by Karen Foley
Lara felt the color drain from her face, and her stomach did an odd little inversion. He knew about her fan fiction! Her mind worked rapidly, trying to recall a time when she might have slipped up and done something to reveal her true identity online. But no, there was no way. She’d been so careful.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she fibbed, but she knew the truth was there in her face, and in the oh so casual tone of her voice.
“Oh, I think you do,” Graeme said silkily, and reaching out, he tugged the magazine from her nerveless fingers. “I still remember the story you let me read back in London. It was very good, as I recall, but tame in comparison to what you’re writing now. But your voice hasn’t changed a bit.”
“You read my stories,” she breathed.
The implications stunned her.
Graeme flipped the magazine onto the coffee table and stretched one arm along the length of the couch behind her. His eyes gleamed with an unholy light. “Yeah. I did.”
Lara stared at him, speechless. “How did you discover them? And what makes you think it was me who wrote them?”
“Tony likes to monitor fan Web sites.” He shrugged. “He says it helps him stay on his game. Anyway, he came across your stories and was pretty blown away by how popular they were.” He arched an eyebrow at her. “I knew right away that it was you who’d written them. Especially after reading that one story where Kip and Lily spend two nights trapped together in the prison cell.”
“Oh.” Now it was Lara’s turn to flush. She remembered that story clearly as it was one of her personal favorites. She also knew why Graeme had recognized the story; she’d drawn it directly from her experiences with him.
“Yeah, oh,” he said, noting her expression. “Jesus, Lara, where did you learn to write stuff like that? I mean, we never even had a chance to do some of the things you describe in those stories.”
Was that regret she heard in his voice? Did he actually want to do some of the things the characters in her stories had done? The mere thought caused ribbons of desire to unfurl low in her abdomen, and a slow throb began to build between her thighs.
“I did, um, research,” she admitted, and then as his face darkened, “Not that kind! I only meant that I did a lot of reading. I never did any hands-on research, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I know.”
Lara stopped breathing. “What do you mean, you know? How could you know?”
She watched, stunned, as Graeme pinched the bridge of his nose and considered his response. Finally, he let out a hard breath and looked at her. “Let’s just say that I’ve kept tabs on you. You said you hadn’t slept with Christopher, and I know you weren’t involved with anyone before him. You’re right about him, by the way. He’s a nice guy and he’s treated you well.” He smiled. “Almost like you were his own sister.”
Lara could only stare at him, too shocked even to speak. Too shocked to take offense at his suggestion that Christopher treated her more like a sister than a lover. His admission rocked her all the way to her toes. She’d been so certain that once she’d returned to the States he’d moved on with his life and hadn’t given her so much as a second thought.
“So what…you spied on me? Or hired a private investigator to follow me around and pry into my private life?”
Graeme made a low growling sound of frustration and scrubbed a hand over his hair. “I needed to know that you were okay. You were so young. What if I’d gotten you pregnant? I knew damned well that neither you nor your father would tell me, and I had a right to know.”
Lara dragged in a deep breath and found her voice. “Well, I wasn’t pregnant.”
“I know.”
Again, she thought she detected a note of regret in his voice. A rush of pleasure coursed through her. He had wanted to know she was okay. The knowledge that he’d cared enough to try and find her gave her courage.
“So…you read my stories,” she repeated, turning on the sofa to face him. She uncurled one leg from beneath her and lowered it to the floor, opening herself to him.
His expression sharpened, and his eyes darkened with heat. “Yeah, I did.”
Lara drew in a deep breath, recalling the feeling of sexual power and confidence that she’d had when she and Graeme had been in the elevator the night before. When she had promised to fulfill his every desire. Right now, she needed that confidence.
“So…which of my stories did you read?” she asked, carefully studying his face. She waited, breathless, for his response, but was unprepared when he slid his hand beneath her hair and cupped the nape of her neck. His big hand was warm and rough against her skin and she shivered in anticipation, mesmerized by what she saw in his eyes.
