by Caro LaFever
Ceri glanced at her mobile. He was right about one thing; he had as much reason to call the police as she did. Plus, unlike her, he could afford to wrangle in a court for months at a time.
The castle tours started tomorrow and she needed that money.
We’ve come to an impasse then, haven’t we?
She understood the unspoken deal he was offering. He got to move in with her, she got her castle tours. But she couldn’t abide the thought of Lorne Ross taking up residence right down the hall from her bedroom. It was bad enough when he was sitting in his castle tower. He’d be here every day, doing his coding, here when she came home after work. He’d be in the kitchen, eating food, sitting at her table. He’d be sharing a bathroom with her, that clean scent of his swirling in her brain every morning.
No. Just no.
She wouldn’t be able to keep her hands off him. And look how dangerous that had been a couple of nights ago.
Stomping down the hall, she came to the bedroom door and frowned at his back. He was setting his screens up on Elis’s tiny desk like he meant to be here forever. “This isn’t going to work.”
The only response he gave her was a grunt.
“Why can’t you just return to London?” she cried.
“Reid told me.” He gave her one glance, his curly hair dancing off his shoulders in a splash of fiery brilliance. “Possession is key in this battle. Ye will not be driving me out.”
“Bloody hell.” She wrapped her arms around her again, her hands tightening on her waist in frustration.
He plugged his computer into the wall. Nothing happened. “Bloody, fucking hell.”
Ceri jumped back as his words blasted into the room.
“Ye.” He straightened, his long, lean body taut with rage.
“Me?” She took another step back.
“Yes, ye.” With one step, he came into her personal space like a wild, willful storm. He smelled of lightning and power, of anger and heat. “Ye did this to my computer.”
His shout echoed in her ears, and when she looked into his eyes, she saw she was in trouble. Big trouble.
Jerking away, she made for her bedroom.
“Och. No, ye don’t.” His rawboned fingers grabbed her arm before she’d taken a step, and yanked her into his damp embrace. “Ye owe me.”
The power of him encircled her. Beyond the inflexible grip of his grasp, he came around her like a blistering gale, a Scottish invasion.
Her hands pushed on his hard chest. “Take your hands off me.”
“No.” His grip tightened, bringing her breasts flat to his chest and pressing his solid erection into the crease between her legs.
He was excited. Dangerously excited.
Shock and an immediate answering excitement burst inside her. With a gasp, she realized her robe had loosened below. The rough scrape of denim on the skin of her thighs made her dizzy.
With need.
With angry, frustrated, amazing need.
She glared into his slate-blue gaze that still held a dark rage. “Are you going to rape me, you bastard?”
“No.” His eyes widened. “And I’m not a bastard. My mum was married to my da.”
He was such an odd man. He’d taken her literally, the dumb jerk. “What are you going to do with me then?”
They stood, silence lengthening between them. His arms didn’t grow tighter or loosen. His body still was tense and taut on hers. His erection didn’t soften.
He stared at her, puzzlement softening the rage in his eyes. “Now there’s a question, lass. There’s a question.”
Chapter 18
Lorne had never thought anger and excitement could mix together. He liked his emotions in nice, simple boxes he could observe and move through one at a time. But the mix inside him was exactly that—a toxic blend of passionate need and over-the-top outrage. His hands fisted into her cotton robe, pulling her closer and higher into his arms. Her eyes were that ugly red dirt color, and that made the mix of emotions roiling inside coil into a knot.
“Well?” Ceri arched her dark brows, disdain filling her face. “It looks like you don’t have any kind of answer, do you?”
Fury surged back, overtaking the lust beating in his blood. A crimson glaze of heat blurred his eyes. “I’d advise ye not to make me any angrier than I am right now. Ye ruined my computer.”
“You have more money than the Queen of England to replace it.” She snorted, a sound of immediate dismissal.
She wasn’t intimidated.
The realization took him by surprise. Because of Doc’s rambunctious personality and his constant need for attention and approval, Lorne had become the enforcer in their workplace. He’d perfected the ability to stare at an employee until they cracked and confessed to selling Gaes code to a competitor. He was the one who commanded silence in the yearly conferences. He was also the one who played the bad guy to Doc’s good one whenever they met with their investors.
He was feared by many.
But not this woman.
“Well?” she said again, layering on another slice of scorn. “Are we just going to stand here for the rest of the night?”
The rest of the night.
Lust swarmed over his rage, making him dizzy with indecision. What should he do with her? Shake her? Yell at her? She’d probably flick him off with one shrug of her white shoulders.
Kiss her.
The two words popped into his mind like a speech bubble above a cartoon character’s head.
His gaze zeroed in on her lips.
They were red. Again, he tried to label the color in code and again, his brain refused to define the hue. Maybe because her lips weren’t a uniform red. There was a thin line of intense pink on the rim which turned into a brilliant cardinal red as it slipped closer into the crease. Her mouth was slightly open like she was about to shriek at him once more, yet it let him see the white of her teeth and the deep scarlet inside.
