A Highlander for Christmas

by Christina Skye

  “That’s an island off the coast of Scotland, isn’t it?”

  “It was the last time I checked.”

  Behind them Marston swept up the last cut stems and cleared his throat. “Would you care for breakfast now, Commander?”

  “None for me. Ms. Kincade has eaten?”

  “Rather too lightly, in my opinion.”

  “I’ll see what I can do about it if you’ll part with some of those strawberries you grow out in the conservatory.”

  Marston tapped his jaw. “Along with clotted cream and perhaps some chocolate shavings?”

  Jared grinned. “Be still my beating heart.”

  Marston murmured something that sounded like scoundrel and disappeared.

  “I think I can speak for myself,” Maggie said stiffly. “And I’m completely full.”

  He studied her face for long seconds and yet again Maggie had the uncomfortable feeling that he was sifting through her secrets. “Bad night?” he said softly.

  Maggie wasn’t going to discuss her disturbing dreams. “You still owe me answers, remember?”

  Jared filled a fragile cup with Darjeeling tea and studied her over the rim. The lines at his mouth gave Maggie the idea that his night had been almost as bad as hers.

  “What kind of answers?”

  “If your home is near Skye, why don’t you have one of those incomprehensible accents? You know, like Mel Gibson in Braveheart.”

  “Ach, the puir lad had na half the sound of the Isles in his voice. Na fine coaching will bring the Gaelic where it is na born to blood and bone.” The words rolled rich and smooth off Jared’s tongue. “’Tis this sound ye were wishing for, lass?”

  Maggie couldn’t suppress a laugh. “Round one to you. How can you make it come and go like that?”

  Jared frowned down at his teacup. “We moved often when I was young. My father was in the Royal Navy and his postings took us one year to the south of France, one year to New Guinea and Australia. I suppose I learned how to blend in as self-preservation.”

  Maggie gnawed at her lip, considering her next question.

  “Don’t,” Jared said softly.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Do that.” His eyes locked on her mouth.

  “You mean this?” Maggie rolled her lip against her teeth.

  “Hell.” The word was both curse and plea. “Stop,” Jared said roughly.

  Maggie felt a slow, hot wave of color sweep her face. “You mean…” Her eyes flickered along his chest and grazed his thighs. “It makes you—”

  “Precisely.” His voice was very dry.

  “But I’m not trying to—you know.” She broke off with an embarrassed cough.

  “No, I can see that.”

  Maggie shrugged. “I have a mirror, and I have a perfectly good memory. If I were the kind of leggy blond that men follow with their eyes, then I might believe you. But no. I’m far too old for fairy tales.”

  He stared at her, cup in hand, then muttered a soft curse. “Who’s been at you, Maggie Kincade? Give me the bastard’s name.”

  “No one,” she snapped. “Or maybe everyone. And this. conversation is over, since you keep lobbing all the questions back to me.” She stood up and tossed down her napkin, wondering why it was suddenly so hard to breathe. Maybe it was his face, half in sun and half in shadows. Or maybe it was the way his eyes tracked her slightest movement. “Stop staring at me. And while you’re at it, stop doing that other sneaky thing you do.”

  “Enjoy the sight of your smile? Savor the way sunlight touches your hair?”

  Her flush deepened. “You know exactly what I mean. I’m talking about how you watch me. How you slip down into my head and—well, see things.” Her hands tightened to fists. “Go ahead and deny it.”

  “Do you want me to deny it?”

  “All I want is the truth.”

  Jared pushed slowly to his feet. “The truth could be more complicated than you or I like, Maggie. It might even carry a certain amount of danger. Are you prepared for that?”

  He was deadly serious, she realized. “Why?” she said, from suddenly dry lips.

  “Because answers always cost. Haven’t you learned that by now? You shape beauty in silver and platinum. You ask questions until the outlines come, and then you chase the dreams and pay the price afterward when your shoulders ache and your fingers are cut until they bleed.”