“All of them.” He searched her face, before dropping his gaze to her mouth. He stroked the pad of his thumb over her lower lip. “I read them all. If it’s Kip Corrigan you want…”
Lara stared at him, unable to move, unable to breathe.
Graeme dragged his gaze upward and for a brief, terrible instant she saw the raw pain in his eyes. It was gone in a flash and Lara wondered if she had imagined it. Then he did the last thing she expected him to do.
He pulled away.
“If it’s Kip Corrigan you want, then I’m sorry, love. I’m not him.”
Silence stretched between them, and Lara knew she should say something.
Anything.
Assure him that she didn’t want Kip. She’d never wanted Kip. She only wanted Graeme.
But before she could collect her wits enough to speak, he rose to his feet in one fluid movement, his expression shuttered.
“I’ll go check on our transportation,” he muttered, and he left the suite, closing the door quietly but firmly behind him.
THE FOLLOWING DAY, Lara stared out of the passenger window of Graeme’s car at the inn where she and Graeme had spent two days and nights secluded in a small room following their elopement. Nothing had changed in the five years since she’d last seen the small Scottish inn, and the stone manor house retained all of the quaint charm she remembered.
Autumn leaves carpeted the lawn with hectic color along either side of the gravel drive, and the hand-painted wooden sign that hung over the entrance looked exactly the same. Glancing up, her eyes sought the casement windows of the room where she and Graeme had stayed, and her chest tightened. Bunches of ivy dangled out of the window boxes beneath the leaded panes, and several mourning doves roosted on the tiled roof directly above.Their flight had been uneventful and mostly silent, as Graeme had hunkered down in his seat, crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. Lara didn’t know if he’d really slept or if he’d only wanted to avoid conversation with her, but she’d felt very much alone.
She’d replayed their conversation over and over again in her head, realizing that he’d tried to tell her how much he disliked being compared to his fictional character, Kip Corrigan. He wanted to be recognized and appreciated for who he was, not who he pretended to be on television, and she’d completely botched it.
By the time they were in the car and on their way to Scotland, the opportunity to talk about the moment had passed and Lara didn’t see any way to bring it up again. Graeme had been courteous and friendly, but there was an aloofness to him that had been absent at the Las Vegas hotel, almost as if he deliberately kept a part of himself withdrawn from her.
Lara didn’t know how they would ever get through the next two days, considering how estranged she felt from him. There was a part of her that seriously considered handing over the divorce papers for his signature then and there. There seemed no point in rehashing old memories.
“Well, here we are,” Graeme commented, peering through the windshield at the inn, before arching one eyebrow at Lara. “The scene of the crime.”
Lara pulled her gaze away from the house and turned to look at him, her tone serious. “I never thought I’d be back here.”
They’d arrived at Heathrow Airport, where they’d been gr
eeted by airport security personnel and escorted through a private exit to a waiting car. By the time the paparazzi realized he was there, Graeme and Lara were already on the motorway, speeding their way toward Scotland. Lara wasn’t sure she’d ever become accustomed to the preferential treatment that Graeme received wherever he went. But he hardly seemed to notice; he was appreciative and thankful for whatever assistance was offered, without seeming pompous or insincere.
“I’ll get the luggage,” he said, but made no move to open his door. “Hey.”
Lara drew in a deep breath and smiled at him. “I’m okay. This just brings back so many memories, you know?”
Reaching over, he covered her hand with his own, gently squeezing her fingers. “I hope they’re not all bad memories.”
Lara knew he referred to that morning when her father had discovered them together and forcibly separated them. She could still recall how she’d felt as she’d been hustled into a waiting car, wondering what horrible things her father might be saying to Graeme.