“Don’t even think about it,” she snarled, twisting the beauty of her lips into ugly defiance. “I’m not kissing a thug who broke into my home.”
“Ye are repeating yourself. I did not break in,” he stated, with admirable coolness, even though he thought he might combust at any moment. He glanced up to meet her stormy glare. “Ye do that often, I’ve noticed.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I do not—”
“And just because ye say something over and over, doesn’t make it true,” he added.
His gaze went back to her lips.
Now her mouth hung open in outrage, letting him see her ruby red tongue. All thoughts of shaking or yelling or broken computers fell out of his head, replaced with a pure need so clear and imperative, he couldn’t suck in a breath.
“No. Don’t you dare.”
“Ye want to,” he murmured. “As much as I do.”
“No.” Her strong hands pushed hard on his chest. “Absolutely not.”
Why did the woman lie? His friends had told him females did this, but he couldn’t understand the motivation. It wasted time. Leaning in, he kept his gaze on her lips.
Which was a mistake.
A fist landed on the side of his head with a solid hit.
“Ouch,” he yelled and dropped the damned woman on her feet.
“I told you no and I meant it.” Glaring at him, she tugged the bathrobe’s tie tight. “Now I want you to get out of my home.”
He rubbed the side of his face and glared right back. “No.”
“This is my home and I—”
“Listen.” He was done with her. At least for tonight. Although his cock pulsed with need, he couldn’t deal with her any longer. His skin itched beneath the wool jumper. His head throbbed from her hit and from growing frustration. Tomorrow, he’d have to deal with the chaos and destruction she’d done to his computers and his satellite. Putting on his most formidable stare, he pinned her to the floor. “This is what’s going to happen.”
She pointed her aquiline nose in the air and sniffed. “Whateve
r you’re going to say, it’s not happening.”
“Ceri.” He choked down his resentment and made his voice soft. “I’m moving in.”
“No, you’re—”
“I’m going to set up my dish on the cottage’s roof tomorrow.”
Fury flashed across her face. “I’m not going to let—”
“Then I’m going to order a new computer to be delivered here.” He forced himself to lean on the doorjamb and cross his arms in front of him like he didn’t care what she said.
“Not while I—”
“I’m moving in for the foreseeable future. Until the court case is resolved.”
“That could take months.” Her eyes widened with horror. “You can’t be seri—”
“In exchange,” he muttered, the thought making his skin crawl, “I’ll be letting ye do your castle tours and letting strangers march across my land.”
“It’s my land.” She threw back at him, her voice shaking with conviction.
Ignoring her claim because he really had nothing else to say, he waved at the bed. “If ye would tell me where I can find clean sheets and towels, I’ll have a shower and go to bed.”
“This isn’t a hotel,” she snapped. “I’m not your maid.”
“Fine.” He marched past her. Finding the small closet by the bathroom he remembered from his childhood, he yanked out a set of sheets and two big towels.
“Those are my sheets and towels.”
He ignored her some more, marching into his new room and slapping the linen on the bed. Turning, he faced her scowl. “If ye don’t want to see me naked…”
“Of course I don’t.” She sniffed once more, yet something in her eyes lightened his mood.
His temper finally started to simmer down.
“Of course ye don’t,” he rumbled before whipping his damp jumper over his head.
That was a gasp. He was pretty sure that was a gasp. Still, when the jumper cleared his head, she was gone.
Why this made his mood lighter, Lorne didn’t know, but it did. Slamming the door closed, he smiled. Now that he could think again, he saw it clearly—Doc had been right.
He was in.
In her cottage. And soon, even if they were both angry at each other, he’d be in her.
Ceri peered out of her bedroom door into the soft light of morning.
She had no idea what Lorne Ross’s schedule was. And the last thing she wanted to do was start the day by plowing into the intruder who’d stormed into her home and taken residence without her permission. Last night had been bad enough lying in her bed, listening to the shower going on, and trying to bat away any images of a naked Lorne Ross.
Quiet echoed down the hallway from her brother’s room.
Tightening her robe, she tip-toed to the bathroom and locked herself in. She looked around. Everything appeared the same. Her toothbrush and soap were in the place she’d left them. The glass door of the shower was firmly shut and she couldn’t see any other bottles other than her shampoo and cleanser. If she tried to conjure up an illusion, she could believe she lived alone in peace.
Then, she caught it.
The subtle scent of him.
That clean, lightning-charged scent.
Creeping closer to the shower, she scanned the ledge where she kept her lotions and sponges.
Nothing.
His scent still lingered, though, as a continuing plague to her senses.
But there was no time to clean the bathroom of him because, in less than an hour, she had to be at the castle. Stripping, she focused on what had to be done. A quick shower, a brush of her hair into a tight coil at the back of her head, and she was ready to go other than to dress.
She opened the bathroom door at the same time he strode down the hall, sweaty and dressed in those tight, black shorts.
“Good morning.” He flashed her a boyish grin before strolling into Elis’s bedroom and closing the door behind him with a quick snap.
“You’re a complete bastard,” she shouted.
“I told ye last night, I am not.” His voice drifted through the oak door, his tone telling her he found her amusing.
