an eyebrow—“if I’m just like yer heroes, then I’m also quite handsome, verra strong and verra brave.” He paused, looking to her for confirmation before continuing.
“Yes, I suppose those are traits I could attribute to you as well.”
He couldn’t hold back his mischievous smile as he picked up where he’d left off on the list of his supposed qualities.
“Let’s see, I’m also unbelievably sexy, and—what was that other one? Oh yes…absolutely irresistible to the heroine.”
She lowered her eyes to the plate in her lap as color crept into her cheeks. “Yes, well, but you must remember, my heroes are only fantasy.”
Ian took the empty plate from her hands and put it on the ground next to his. When he turned back to her, he placed a finger under her chin, lifting her face to look into her eyes.
“That, sweet Sarah, is what a good hero excels at—fulfilling yer every fantasy.”
Her eyes widened as they fixed on his and he felt the slightest tremble against his fingers. Hard to believe in this moment that he had ever thought her anything less than the most beautiful woman he’d ever met.
When she spoke, her voice held the same light tremor as her body. “If I didn’t know better, Ian McCullough, I’d think you were flirting with me.”
“What makes you think I’d no be flirting with you?”
She lifted her chin from his grasp and looked back down at her hands clasped nervously in her lap before once again meeting his gaze. This time it was defiance he saw there.
“Well, for one thing, because I’m too old for you.”
As if that would matter, even if it were true. He threw back his head and laughed, drawing looks from the other couples around the terrace.
“I’m serious, Ian.” She stood and looked down at him. “I’m too old for you to be considering any kind of romantic…anything with me.”
“I dinna care. Yer age disna matter to me.” He rose to stand.
“It does too matter. I’m…” She paused, drawing in a deep breath and closing her eyes for moment. “I’m thirty-eight, Ian. You’re a full decade younger than I. That’s an enormous difference.”
“It’s only numbers, Sarah.”
He pulled her close and lowered his head to hers, nuzzling his lips against the spot under her ear that he’d already discovered sent shivers through her body.
He should stop this game quickly, while it was still a game, but she was vulnerable now. Not only the kind of vulnerability he saw in her eyes, but the kind that came from everyone watching. She couldn’t pull away when this was the behavior the observers expected, and he knew it. Counted on it. Used it.
“Meaningless numbers, and some unreasonable obsession you have with age that we’ll revisit at another time.” He straightened and slid his thumbs to either side of her neck, moving them in the small circles that seemed to relax her. “That’s a promise.”
He knew she felt the truth in his statement when her eyes widened and her mouth opened slightly as if she would protest.
“But for now, we’ve a little boy we’ve pledged to tuck into bed.”
She nodded and he tightened his grip, bending over her again and pulling her close to gently kiss her lips.
Somewhere along the way, what he’d intended as no more than playful banter had turned entirely serious. He’d only thought to build her self-confidence, to help her feel more sure of herself, but to his surprise, he found he’d meant every word of what he’d said.
“And like yer heroes, my sweet, I never break a promise.”
Instantly she tensed and pulled from his grasp. He allowed her to go, to reclaim her distance.
Ian didn’t actually consider himself to be hero material as she’d suggested. He did, however, think of himself as an excellent warrior. And, like every good warrior, he understood the importance of choosing his battles wisely.
He would wait for the right time and the right place to engage in this particular battle.
* * *
“What were you giggling about?”
Sarah tucked her feet under her as she settled into the enormous leather sofa in the great room of the cottage. She watched the muscles beneath the tight silk T-shirt Ian wore ripple across his back like the famed Nessie in her loch. All the while, she tried not to remember that this sofa was currently doubling as his bed.
“I dinna ever giggle, woman. It’s no a manly thing to do.” He rose from the hearth and dusted off his hands, leaving the fire he’d just lit. “I laugh or I chuckle, but never giggle.”
He grinned and picked up the bottle of wine he’d retrieved earlier from their little fridge, holding it up for her inspection.
She examined the label, a task made more difficult since the only illumination in the room came from the fire and a shaft of moonlight glinting through the massive French doors that flanked the fireplace on either side.
“What am I looking for?”
“It’s Danny’s own vineyard he stocks our icebox with. Cheap bugger.” His grin turned to a huge smile as he uncorked the bottle and sniffed. “Ah, but lucky for us, the people he hires to tend the place and make the wine know what they’re doing.”
“I didn’t realize people had vineyards here in England.” She reached out to take the glass he handed her.
“His vineyard’s in France.” At her look of surprise he continued. “Aye, he’s been a busy boy over the years, with interests all over the continent. And still he’s managed to snag himself a lovely wife and have that fine son.”
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