Lieutenant Taylor Jackson Collection, Volume 2

by J. T. Ellison

  Baldwin would be worrying about her. She sent him a quick text. She decided not to go into detail, said things were fine, sent him love. No sense telling him Memphis had sung her to sleep, or that she’d just opened her heart to a stranger. That wouldn’t be productive.

  She poured a fresh cup of tea and waited. Sure enough, within five minutes, Memphis came to get her, smiling widely.

  “Head properly shrunk?” he asked.

  She missed the ease of the laptop. Her notebook communication seemed so much slower.

  You put it so nicely. Yes, we had a good session. You’re right, Maddee’s very good.

  “Told you. Now, grab your coat and your boots. I’m taking you on a little excursion. You got to show me your Nashville, now it’s high time I give you a taste of my roots in return.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Taylor waited patiently at the back door for Memphis to retrieve his vehicle. The day was brisk, clouds scuttering through a grayish-blue sky, the threat of precipitation imminent. Rain first, then as the temperature dropped and the air turned colder, snow. Memphis wanted to be back before three, sunset was at three-thirty this far north, and the snow was going to kick in by then.

  She heard the engine of the car roar, and wondered what sort of surprise Memphis had in store for her now. She loved cars. It was one of the few things she and her father had in common. Though she chose to drive a truck at home, a good engine could get her heart racing just as much as Baldwin’s touch. She took a second to send him another text, telling him she’d be out of range for the rest of the day. He would touch base when he had the time. She’d tried twice, which was all that mattered.

  The roar of the engine grew louder, accompanied by the tires crunching on the soft, loose stone gravel that made up the parking lot surrounding the castle. She almost gasped when the car came into view. Memphis was driving a pristine dark gray Aston Martin DB9. She knew off the top of her head that it retailed for over $180,000.

  She didn’t care about the driver, she just wanted to get in and let that car take her wherever it wanted to go.

  Memphis pulled to a stop, then got out and grinned. “Like her?”

  You know I do. A bit flashy for you though, isn’t she?

  “My one indulgence. And I can hardly drive around London with her. It wouldn’t send the right message to the people I work with. I have to leave her here. Are you ready to take a drive?”

  He walked around to the passenger side and opened the door.

  She didn’t hesitate.

  You bet.

  She took three steps down the stairs, put her hands in the pocket of her jacket to warm them. As she reached the last step, a sharp pain in her middle finger made her gasp. She whipped her left hand out of the jacket pocket, shocked to see she was bleeding.

  “Ouch!” She’d blurted it out without thinking.

  Memphis was at her side immediately. “Whoa, what happened?”

  She stared at the cut on her finger. It looked like something was stuck in the wound. Memphis grabbed her hand, twisting it to and fro, then handed her a handkerchief.

  “I must need bins, I don’t see anything in there.”

  She tried dotting the blood but felt another searing pain. At a loss for what to do, she shrugged and stuck the offended digit into her mouth. She used her tongue to feel the cut. There was a hard chunk of something in it. Gently, lightly biting and sucking, she maneuvered it free. She pulled it from her mouth with her fingers, relieved that the sharp pain diminished.

  “What is that?” Memphis asked.

  Thank goodness it was her left hand: writing would be a pain with an open wound.

  Glass, I think. In the pocket of my jacket.

  Concern prominent on his face, Memphis bustled her back inside, made her take off the jacket. Trixie was in the next room; Taylor could hear her dressing down one of the serving maids. Memphis called for her. When she arrived, he sent her to the medicine kit for a plaster. Then he took Taylor’s coat and turned the pocket inside out.

  There was a fine layer of shiny grit lining the pocket. In the hall light it was easy to see the miniature shards of glass.

  “What in the hell?” he said. “How could that have happened? This is a brand-new coat. It was just delivered yesterday. Damn, I can’t get all this out.”

  Taylor was still sucking on her finger.

  Some sort of mistake in the factory, probably.