  How could he know these things? How could he see what she had always hidden so well? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t you?” His hand opened on her cheek. She felt the slow brush of his skin. She closed her eyes as longing rose in her, keen and sweet.

  There had been other men. There had been other moments of wanting.

  But none like this.

  Never with all her nerves coming alive in a rush and her hands shaking. “You didn’t answer my question,” she rasped.

  “You didn’t answer mine.”

  Maggie managed a shrug. “Sometimes I pay. Sometimes my fingers hurt. It’s no more than I expect.”

  His hand opened, tracing her cheek. “If I looked, I could find the scars. One from a soldering iron. One from a wire cutter that snapped.” His eyes narrowed. “And right now your neck hurts.” His palm slid beneath her hair, massaging knots of tension that Maggie hadn’t even been aware of until that moment.

  A sigh escaped her lips. “There ought to be a law against you, MacNeill.” His hands moved in silence, and Maggie felt each movement pull her deeper. With a great effort, she managed to hold her body stiff. “Not that a law would change anything. The women of the world would simply look at you and ignore it.”

  “I’m not interested in the women of the world.”

  One eye cracked open. “You’re not?”

  “Only in one of them. She argues as easily as she breathes. Someone with hair the color of warm honey.”

  Maggie swallowed hard and fought for levity. “L-lucky girl.”

  “I don’t think she sees it that way.”

  “She probably has her reasons.” Maggie gave up the fight, leaning into his body and sighing with pleasure as he massaged her stiff shoulder. Without knowing how, she found her head settled on his shoulder and her hands at his waist while her body swayed closer. “This woman—this hypothetical woman,” she corrected quickly, “maybe she feels out of her league.”

  His hands framed her spine and worked slowly downward. “There are only two of us here, Maggie. There’s no league and no one is playing referee.”

  “I am. It’s something else I’m good at. It’s destroyed at least two good relationships.”

  “Want to tell me about them?” His voice was deceptively calm, but when Maggie looked into his eyes, she saw their sudden intensity. Was it jealousy or simple curiosity?

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  His hands were pure, potent magic. Maggie knew it was dangerous to let him slip past her guard this way—but she couldn’t quite remember why.

  “Talk to me, Maggie.”

  She drew a long breath. “There’s really nothing to tell.”

  “Try.” His thumb skimmed the base of her spine and feathered upward.

  “Aaaaa.” Logic skittered out the window. “The first?”

  “The first,” Jared said grimly.

  “He was smart, funny. Gorgeous. All the things that fascinated me.”

  “How did you meet?”

  “At the sea lion exhibit at the Monterey Aquarium. He was seven and I was five.”

  Jared’s lips curved. “Hot date by the kelp bed?”

  “You’d better believe it. He told me about his pet rock collection and I showed him my favorite quartz geode. It was love at first sight. Real coup de foudre stuff.” She tilted her head, giving him better access to her shoulders. “Then his nanny showed up and it was back to the high-rise in Pacific Heights. Two ships passing in the night.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “I hear he’s got his o
wn computer company in Sausalito and he’s worth about a zillion dollars. I guess he traded in his pet rocks for silicon chips.”

  “Smart fellow. Now tell me about number two.”

  She stiffened. “Him?”

  “Him.”

  “There’s not much to tell. He was a conceptual artist who specialized in making virtual eco-statements.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Juilliard grad. He wrote experimental music to accompany live footage of polar weather patterns and posted them on the Web. It wasn’t until months later that I realized his music sounded like John Cage’s. Exactly like John Cage’s, in fact. He stole it note for note.”

  “Nasty surprise.”

  “Not half as bad as discovering that he was stealing my platinum wire and hocking it for music equipment.”

  “Ouch.”

  Maggie sighed. “It was definitely a dark day at Red Rock.”

  Jared’s fingers opened, slow and mesmerizing. “What happened?”

  “He packed his amplifiers and left. He assured me I had a huge father fixation and no man would ever work out for me. In his case, he was right. Oh, there.” She wriggled with pleasure. “I’ll kill for more of that.”

