He leaned toward her, so close the damp heat of his breath fell upon her lips, as he said, “My soul is not as black as they often paint it, Professor.”
His Scottish burr stroked her, as dark as midnight, softer than the brush of a kitten’s fur. He lifted a lock of her hair and slowly rubbed his thumb back and forth over the strands, a smile curving his lips, as though he savored the texture of her hair. The smoldering scent of citrus and spices drifted with the warmth of his skin, swirling through her every breath, coaxing her to move closer to him. Somewhere in the muddle he had made of her normally dependable brain, she realized she should step away from him. Yet his gentle hold upon her hair paled in comparison to the powerful grasp he held upon her senses.
She should not be standing here staring at him like a foolish, lovesick teenager. A magnetic current should not be swirling through her, making her feel more alive than she had ever felt in her life. Yet all the reasoning in the world could not keep the trembling from her limbs. Logic could not coax her heart into a nice sensible rhythm. Not while the heat of his body enveloped her. Not while the scent of him swirled around her. Not while he looked at her as though she were more important than anything else in the world.
As though drawn by invisible strings, she leaned toward him. He slid his long fingers into her hair, cradling the back of her head in his large hand. “There is something I have been wanting to do, Professor.”
Ann had to swallow hard before she could use her voice. “What?”
“This.” He lowered his head slowly, allowing her a moment of anticipation before he kissed her. His breath spilled across her cheek, warm and laced with a trace of cinnamon. He slid his lips over hers, claiming her completely.
4
Ann was not a child. This was certainly not the first time she had ever been kissed. Yet nothing she had ever experienced compared to this kiss. It was as if her entire life she had merely been an observer, existing on the fringe of sensation without ever truly experiencing passion or desire.
Longing swelled within her, rising from wells hidden deep inside, in a place she never knew existed until she felt the touch of this man. Although it defied logic, for some reason she did not begin to understand, she responded to him as though she had been wandering lost all of her life and had only now found her way home. As startling as it was, her own response did not astonish her as much as his response to her.
He flexed his hands against her, squeezing her arm and her waist, as though he wanted to tear away every scrap of material that kept his skin from touching hers. Heaven help her, she wanted that too. She wanted to strip away his clothes. She wanted to feel the slide of his skin upon hers. The sheer power of her need for him ripped through her. Yet somewhere, in the part of her brain still functioning, screamed a very small, yet very loud voice. They were very nearly strangers. And she was on the verge of… She pulled back, terrified by the power this man held over her.
He looked down at her, his gorgeous eyes filled with questions, the answers to which she did not want to begin to contemplate. She pulled out of his arms and stepped back, straight into a small pedestal table near the door. She turned in time to see a tall brass figurine of a sea lion rising on a wave totter and plunge over the edge of the table. She snatched for the figurine. So did Iain. They collided, her brow ramming his chin.
The sea lion fell with a thump against burgundy and ivory roses stitched into the thick wool carpet. She looked up and found Iain rubbing his jaw, looking at her as though she were a puzzle he was trying to piece together. Not for the first time in her life, she wished she could wiggle her nose and disappear. Yet life did not follow the same rules as old television comedies.
“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice huskier than usual.
No. She was not all right. She had a feeling she would be far from fine for as long as she was within an ocean of Iain Matheson. “I came here merely to find the jewels and the cross. Not to be seduced by a man who apparently feels compelled to bed every female who comes within reach.”
A glimmer of surprise touched his features before a lazy smile curved his lips. “Is that what I was doing, Professor? Seducing you?”
She was not so naive as to believe there was no intent to bed behind that kiss. “What would you call it?”
“A kiss.” Iain brushed his fingertip over the curve of her jaw. She almost gasped at the pleasurable sensations. “A very nice kiss.”
The man was dangerous. “You might find it amusing, toying with women, but I do not find it amusing to be toyed with.”
“Toying with women.” He released his breath in a slow sigh between his teeth. He retrieved the sea lion figurine and set it back on the table. “You have a fine opinion of me, I see. Do you truly imagine I spend all of my time seducing poor unsuspecting women into my bed?”
“I doubt you need to do much seducing. Women are only too anxious to fall into bed with men like you.”
He held her gaze, while the sound of rain pounding the stone terrace filled up the silence between them. “What kind of man do you think I am?” he asked, his voice low and soft, a direct contrast to the hard glitter in his eyes.
“The kind of man who has always had things his way. The kind who was caught taking a moonlight swim with a supermodel in the Trevi Fountain in Rome last year. Naked and drunk.”
He pursed his lips. “You enjoy the tabloids.”
“My grandma Evie devours them. And you keep popping up in them.”
“And what do you suppose I enjoy more than anything in a woman?”
“I suppose men such as you prefer either legs or bosoms.”
“Actually, I have always liked a fine mind.”
“Yes, I understand Jillian what’s-her-name has graced all of those magazine covers because of her marvelous intellect.”
“She graduated with honors in engineering from Stanford University. Not all beautiful women are stupid.”