  “Look at this. There’s actually a cut in the lining. They’re going to have a very unhappy call from me this afternoon. I’ll just be a moment.”

  He hurried into another room, was gone for a few minutes. He and Trixie arrived back at the same time, she holding a plaster and bottle of antiseptic cream, Memphis carrying a tattered brown canvas jacket with a thick flannel lining.

  “Here you go. This is one of mine. You can wear it today, it should keep you warm enough.”

  They got Taylor all fixed up, making much too big a deal out of the tiny cut. Trixie seemed especially upset by the matter, as if she’d had control of the coat arriving from the store ruined. She told Memphis she’d handle getting a replacement straightaway, then disappeared with the offending garment tucked under her arm like a dead duck. Taylor realized she hadn’t made eye contact, and thought that was strange. Maybe Trixie knew Memphis had made a late-night visit to her room and disapproved. Maybe she’d put the ground glass in Taylor’s pocket to warn her off.

  Oh, that was crazy. It was obviously just a mistake at the factory, or the shipping company. Some glass broke near the box, that was all.

  Bandaged and redressed, they tried again. Taylor was less flustered about it all than Memphis, who was growling as loudly as his car’s engine.

  The seats of the Aston Martin were soft dove-gray leather, and she angled herself in, feeling foolish for causing such a stir. It was bizarre, the glass, but hardly a capital offense.

  Their second attempt was more successful than the first. Ten minutes later, Memphis turned onto the A9, heading toward Inverness.

  *

  Memphis chatted, desultorily, of the land around them. Taylor was struck by the stark beauty, the ever-changing landscape that snuck from hills to mountains to lochs to forests at a dizzying rate. The road signs made her laugh. They were so very helpful. Her favorite read Tiredness Kills, Take A Break. There was an area of ruined trees, akin to what she was used to seeing at home when a tornado moved through. Memphis explained that they’d recently had a century storm, with gale force winds and drifting snow.

  As they drove higher, the clouds came down and kissed the tops of the mountains. A falcon perched on the lay-by sign, gloomily watching the cars pass. His dejected look made Taylor sad. Something just didn’t feel right about all of this. It was beautiful, and a treat, but she really should be in Nashville, dealing with her life instead of running away from it. Maybe coming here wasn’t such a great idea after all. Though her morning with Maddee had been full of revelations, making herself so available to Memphis, leading him into thinking that she was here for more than just a rest, was going to get her in trouble.

  Oh, stop it already, Taylor. Getting a little cut on your finger isn’t worth ruining your mood. You haven’t done a single thing wrong. It is high time you stop punishing yourself.

  Memphis doled out bits of history to her as they passed by various landmarks. After twenty minutes, he took a roundabout and exited off to the north, toward a place called Grantown-on-Spey. She loved the name. So very Scottish. That cheered her up. The town itself came into view, a lovely resort village. She could smell smoke and peat from the fireplaces. It was obviously an affluent area; the architecture was some of the finest she’d seen. The roads were well paved, and the whole town was done up for Christmas. It looked quite elegant. Memphis explained that this was a prime water sports and caravanning spot. But in the winter, it curled in on itself like a dead leaf, waiting for the warmer weather to break it free.

  “Do you need to stop?” he asked.
“We can get some tea.”

  She shook her head. If she saw any more tea this morning she may float away.

  Memphis left the town behind, driving into the forest. The road got narrower, the pavement breaking in parts. It got continually worse for several miles.

  Where are we going?

  “To the family seat.”

  The family seat?

  “Yes. This is my history. We’re not all ghosts and castles, you know.”

  She couldn’t get her bearings. The trees were so thick that the sun didn’t shine through, and the cloud cover made it impossible to tell which direction was north. Memphis seemed like he was making turns at random, taking her deeper and deeper into the woods. The road narrowed to one lane. There was nothing out here, no villages, no signs. Just the extensive flora and fauna of the Highlands. She was hopelessly lost.

