by Vivian Arend
“Your boyfriend?” He laughed and the sound rang in her ears, tinny and thin. “Very sweet you’re concerned about the pauper, but really, he doesn’t have to know,” Niall carried on, the slimiest slime in his voice as he stroked a finger over her cheek. She gagged, twisting away. “I’ve far more to offer you, especially once I’m master of Sterling-Wylde.”
Her nausea rose rapidly, and as much as she disliked her options, Addie prepared to defend herself. It would mean the end of her job, but she refused to become a victim. She took a deep breath—
The door slammed against the wall. Niall twirled on the spot just as Damon finished sliding across the desk surface and landed with his feet firmly planted on the ground between the two of them.
He ignored Niall, looking straight into Addie’s eyes. “You okay?”
She nodded, unable to speak. Fighting to keep from retching on the spot.
He tilted his head toward the door, and she escaped without a protest. Fresh air hit her, but still her feet moved, and she raced from her fears, positive Damon would come looking for her when he was done with Niall.
She couldn’t decide what she hoped done would mean—for him to kill the cat, or not.
Damon waited until Addie was gone before facing his prey, and make no mistake, Niall was one small step from becoming kitty-shish-kah-bob.
“Was there something you needed?” Damon growled dangerously.
He’d wondered briefly if his wolf acting crazy would leave him at a disadvantage, but he shouldn’t have. The beast was back. Not until Addie had left the room, but once it was just him and Niall, his wolf came rushing to just under his skin, sending out warning signals to all the shifters in the area that Damon was large, and in charge, and not to be fucked with.
Niall pulled himself together rapidly, blinking to chase the fear away as his pupils changed from human to cat and back again. “Just needed Addie to find something for me,” he purred diplomatically, backing away.
The cat was scared, and he should be. Damon caught hold of his own wrist, spreading and fisting his free hand as if warming up to rip the other man apart. He flexed his biceps as he glared at Niall. Nothing over the line in terms of impropriety, but with plenty of warning in the growled words. “Next time, ask me.”
Niall darted from the room, leaving Damon alone with all sorts of problematic emotions. The wolf took over, and he threw back his head and let out a frustrated howl. Addie wasn’t officially his to protect, but damn if he didn’t want her to be, and that was enough to send a shockwave through his system.
He needed a moment to collect himself before he went after her. Whatever had started between them that morning—it was a good thing she’d called them off when she did. First, it would have been pretty crass to make their first time together an out-of-control fuck in the middle of someone else’s smoking room. But adding in the whole screwed-up mystery of his wolf’s erratic behavior—
Damon was one confused beast.
The good part about his wolf hiding away meant they weren’t fighting. Yes, he was a wolf and the wolf was him, but too many times the two sides had different ideas how to solve problems.
And Addie was a problem, all right. A huge, mysterious, tempting problem.
He left the room, following her scent to the end of the hall and up the stairs. The closer he got, the stronger the smell of her fear, and the more agitated his wolf became. His temper skyrocketed at the idea of Niall or Alastair anywhere near her. His hands shook, and he actually considered turning around so he could track the boys down and remove them from the picture. His fangs came out, and the craving for blood—
Damon jerked to a stop.
This? Was exactly what he needed to avoid. Those thoughts weren’t his; they were his wolf’s. The worst day of his life had occurred when the wolf had fully taken charge. That day had ripped him apart, and he could never face another like it.
He shoved the beast away, this time encouraging his other half to go into hiding. His wolf agreed, slipping away to wherever it was he went at these moments. It was a strange sensation to stand there, still a shifter but mostly human, his senses dulled.
Damon didn’t need a spectacular sense of smell to find Addie. She was thirty feet ahead of him, moving rapidly up the hallway, talking to herself as she paused before moving to the next portrait.
“Addie,” he called in warning, though he was sure she knew he was there.
She faced him, hands clenched at her sides, her face drawn tight. “He didn’t do anything.”
“And he’ll not do even more in the future,” Damon promised.
An instant of confusion rolled over her face as she figured out his twisted phrasing, then she nodded.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you,” he whispered as he closed the distance between them. Guilt rolled in stronger than anything. He should have been there to stop it from happening in the first place.
She shook her head. “You can’t be around every minute. And nothing happened. Not really.”
“You were scared.”
It was clear she was uncomfortable. “You know what? I don’t want to talk about it.”
He backed off because she was right. It was time for a change of pace. “Come on, I know what you need.”
“Whisky shooters?”
“Ha. Maybe later.” He held out a hand to her as he gestured down the hall. “How about some fresh air? I found something you’ll like.”
She stared at his hand as if it were a live snake, so he let it fall to his side, slightly disappointed.
“Or, instead of a coffee break, I have another suggestion.” If he couldn’t entice her, he’d pick her up and carry her out, but first he’d try a little more charm. “Ms. Works All The Time And Never Plays, consider this part of your assignment. There are items outside you need to catalog. Hurry up.”
He turned without waiting, smiling broadly as her footsteps followed. He moved quickly, his borrowed kilt flapping around his legs—a strange sensation, but one that was growing on him. A few minutes later they’d reached ground level and were outside. Addie increased her pace to catch up with him, striding at his side.