“I never meant to say a beautiful woman must be stupid. I suppose the fact she went skinny-dipping with you in the Trevi Fountain led me astray.”
“If you want to know the truth of that, I was fully clothed and far from drunk. I went into the fountain because I was afraid she might drown. Jillian was not thinking clearly at the time.”
“I suppose you didn’t notice she was getting drunk when you were refilling her glass.”
A muscle flashed in his cheek with the clenching of his jaw. “I had nothing at all to do with this particular vice. But I do not expect you to believe me, since you have already painted me so very black.”
For some reason she couldn’t understand, she did believe him. That was just one of the reasons he was so incredibly dangerous. “For a man who is innocent of all crimes, you certainly do get blamed for a great many of them. I suppose you are merely an innocent man who has been caught in compromising situations over and over and over again?”
“When I was at university, my father told me to enjoy my life.” He smiled at her. “Have no regrets.”
“And do you have any regrets?
“None that haunt me. At least not yet.” He lowered his eyes, his gaze brushing her neck. A tingling warmth spread across her skin, as though he had touched her softly with his fingertips. “And you, Professor? Have you any regrets in your life?”
If she weren’t careful, she would have one very huge regret. It took a certain measure of security to plunge into an affair with a man like Iain. A woman needed the confidence to know she could enjoy herself, then walk away with her heart still in one piece. She was not that type. If she became involved with this man, she would get hurt, deeply. She forced herself to maintain his direct gaze, even though she felt like running as far away from him as she could. “No. I cannot say that I have any major regrets. And I intend to keep it that way.”
“It would seem we have at least something in common.”
“Very little.”
“Somehow I think we share more than you might want to believe.” He lifted a
lock of her hair. “I am going to enjoy getting to know you.”
She pulled her hair free of his gentle grasp. “I think you are a consummate flirt, Iain Matheson. The kind of man who is not satisfied until every woman he meets falls beneath the blade of his charm.”
He held her accusing gaze. “You have a clear picture of me, do you?”
Oh, she did not deserve that look of disappointment in his eyes. “Maggie O’Brien,” she said, defending herself.
Twin lines formed between his thick black brows. “I see you have done some research, but then I doubt there is a supermarket in America that has not recently been filled with stories about how I have ruined the marriage of America’s sweetheart.”
“You destroyed her marriage, then refused to marry her. You made a fool out of her and her husband.”
“I hate to spoil such a perfect picture of debauchery as you have painted, but the truth is, Maggie and I have been friends for about twelve years. One of her first movies was for the production company I started when I graduated from university.”
“Beyond Forever.”
“Aye. My uncle Nigel called it Iain’s Folly. He was certain I would lose every penny that I had invested. Of course he couldn’t understand why I would want to get involved with making films, of all things. Yet my parents understood.” Iain smiled, a wistful look entering his eyes. “My father became my partner to show me how much he trusted my judgment.”
A romantic comedy of a handsome Scottish ghost and a pretty American schoolteacher bound by destiny, Beyond Forever had received several Academy Awards as well as huge revenues at the box office. It had propelled Maggie O’Brien to stardom, and it made a major player of a small production company headed by the heir to the Matheson fortune. It reminded her of a movie that might have been made during the time of Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn. Perhaps that was why she had enjoyed it so much. Old movies were still the best movies. “It was a wonderful movie.”
“Thank you.” He smiled, warm and boyishly, a smile that revealed his satisfaction with life. “I wanted to make the type of movie I had always enjoyed, the old movies. Something with the wit and warmth of Bringing Up Baby and the magic of It Happened One Night.”
He had just named her two favorite movies of all time. She stared at him, amazed to find anything in common with this man. “You like old movies?”
“Aye. No one makes a movie better than Howard Hawks or Frank Capra. And there are few stars who compare to the great stars of that era.”
“Maggie O’Brien would have fit into that era well.”
“Aye. She would have.” He sat on the arm of a nearby sofa and stretched his long legs out before him. “Maggie and I are friends. We have never been lovers. She and her husband have been having trouble, it is true. But I have had nothing to do with it, except to be there when she needed to talk to someone. The photographs that appeared in all those tabloids were taken when Maggie and I went for a walk near her home in Malibu. Two friends on the beach, nothing more. Yet that would have been too innocent to garner any attention.”
Innocent It wasn’t a word she associated with Iain Matheson. Still, there was a sincerity in his eyes that demanded rather than asked for her belief in him. “I cannot imagine what it is like to live under such scrutiny.”
“Loss of privacy.” Iain glanced toward the open French doors. “It makes you realize there is a price to pay for everything.”
A price to pay for everything. What price would she pay if she indulged in this attraction to Iain Matheson? “I think we have somehow become a little diverted.”
Iain looked at her, his expression revealing a flicker of curiosity. “Diverted? Is that what happened between us?”
Ann couldn’t say for certain what had happened, except that she had lost a good portion of her common sense. “I think we should stay focused on the journal and the search for the jewels, rather than allow any… personal issues to divert us again.”