Last night’s anger, subsumed by the unwieldy lust she couldn’t get rid of, roared to life. “I hate you.”
He didn’t respond.
Ceri stood for a moment, the soft sunlight sifting over her damp skin and something like regret rumbled through her.
Pushing it away, she paced into her bedroom and dressed.
She’d been leading the VIP tours for three years now. It had been her idea to add a bit more to the coffers. Will had initially objected, telling her it would take too much of her time. Yet she found she enjoyed the interaction with the tourists and learning about all the various daring Rosses of the past so she could tell their stories.
The full-length mirror in her bedroom told her she looked professional. Crisp, white button-downed shirt paired with tan khaki slacks that appeared casual as well as smart.
Marching out of her bedroom and into the kitchen, she came to a stop.
He stood at the sink, spooning a scoop of her cereal and her milk into his mouth. He still had on the sweaty T-shirt and those outrageous shorts. Weirdly, he’d taken only his trainers and socks off.
He had beautiful feet.
She snorted at herself and at him. “I didn’t give you permission to eat my food.”
He munched and swallowed, his blue eyes lazy instead of lustful. “I’ll buy the groceries the next time.”
“This isn’t going to work.” It really wasn’t. The image of him wandering around her cottage in the morning and daytime and evening…she couldn’t deal with this.
“There ye go again.” He stopped to take another scoop into his mouth and munch it down before continuing. “Repeating something that isn’t true and thinking it’s going to change things.”
“This is too small of a place for both of us.” That was true. Completely true. “Plus, my brother is going to be back here in less than a month, wanting his bed.”
“Is that so?” He lounged against the counter, his tight shorts emphasizing his maleness.
“Yes, that’s so.” She yanked her gaze up to meet his suddenly smug face and scowled. “You can’t sleep here.”
“I did last night. So obviously that’s not true, either.” He finished the cereal and dropped the bowl in the sink with a clatter. “And I will again tonight.”
Straightening, he moved past her towards the bedroom he’d claimed against her will. Frustration and fury mingled inside her making her brain dizzy and confused.
“Are you just going to leave your dishes in the sink?” She couldn’t think of anything else to object to since he’d ignored everything else she’d thrown at him. She’d grown up with a mother who cared very little about housework. Since Ceri did mind a dirty home, she’d learned to keep things clean. “I’m not your maid.”
“Another repeat.” He didn’t stop, his words floating over his shoulder as he disappeared into her brother’s room.
Fuming, she threw open the fridge. But she was too on edge to eat. He was fouling up everything.
At least, she had her tours.
She stomped out of the cottage, slamming the front door behind her and made for the castle. Lorne Ross was not going to enter her head for the rest of the day, she determined.
By the time she’d opened the castle and turned on the lights, the three women she’d hired from Pictloch to handle the tickets and control the crowds had arrived. She fell into a pattern she’d perfected during the last few years, going down an extensive checklist to make sure everything was exactly right.
The first bus rolled into the parking lot right at the stroke of ten a.m. and a new season began.
She took a breath in and put on a smile of welcome.
Her first group of VIP guests was a dozen American insurance agents and their spouses. Then came a contingent of Chinese tourists. Following them were a large Australian family who were all particularly
enchanted with the tour. They oohed and aahed at everything from her Welsh accent to the elegant stone staircase leading to the second floor.
“I think the way you talk is so charming,” one of the women cooed.
Ceri’s smile widened.
“That’s a dashing fellow in this portrait.” A stout, older man inspected the painting of a Ross ancestor dating from the early fifteen hundreds. The picture showed a man who had the same lean build as Will and his son. He also sported a fine head of blazing-red hair.
She’d never noticed how beautiful that hair was until the live version had stormed into her life.
Muttering at herself for thinking about him, she plastered on another smile.
“That would be Alasdair Ross, who fought bravely in the Battle of Flodden Field where James IV of Scotland was killed.” She launched into another history lesson as she led the tour through the castle and into the gardens.
Before she could stop herself, she glanced toward the cottage.
There was a truck there by the side of her home.
A satellite truck.
“Cnych.”
“What, dear?” One of the ladies from the tour turned to give her a worried look. “Is there something wrong with where we’re going?”
“No, no. I just remembered something I need to take care of.” Her nails bit into her palms as she put on another smile. She should have taken her one tube of lipstick and painted the thing on her face. “Please enjoy the gardens and I’ll be right back.”
Before the lady could respond, Ceri raced down the path. She knew Lorne Ross was stubborn, perhaps even as stubborn as she was. Still, didn’t he see that putting a satellite dish on top of the cottage’s old thatched roof would be disastrous?
He stood beside the same two men who’d installed the satellite the last time. He’d showered and dressed in his new uniform of casual jeans and a jumper, this one blue. His glorious hair, something he’d obviously inherited from a fifteenth-century relative, was pulled back in his customary bun.
Lust bubbled inside, making her angrier.
All three men were staring at the roof.
“You can’t.” She rushed to their side. “You can’t possibly think that—”