  Jared suppressed a groan. The sort of possibilities flooding his mind had nothing to do with muscular therapy. They were dark, earthy, and largely involved pinning her to the bed and keeping her there for a century or two. Knowing that they were unforgivable did nothing to stop their heat or their inventiveness.

  He wanted Maggie Kincade, needed her fiercely. He was also picking up enough of her thoughts to register her spiking pulse and elemental female response. But taking advantage of that knowledge was out of the question. Jared had to keep telling himself that.

  “Who came next?”

  She stiffened against his chest. “Next?”

  “Number three. The one who came after the pet rocks and the virtual eco-statements.”

  “No one.”

  She was lying. Even without his senses on overdrive Jared would have recognized the signs.

  “No sophisticated jewelry dealer from Paris?”

  Maggie shook her head.

  “An emerald mine owner from Brazil? Someone with deep pockets and perfect moves.”

  “No.”

  “Then maybe—”

  “No. No.” With an angry sound, Maggie pulled away. “There was nobody else who counts, Jared, so forget it.” She put her hand on the windowsill and stared stiffly out over the sunny green lawns.

  A thousand miles away, Jared thought. He could sense the weight that had settled over her. She was cold. Uncomfortable. Angry.

  And perhaps a little frightened.

  “Maggie—”

  “No, Jared. Don’t ask.”

  “I won’t. On one condition.”

  She waited.

  “Remember what you said before to me. If you ever feel like talking, come and find me.”

  He saw the stiffness in the set of her shoulders and the tilt of her head. “I won’t feel like it.” When she turned, her eyes were shadowed with memories and regrets. “But thanks just the same. Now do I get the tour or not?”

  “Patience.” Jared moved toward her, drawn by the pain that haunted her eyes.

  “I was never very good at patience. And I’m not answering any more questions, I warn you.”

  “No questions.”

  “Then what’s wrong? What’s so important that it can’t wait?”

  “This,” Jared said softly. “Only this.”

  He bent his head, cradled her cheeks, and kissed her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  A kiss, Maggie thought.

  Two mouths. Four lips. At most a sigh and the brush of restless tongues. Nothing mind-shattering or earth-shaking in that.

  Except the heat of it started in her toes and shimmered up through her legs, while Jared held her carefully, as if they were both poised on the razor edge of some monumental discovery.

  Maggie swallowed. She wasn’t ready for that sort of discovery. “Jared—”

  He stilled her with the pad of one thumb, then followed with the warm friction of his mouth. Maggie closed her eyes, forgetting her uncertainty. Forgetting her name. As his tongue feathered her lips, she made a lost sound and eased against him, trembling.

  “Maggie?”

  “Umm.”

  “I think we might be starting something here.” His voice was thick. “Is that what you want?”

  She heard dimly, as if from a great distance. Why was he talking when there was so much pure sensation to explore instead? So much sweet, elemental lust.

  She smiled at that. Maggie Kincade wallowing in hedonism. Reveling in lust with a man she barely knew.

  He gave a soft laugh as he slid his fingers into her hair. “Why are you smiling?”

  “Me. This.” Her arms inched around his neck. “Incredible.”

  “Mr. Eco-statement didn’t make you feel incredible?”

  She slid her mouth against him in a slow, sensual no. His hands opened over her back, slipping beneath lace and linen to find the heated skin beneath.

  “I’ll take that for a negative,” he muttered.

  “Right again.” She felt his short, jerky breath against her mouth. “Jared?”

  “Skin,” he said hoarsely. “I need skin.” He found the ridge of her spine and worked upward, bone by bone. “You’re shaking, Maggie.”

  She was doing a lot more than shake, Maggie thought. She was dissolving slowly. She clutched at the front of his sweater and tugged upward, sighing as she found his chest. At the first wary touch of her hands, he cursed.

  She smiled crookedly. Imagine Maggie Kincade making a man curse.