“How did you find out so much about this place already?” she asked.
Damon directed her down one of the side paths, not toward the cottages but toward what he hoped would be a nice surprise. “Went for a run this morning. I never asked. Did you get breakfast?”
“Yes.” Addie glanced at him then up ahead where there was a gate in the wall. “Is this the right direction?”
“You betcha.” He increased his speed, wanting to see her expression as she walked through the gate for the first time. He rotated as he walked, eyes fixed on her as he paced backward.
The moment she spotted the flowers, her face lit up, and damn if she didn’t clap her hands and bounce like an excited kid. “I can’t believe I didn’t know this was here.”
She raced forward to where massive flowerbeds spread in every direction. Gold and crimsons, brilliant purples and delicate pinks were laid out in designs that formed the crest of the Sterling-Wylde clan, as if someone had woven a tartan from the ground itself.
Damon followed her, nodding in agreement every time she discovered something new. He sniffed flowers in appreciation when told to, exclaimed at the amazing layouts, and admired the pruning on the trees.
The entire time he was enchanted with her. All her earlier troubles had vanished, and she was so full of life and light Damon wanted to wrap himself around her and make sure she stayed that way forever.
They’d been outside at least an hour before she whirled on him. “Okay, you’re right.”
Damon waited. There were lots of things he wanted that to apply to. “Go on.”
She moved closer, her smile lighting up as she took a deep breath and glanced around. “I need to take more coffee breaks. It’s a crime that I’ve been here for nearly two weeks, and I hadn’t actually come outside.”
He let his gaze dr
op over her in appreciation, far more interested in her than the flowers. “That’s why I’m here, baby. I’ll keep you safe, even from yourself.”
She gave him a wry smile. “It’s a terrible habit. Forgetting to stop and smell the roses.”
Then damn if she didn’t step right into his space, staring up as she slow-motion pressed a hand to his chest. Nervous tension radiated off her in waves, but also hesitant anticipation.
He stayed as still as possible, his wolf tucking in its tail and hiding.
When she let out the breath she’d been holding and didn’t jerk back, hope rose in his gut. She stroked him, her fingers tracing his chest muscles before tangling in the cotton laces on his shirtfront. Every inch of him went hard, wanting her soft touch on other, more intimate places.
But then she twirled away, moving toward the gate as she called over her shoulder, “Time for another round of drudgery, I’m afraid.”
She seemed totally unaware she’d just jumpstarted one hell of a fantasy. “Fucking in the flowers,” he’d call this one. It would make a nice bookend to accompany the “fucking in the shower stall that’s big enough for a dozen people, but all I want is her” fantasy he’d also mentally stored away.
“Right. You love your job. Don’t try to deny it.” Damon ordered his body back to normal as he marched after her, thankful for the kilt. Who knew the extra layers of swingy material would turn out to be the perfect place to hide a boner? “Daily excursions added to the agenda, though, right?”
“Definitely,” she agreed. “I did promise to take you for walksies.”
He laughed, and they strolled back to the manor in companionable silence, grabbed lunch and returned to the room she’d been working.
Damon settled in his corner, sorting through everything he’d learned so far that day as he watched one petite woman. Inside, a warm glow grew that wanted nothing but her happiness, accompanied by a feverish desire for nothing less than all of her.
Chapter Six
She wasn’t ready to sleep. She didn’t want to read anymore. What she did want was to do something about the shifter beside her who was driving her mad.
The temperature had dropped, and Damon had started a fire in the fireplace, hauling her couch into position in front of it so they could curl up and enjoy the heat. He’d found a footstool and set it in place to prop his feet on. When she’d teased him to find her one, he’d flashed that cocky grin and patted his lap.
“Put your feet right here, sweetheart.”
She shouldn’t have. She wouldn’t have, except the damn man just sat there, goading her with that dangerous sparkle in his summer-sky eyes and the twisted smirk she wanted to kiss right off his lips.
So Addie took the bull by the horns, dropped onto the couch, plopped her feet into his lap and waited in breathless anticipation to see what he’d do next.
Nothing.
Nothing, except rearrange her more comfortably, nod, then return to his reading. Disappointment aside, it still took her a good fifteen minutes before her heart rate dropped to halfway normal.
Damon was working his way through an old book she’d approved for him to bring up from the study. He turned the pages slowly, occasionally humming as if surprised by his discoveries. It was a leather-bound, oversized tome littered with tiny writing in the margins, and every now and then he’d lift the book closer to his nose.
Yup, she was spending more time watching him than reading. Heck, she wasn’t even sure what she had opened her ereader to. Addie put it aside and stared into the fire. The itching under her skin returned, as if she was longing for something. To go…somewhere. To do…something.
She stared at Damon’s strong hands as he cradled the ancient book. No, she’d be honest with herself. After her moment of experimentation in the garden, what she really wanted was his hands on her, caressing her as they—
Knock, knock.
“I’ll get it.”
Her racing thoughts scattered as she pulled her feet away to allow Damon to leap upright. He placed the book on the side table then hurried across the room to open the heavy door. Confusion drifted over his expression before he leaned his head out and checked both directions.