  She finally saw a sign, tiny, brown, with an arrow pointing to a church. Memphis said, “Nearly there,” and turned left. She didn’t think it was possible for the road to get any narrower, but it did.

  “In the summer I can’t bring this car out here. The branches hang over the road and scratch the paint.”

  She could see how it would be more suited to an off-road vehicle. They were practically on a dirt track.

  The road twisted, and the church advertised on the sign came into view. It was stone, collapsed, untended. A ruin. She felt suddenly sorry. No sacred place should go unloved. Memphis drove by it without a glance, then slowed to a stop.

  “We go on foot the rest of the way,” he said.

  She followed him from the vehicle, glad to have his coat for warmth. The air was crisp and she heard water running. They walked for about a hundred yards, around the bend, and she caught her breath when the scene unfolded in front of her. A quaint but substantial stone bridge, bordered by a huge waterfall.

  It was beautiful.

  Memphis gave her a moment to take in the scene. “You can only truly see the waterfall during the winter. In the summer, it’s in full leaf here and hidden from view unless you’re under it, in the river. Great fishing in some of the pools that filter off of it.”

  She was reluctant to take her hands out of her pockets to write; the chill was sneaking under the edges of her coat already.

  Wow. It’s stunning.

  “This is Dulsie Bridge.”

  She turned to look at him, puzzled.

  Wait a minute. Your family is named for a bridge?

  “Yes. It’s a very important bridge.”

  But a bridge? You don’t have a town or a village or a county, or…something?

  “That old church back there. But it fell down two centuries ago.”

  Ah, I see. Okay then.

  Memphis laughed. “No, you don’t. But that’s all right. If an army needed to cross this land, there was no way across the river. They built this in 1255 to allow English troops to move across the land. You’ll know that Highsmythe is a British name, not Scottish, yes?”

  She nodded.

  “We were granted the lands early, and left them untended for many years. But when the fourth earl came north to view his properties and collect rents, he immediately saw the advantages to be had. A way to get even richer than he already was. He built onto the castle with the proceeds from the deal, then settled into his life in the Highlands, far away from England’s rule. Married young Isabella and gained even more land. And the rest, as they say, is history.”

  That’s some story.

  “And more importantly, Robert Burns stayed here once, too, while he was visiting Strathspey. He took a liking to Mrs. Grant.”

  Ah. ‘My love is like a red, red rose.’

  “You know him?”

  She smiled at him.

  Everyone knows who Robert Burns is, Memphis.

  He took her hand and put it to his heart. “‘So fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in love am I, And I will love thee still, my dear, Till a’ the seas gang dry.’”

  His face was hopeful, smiling lightly. Taylor bit her lip. She knew he was just quoting from the poem, that it was another’s words. But did he?

  She didn’t know what to say.

  “Taylor, I—”

  She held up her hand. God, not being able to talk to him right now was killing her.

  Stop, Memphis. Please. Before you say something you might regret.

  He turned back to the river. She could see he was fighting with himself. There was more he wanted to say, more that he wanted to do. She could feel the frustration coming off him in waves.

  She was frustrated as well. She didn’t know what she wanted. She’d always thought she did, but the past few weeks, with Baldwin pushing her away and Memphis pulling her in… She kicked at a rock, watched it spill over the edge and down into the torrent of water below. Her head hurt.

  Memphis turned to her, his eyes dark. “I won’t say it, then. But I will do it.”

  He took two steps toward her, so quickly that she didn’t have a chance to back away, put his arms around her, and pulled her to him. Without hesitating, he lowered his face to hers.

  Their lips met urgently. She exhaled into him, getting lost in the kiss. The last time this had happened, she’d pulled away. But right now, with no one watching, no one to see, she didn’t want to.

  He put one hand behind her neck and the other around her waist, pulling her closer, deeper. She couldn’t breathe, didn’t want to breathe, didn’t want to think, didn’t want the kiss to end. It was perfect, hard and soft at all the right moments, the rhythm moving in a way that told her they would be good together in more ways than just this.