  She nuzzled the ridge of his jaw, working slowly to his earlobe. She had a sudden image of shoving off those form-fitting clothes and nuzzling every inch of him.

  Jared’s hands locked. He said something low and hard.

  “Gaelic?”

  He nodded.

  “What did it mean?”

  “You don’t want to know.” He tilted her head and stared into her eyes. “A moment ago I said we’d started something. I was wrong, Maggie. We’ve already gone beyond starting. Like it or not.”

  “I did. Like it, I mean.” She swallowed. “I’m not used to being overwhelmed this way.”

  She’d expected speed and a sudden move for the bedroom. Instead he raised her hand and surprised her again, kissing her open palm with distracting thoroughness.

  “You make it too easy to do the wrong thing.” A pulse beat at his temple as he traced her inner wrist “It doesn’t take a palm reader to know this can’t work, not for long enough to matter. You’re worth more than a day or a week, Maggie.”

  Her hand closed slowly. “What are you trying to say?”

  “That two things could happen right now. One, you slap my face and kick me out of here.”

  “Hardly polite of me.”

  “Two, you walk away and pretend this never happened.”

  Maggie ran her hand slowly over his forehead. “I was never good at pretending, Commander.”

  “Maggie, there are reasons.” His eyes darkened. “Not just the ones I’ve mentioned.”

  Behind them the door creaked. Marston cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. “I am very sorry to intrude, but there is an overseas telephone call for you, Commander. Two packages have also arrived from the viscount in London. I suppose the strawberries will have to wait?”

  “A lot of things will have to wait, Marston.” Jared took his time letting go of Maggie’s hand. His gaze remained locked on her face.

  Maggie took a shaky breath. “Very bad timing.”

  Jared tensed. “Maggie, let me explain.”

  “There’s no need. You’re right as usual, Commander. Don’t let me keep you.”

  She ran a trembling hand over her face and straightened her shoulders.

  Then she walked past him to the door, never looking back.

&
nbsp; ~ ~ ~

  How had everything turned into a tangled mess?

  Frowning, Maggie sat on the sunny slope above the moat, pulling silver wire into delicate links to complete a choker for her antique cameo. With every move, sunlight swept the metal curves, scattering light over her hands and face, but she barely noticed.

  All she could think of was Jared and how he had made her feel.

  All she could remember was how much she had wanted him. And how hard it had hurt to walk away.

  But she couldn’t afford to want him or need him.

  Her fingers slipped, and the wire gouged a deep welt across her palm. She stared at blood up across her skin. It wasn’t like her to be awkward or clumsy with her tools.

  She tried to push Jared out of her mind. Instead came a flood of memories. The hot slide of his mouth. The first slow brush of his fingers.

  Today would definitely be a bad day for soldering. The way her hands were shaking, she would probably set her clothes on fire.

  She knew he had his reasons for saying what he did.

  The problem was that the reasons didn’t make her feel any better.

  Calm down.

  She tried hard, watching the moat bubble past weathered stones of granite that had probably been quarried ten centuries ago. Even the hedges at the abbey were three hundred years old, so Marston had told her.

  Something pushed at her foot, and Maggie smiled to see Max rolling ecstatically in the grass, stubby tail twitching. “So, big guy, what do you suggest? Do you want to help me knock him down and beat him up?”

  Barking, Max nudged her hand with his soft, wet nose.

  “You just don’t have the killer instinct, do you?”

  Maggie admitted to herself that Jared had been right. They’d been on a reckless course, and it shamed Maggie to think that he had pulled away, not her. She winced at the realization of how out of control she had been.

  Point taken. Next time she’d be a mature, reasoning adult and keep her emotions firmly under control. If there was a next time.

  Max barked, then suddenly stiffened, his eyes fixed on the stone bridge over the moat. A growl spilled from his throat.

  “What is it, Max?”

  The dog stood frozen, his teeth bared. A bird soared over the trees. Somewhere in the distance a train whistled sadly over the wealden hills.