She followed Graeme into the lobby of the inn, her eyes roaming over the dark paneling and lingering on the many animals that had been stuffed and mounted for display. Dozens of pairs of eyes stared down at her, everything from ferrets and badgers, to foxes. Lara had forgotten this particular aspect of the inn. So much for her rose-colored glasses. They hadn’t gotten past the lobby and already her memories were being debunked.
She shuddered.
If Graeme thought the taxidermy display was strange, he gave no indication. As he spoke with the innkeeper, Lara wandered across the lobby. A sturdy staircase curved toward the upper floors, and across from the registration desk, a double door opened into a small pub. Lara still remembered sharing a meal with Graeme in the cozy darkness of the pub, before she’d gone up to their room to prepare for her wedding night.
Poking her head inside, she saw a slender young man stacking clean glasses behind the bar. He looked up, and Lara guessed he was no older than her. His dark hair was unfashionably long and slicked back, except for an unruly lock that fell over his forehead.
“Hello. Just arriving?” he asked.
Lara looked over at Graeme as he registered them at the front desk. “Yes, we are.”
“Ah, you’re American.” He grinned and braced his hands on the bar. “We’ll be opening shortly. Why don’t you come down fer a drink after ye’re settled in?”
“Thank you, maybe we will.” Lara gave him a brief smile and joined Graeme at the front desk.
He glanced at her as he signed the registration paperwork and his eyes narrowed. “You look exhausted. There’s time enough for you to catch a quick nap before dinner.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” she murmured, realizing just how tired she was. She hadn’t slept on the flight, and had been too edgy during the long ride to Scotland to do much more than catnap. Now she yawned hugely. “Sorry. I didn’t realize how tired I was until you mentioned it.”
“We’ll be needing a meal,” Graeme said to the innkeeper, not taking his eyes from Lara’s face.
“We serve a delicious steak and kidney pie in the pub, and we have six local drafts on tap,” offered the innkeeper, an attractive middle-aged woman. She gave Graeme a wink. “A braw mon like yersel, wi’ such a bonny wife, needs tae keep his strength up.”
Lara felt her face heat with color at the woman’s knowing look, not daring to look at Graeme.
He hefted Lara’s suitcase in one hand and his duffel bag in the other. “Thanks. Do you have a menu for room service? We’ve been traveling for the better part of twelve hours. I think we’ll turn in early.”
“There’s a menu in the room,” the woman smiled. “The kitchen is open until nine o’clock.”
Lara climbed the stairs, acutely conscious of Graeme behind her. In just a few minutes they would be back in the room where they’d spent their wedding night. But she couldn’t envision the two of them sharing the kind of intimacy they’d shared five years ago, not when he seemed so distant. So remote.
“Here we are.”
They’d stopped in front of a heavy, paneled door and Lara waited as Graeme fitted the key into the lock and turned the handle. Then he pushed the door open and stood back for her to enter.
Lara drew in a deep breath, and as she stepped through the door, memories of the two unforgettable nights of five years earlier washed over her.
13
LATE-AFTERNOON sunlight filtered in through the casement windows, dappling the bed and floor in wavy patterns of light. Lara stood in the center of the room and let the memories of their wedding night wash over her.
Nothing had changed. An antique iron sleigh bed, heaped with tartan-covered pillows and looking oh so tempting with its lofty down comforter, dominated the room.An image pushed itself into her head, and for an instant, she was helpless to resist it. Graeme, his face darkly flushed, the muscles in his arms standing out in strong relief as he braced himself over her. Graeme, thrusting into her, his skin like hot silk as he slid against her. Kissing her neck, and then laving her nipple—
“I’ll run a bath for you.”
Lara snapped back to reality at Graeme’s words. She turned to see he had set their luggage down beside the bed. Without looking at her, he crossed the room to an adjoining door and a moment later she heard the water running. In the uncanny way he had, Graeme seemed to know what she needed before she realized it herself. A bath sounded like sheer heaven.