“You want our relationship to be all business?”
“Yes. Business. All business. Entirely business.”
He held her gaze, pure undiluted hunger smoldering in his dark eyes. “That is going to be difficult, considering how attracted I am to you.”
She could not breathe. “Considering your reputation, I suspect you are attracted to most of the women you meet.”
“My reputation is not who I am.” He stood and moved toward her. “Perhaps you should get to know the man before you cast judgment upon him.”
She stepped back when he drew near. “I suppose there isn’t a trace of truth in any of the stories about you.”
“It depends on the story.”
He advanced. She retreated, backpedaling as he stalked her. “You don’t actually date a new woman every week? Most of them gorgeous models or actresses?”
“Many of the women I meet are models or actresses.” He shrugged, broad shoulders lifting the thick cabled knit of his sweater. “I haven’t been fortunate enough to find the right woman. Yet.”
She stepped back and bumped into the desk. “You are actually a nice, quiet man who is horribly misunderstood by the press.”
“I am not a saint.” Iain closed the distance between them, stepping so close his legs brushed hers. “But I am not quite the sinner they paint me to be either. I am just a man who finds himself in the company of a very desirable woman.”
Desirable? Pleasure quivered through her. She quickly suppressed the need rising within her. She was certainly not desirable. She was dependable. Practical. Levelheaded. Efficient. Pragmatic. Any of her family could vouch for her character. She certainly was not the type of woman who would interest a man like Iain. At least not after the novelty wore off the situation.
Ann leaned back against the desk and held up her hand to hold him at bay. “I am not going to be the next notch on your bedpost”
“You have such a high opinion of me.” Iain smiled, a glint of mischief entering his eyes. He braced his hands on the desk behind her, trapping her between his body and the solid mahogany. “I wonder how I shall manage to live up to it.”
He lowered his head toward her. She felt a shifting within her, her will unraveling, her muscles tightening while she fought every treacherous instinct screaming inside her, instincts that begged for her to surrender. Instead she pressed her fingertips against his chin. “You don’t happen to have a club hidden behind you, do you?”
He froze, as she hoped he might. “A club?”
“Since you seem intent to do your best impression of a caveman in heat, I was just wondering if you intended to hit me over the head with a club.”
“I have never needed a club.” He stepped back, allowing her room to escape. He smiled, his expression pure mischief. “Before now.”
She edged away from him until she stood beside the chair behind his desk. “I realize you get a great deal of enjoyment in these little games you play with women, and I hate to spoil your sport, but I am not interested in participating.”
Iain sat on the edge of the desk, trying to ignore the discomfort of trousers that were suddenly too snug. Her kiss had told him all he needed to know. In spite of her words, she wanted him. She didn’t want to want him, but she did. “I realize you think I am some kind of Lothario. But the truth is, I never play games of the heart. I have always been honest with every woman I have ever known. I was attracted to you from the moment I first looked at your photograph.”
“My photograph does that to men all the time. I was actually asked not to put a photograph in the college yearbook, for fear of the damage it might cause to any unsuspecting male who might see it.”
The sarcasm in her voice was spoiled by the soft blush that deepened the color of her eyes. The same rosy color stained the slim column of her neck. For all the world, he wanted to taste the heat of that blush upon his tongue. She stepped back and pressed her hand to the base of her neck, as if she knew what he was thinking. “I can imagine the havoc you wreak on the males in your classes. It
’s a wonder any of the poor devils can concentrate on their studies.”
“Oh, yes. The poor things, what with the panting and salivating, it is a wonder we get any work accomplished at all. I simply cannot turn without bumping into one besotted male after another.”
He nodded. “Lined up for miles, are they?”
She pressed her hand over her heart. “You cannot imagine the traffic hazard they cause, the way they overflow into the street. Unfortunately they serenade me at night, which drives my neighbors to distraction. I’ve tried tossing buckets of water on them, but it does no good. And I cannot step from my door without risking injury.”
“Injury?”
“From nearly tripping over all of my admirers.” She released an exaggerated sigh. “If they did not keep falling to their knees when they saw me, it would be much easier.”
“And now here I am, just one in a long line of your poor besotted fools.”
Ann rolled her eyes toward heaven. “I realize I may appear to be a little provincial, compared to the women you usually choose to be your next conquest, but I—”
“Conquest?”
“Yes. But I assure you, I am not foolish enough to leap at the chance to become a summer fling.”
“A fling?”
“Yes.” She made a wide sweeping gesture with her hands. “So you might as well stop trying. I have no intention of being seduced by you today.”
He grinned at her. “How about tomorrow?”
“Not any day. Not any night.” Ann pulled a pair of wire-rimmed glasses from the pocket of her light gray slacks. She opened them and slipped them on, missing her left ear with her first try. Once she straightened the frame and hooked it around her ear, she grabbed her briefcase and pulled it open. “Now, if you are interested, I will show you Adair Matheson’s journal.”
My Scottish Summer Page 19