  A little voice spoke out from the back of her head—Taylor, you are losing yourself….

  She told it to shut up. She’d been lying to herself, to Baldwin, to Sam. She’d come to Scotland, for better or for worse, to figure out what sort of glamour Memphis had put on her, whether it was something real, or something destined for failure. Now, standing on his family’s lands, at the very heart of his history, was as good a time as any to find out.

  She was pinned against the stone wall. Without breaking the kiss, he put his hands under her bottom and picked her up, rocking her body against his as he did, forcing her to grab hold of his arms for balance. He set her carefully on the wall. He was as hard as he looked from the outside, muscles tense, like granite under his clothes. She pulled his shirt from his pants, got her hands under the fabric. Felt his chest, his smooth stomach. He yanked up her sweater, unsnapped her bra with one hand. Her breasts spilled out into the cold air. He caught them in his hands, brought them to his mouth. He moaned, low in his throat, and she felt the answering cry start deep within her.

  Oh, no. She had to stop now. Before it was too late. But his hands were going lower, expertly moving down her ribs, unbuttoning her jeans, plunging into her panties. It felt so good. So amazingly hot… No, no, no, no, she had to stop. Stop. Stop, stop, stop, stop.

  “Stop.” There, she’d said it aloud.

  And Memphis froze.

  Two heartbeats passed. He had her at quite a disadvantage, and knew it. He flicked his forefinger and she nearly came undone. She forced her mouth closed, gently removed his hand, pulled down her sweater, and slid off the wall.

  She could hear the ragged breaths that escaped from his mouth. She was panting as well. She put her hand over her mouth to try and calm herself.

  He whispered the words. “‘Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear, and the rocks melt wi’ the sun! And I will love thee still, my dear, while the sands of life shall run.’”

  When she didn’t respond, he put on his Scottish brogue for her. “Aye, Burns is a bonny poet.”

  “Aye,” she whispered. The moment was gone. Over. Her lips were raw, her skin felt like she’d been brushed from head to toe with sandpaper.

  Hand still over her mouth, she met his eyes. They were deeply blue. She realized his changed colors when he was aroused. And he was most mightily aroused. The outline in his pants was hard to miss
.

  She’d owed him more than this. She just didn’t know how much of herself she had to give.

  “I’m… It’s… I can’t… I don’t…”

  Shit. She took a deep breath, still staring into his bottomless eyes, and forced the words out.

  “I’m sorry.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Memphis looked out over the rushing water. “These lands were important. You needed to cross through here to get to Inverness. My family controlled the land. Simple as that. They didn’t live here, they just owned it. They owned a lot of it. From here all the way back down to the estate. But as the years passed, and allegiances changed, the lands were stolen, or taken legally, or traded for women. We still own about five thousand acres up here.”

  Neutral territory. He had the decency to turn and look away. She took advantage of the moment to hook up her bra. She wasn’t quite sure what to say, decided to stick with his lead. Her notebook had fallen in the dirt by the wall. She retrieved it, brushing it off before writing.

  So this is Highsmythe country. You should put up a sign.

  “Stop your teasing. I just thought you’d think it was pretty.”

  I do. God, Memphis, if you only knew. It’s lovely.

  He pushed off the wall, held out a hand as if nothing had happened, as if that very hand hadn’t just been making rather indecent proposals against her body.

  “Excellent. Let’s go see if we can find Nessie, shall we?”

  We’re going to Loch Ness?

  She couldn’t help herself; she knew her smile went from ear to ear. It seemed wrong to be so excited to leave this place, but she couldn’t wait to get away.

  “What, did you think I drove you all the way up here to look at a bridge?”

  She had to make this better.

  I think you drove me up here to take advantage of me, that’s what I think. Lovely area, pretty bridge, private waterfall, love poems. You’re a naughty boy, Memphis.

  He smiled at her again, showing his teeth this time. They walked back to the car. It was as if nothing had happened. He was back to his normal tone of voice, and her heartbeat had finally slowed.