She glanced around the rest of the room. More tartan covered the two parlor chairs tucked into the corner, and the walls were a collage of framed oil paintings depicting fruit bowls and pastoral scenes.
“It’s exactly as I remember it,” Lara said, dropping her laptop case and pocketbook onto one of the decorative chairs. “I don’t think anything has changed, not even the blankets.”
“Let’s hope they’ve laundered them since we were last here,” Graeme said drily, coming back into the bedroom. He surveyed the room with a critical eye. If he felt any of the same emotions that Lara did upon seeing the room again, he gave no indication.
“So, here we are,” Lara said, striving for a normal tone. “Do you remember how I wouldn’t let you come upstairs until after I’d had a bath?”
“I remember very much wanting to help you with that bath.” Graeme smiled. “I told you that I’d have one beer in the pub, and then I was coming up whether you were finished or not.”
“I wasn’t quite finished.”
“I don’t think I let you finish.”
For a brief moment neither of them spoke, recalling what had happened after that. Heat warmed Graeme’s eyes, and Lara felt a responding simmer low in her pelvis.
She dragged her gaze away and forced herself to focus on the present. “I’ll check the bath water,” she mumbled.
But as she turned toward the bathroom, she was acutely aware of Graeme’s eyes on her. What was he thinking of the two nights they’d once spent in this very room? Did he remember how magical and amazing they had been? Until her wedding night, Lara had never slept in the same bed with a man, and she could still recall the wonder of having Graeme there beside her, touching her. Even when her body had been sated, she’d been unable to sleep, too aware of him to fully relax. Instead, she’d lain awake and watched him, until he stirred and pulled her into his arms and loved her with a fierce tenderness that had stolen her breath.
The bathroom hadn’t changed in five years, and Lara had to smother a laugh when she saw the same small tub that she and Graeme had once shared. He’d been determined to do everything together that weekend, even bathe. He was bigger now than he’d been five years ago, and Lara noted with regret that there wouldn’t be enough room in the tub for him alone, never mind the two of them.
Leaning over the tub, she tried to turn the knob off but it was stuck. Already, water threatened to slosh over the sides of the tub and onto the tiled floor. She grunted with effort and in the next instant, Graeme set her aside and bent over to easily clo
se the faucets. The movement caused his jeans to pull snug across his backside, and Lara stood back to admire his taut butt.
“One thing hasn’t changed,” he said, straightening. “The plumbing is still faulty.” His eyes drifted over her. “You’re soaking wet.”
Following his gaze, Lara looked down at herself to see that her entire front was wet from where she’d leaned across the full tub. The sheer fabric of the blouse clung to her skin, revealing more than it concealed.
Lara made a sound of distress and plucked the material away from her body, uncomfortably aware of how damp the fabric was now that the water had cooled.
“Here, let’s do this.” Before Lara could guess his intent, Graeme grasped the hem of her blouse and drew it over her head until she stood in front of him in just her bra and jeans. Her first instinct was to cover herself, but then she saw the heated expression in Graeme’s eyes.
Slowly, she lowered her arms.
GRAEME LET the blouse drop to the floor, unable to take his eyes from Lara.
So beautiful.She didn’t move when he slid his hands up the length of her arms and over her shoulders, feeling the fragile line of her collarbones beneath his fingers. Finally, he cradled her face in his hands, letting his gaze linger on each feature, memorizing her. Her breathing had quickened, and beneath his hand, he could feel the tiny, frantic beating of her pulse.
“Lara,” he murmured, liking the feel of her name on his lips.
Her breathing hitched at the sound of her name, and as he watched, her eyelashes fluttered and her mouth parted. He’d fantasized about this so many times, about being with her, here in this very inn. But in his dreams, she was his for more than just two days.
She was his forever.
He’d wanted this for so long, but he needed Lara to want him. Not Kip Corrigan. Not some fantasy lover. Not any of the characters he’d portrayed during his career. He wanted this to be about him and Lara.