As far as Addie could tell, the landing at the top of the stairs was empty. “Did we just have a ghost visitor?” she asked, mostly kidding.
Damon’s face lit up. He bent over to grab something out of her line of vision. “Maybe. If so, he’s one fine fellow and welcome to haunt us at his leisure.”
He swung toward her, holding a bottle of golden liquid encased in shimmering crystal.
Addie moved to the edge of the couch. “What? How did that get there?”
The couch dipped beside her as Damon lowered the discovery into her hands. “Don’t tell me you’ve never been visited by spirits before.”
She groaned at his bad pun. “Damon…”
“Look, a note.” He pulled the paper free from around the bottle’s neck, nodding in approval as he read it. “Son of a gun. Grandmam Susanna insisted you have this. It’s from her private collection. Best, Glenn.”
“Glenn—who’s that?” How on earth had Damon made friends so quickly? Friends who were willing to send gorgeous bottles of whisky his way?
Damon headed to the sideboard, answering over his shoulder. “Groundskeeper. Met him this morning. Crossbreed shifter of some sort. He’s trustworthy and, depending on the next few minutes, in line to become my new best friend. Him and his grandmother. Awesome woman, your sweetheart of a cook.”
He was back an instant later, small drinking glasses in hand.
“You want to pour?” Addie offered.
He shook his head, balanced on his heels in front of her. “You do the honours. It was delivered to your room, after all.”
She popped the old-fashioned cork, and a rich, sweet aroma pooled around them. Both she and Damon took deep, appreciative sniffs before she tipped the crystal to the edge of the glass he held.
“Say when.”
“You decide. I’m at your mercy,” he teased, his voice deep and seductive, and suddenly it was hard to keep the bottle steady.
It was tempting to pour full tumblers, but she resisted, placing the bottle to the side and accepting a glass from Damon. His fingers brushed hers as he pulled away.
He teetered for a moment, catching himself by resting his free hand on her thigh, and sensation hurled its way up her spine. No onslaught of emotion struck, though, and she was curious all over again—did she dare continue?
She’d be a fool not to.
The moment his hand had landed on her thigh, they’d frozen in place like statues. Heat passed from his palm, and it was all she could do to keep her heel planted on the floor, forcing her thigh to remain stationary instead of rubbing against him. Warmth spread from the single point of contact until there were a million tingling threads enveloping her body.
The blue in his eyes deepened, and her wolf nudged upward, wanting to rub all over him.
Wouldn’t that be the most delightful thing? The dram would fall from her fingers to the floor, consequences ignored as she threw herself into his arms and let him have his wicked wolfie way with her. On the floor, or the couch, heck, maybe the footstool, she didn’t care. All of them offered perfect possibilities for playing and pleasure and—
Whoa. She had a wicked imagination, at least.
Damon swallowed hard, his throat moving, and when he spoke his voice was a low, sexy, rumbly tone—one step away from verbal ravishment. “To new friends, and to old friends becoming more intimate ones.”
She clicked their glasses together, desperately trying to figure out which she was. A new friend or an old friend, or a new friend of old friends, or—
Thankfully, lifting the glass to her lips jerked her back to reality. Her wolf settled on its haunches and waited for the human side to get over itself. The more in touch with her animal side wanted to play with the nice man who was looking at them as if they were a tasty appetizer that was juuuus
t about ready.
Sweet, smooth intoxication slipped over her tongue and down her throat as she stared into two gorgeous blue pools filled with liquid lust. She licked her lips clean of the intoxicating flavour. “That’s good whisky,” she breathed out, her tongue tangling around the words as if she’d been drinking all night.
No response. None except a slight trembling of his fingers on her thigh in the second before he pulled his hand away. He rocked back on his heels, rising to his feet.
A sense of sadness tore through her system at the loss of his touch as her pulse continued to race out of control.
“That’s a damn fine whisky.” Damon broke his gaze from hers, returning to the bottle and examining the label again. He whistled softly, shaking his head. “I would’ve suspected Glenn of stealing into the wine cellar and nabbing some old Sterling-Wylde stock, but his grandmam would box his ears if he did such a thing. If this is from her private stash, it seems the old lady has some secrets of her own. Do you know this label?”
He handed her the bottle then settled in the chair to the right of the couch, as if keeping space between them.
Addie ran through her memory banks and found herself in the rare position of lacking information. “I know most of the local brews and whiskies—I did some reading before I came out here, but I don’t recognize that label.”
“Neither do I.” Damon took another sip and pleasure rolled over his expression. “Which tells me it’s an exceptionally fine one.”
Addie jumped on the change in topic like it was a wayward rabbit. “You know your whiskies, do you?”
His broad shoulders lifted in a modest shrug, shifting under the old linen shirt that fit him oh-so-well and made him oh-so-tantalizing.
It was warm enough he didn’t need the tartan draped across his chest but it seemed he liked what he’d found in the suitcases, favouring the blue shades. She had noooooo troubles with that—the colour made his eyes that much brighter, and the lay of the cloth over his…