by Multiple
The meeting he’d had with all the cousins hadn’t gone exactly as planned. Of course, in the last few months, nothing had. He’d carefully constructed plans for the clan, such as it was. In the last few months, every strategy had fallen apart. It all started and ended with the damned witches’ diary. When he’d heard about the diary six months earlier, he’d spent a small fortune obtaining it. He truly didn’t think there was anything in it that would help them, but once he’d read the clan’s name on the faded parchment, he bought it for safe keeping. Even the smallest mention could set off investigations that could force them back into hiding.
Callum had made the mistake of telling Angus, who wouldn’t let it go and went to the other cousins about it. That had been the end of ignoring the diary. Their problem now was detecting what it actually said about them. It wasn’t merely in different languages, but from what they could decipher, it was also in some sort of a code. Granted, they were still missing big chunks of it because not one of them could handle all the languages. He’d let Angus have a go at it, and when he’d failed to figure it out, Callum realized they’d need help to decipher it. Enter Dr. Chilton.
He scowled, thinking of the argument from his cousin, Anice. She’d trudged through the endless hell of their collective curse with a practical, forthright view of everything except their damned situation. In that, she always saw hope. No matter how dark, how vile their circumstances, she was positive that one day they would succeed. Without even meeting Dr. Chilton, Anice was confident that their researcher would be their salvation.
His investigations of Dr. Chilton were a bone of contention with Anice and would probably stay that way. She believed they had enough information to employ her, but Callum knew better. And while Angus might not like it, he hadn’t disagreed. They’d offered good money, but not anything she couldn’t make with a single speaking engagement. And that thought had been bugging him since she’d agreed to visit and speak with them about their “project.” Why?
He reached his destination without finding an answer to any of his questions. It wasn’t a position he liked and one he was sure would agitate him. Add the attraction he felt for Dr. Chilton…well, it was going to be a long few weeks. Even thinking about the woman had him picturing her naked, that tangled mass of curls spread across his pillows. He could just imagine that crisp English accent dissolving into throaty moans as he kissed his way down her body.
Trying to wipe the image from his mind—and not quite succeeding—he drew in a deep breath and knocked on her door. It opened almost immediately, as if she had been standing by the door waiting for him. Although from the way her eyes widened at the sight of him, she hadn’t been expecting him.
“Good evening, Doctor.”
He kept his voice as even as possible, but it wasn’t an easy thing. She’d cleaned up well, despite another boxy, brown suit. It did nothing to show off the abundantly curvy figure he was sure was beneath it, and it turned her skin sallow. He liked a woman who exuded confidence, from the way she moved to the way she dressed. She showed none of that, except when she’d stood up to him. He would’ve never guessed the woman was such a ball buster—or that he would be so attracted to her because of it.
“Dr. Chilton?”
She shook her head, breaking whatever trance she’d been in, and smiled. That damned professional smile, without an ounce of warmth to it.
“Sorry. I wasn’t expecting you.” Her voice was cool, something he’d anticipated but didn’t like.
“I’m here to escort you to dinner.”
Her smile slipped fractionally before she recovered. She stepped over the threshold of her room and closed the door smartly behind her. “Well, I guess we should get to it.”
Turning on her heel, she started off in the wrong direction. He reached her in two steps, grabbing hold of her elbow. She stopped, her back bumping against his front. Every nerve in his body went on alert. His cock twitched. He tried to draw in a deep breath to clear any of those thoughts, but instead he breathed in the clean scent of her and his brain scrambled.
* * * *
Phoebe’s heart beat out an erratic tattoo the moment Callum touched her. She stumbled back against him and heat zinged through her system. She craved this, his closeness. He smelled of sandalwood and soap. It took every ounce of her control not to sniff him. Needing some space, she tossed what she hoped was an incredulous look over her shoulder at him.
“I apologize, but you’re going the wrong way.” He turned her in the right direction. “The dining room is this way.”
As they walked down the hallway, Phoebe’s attempts at ignoring Callum Lennon’s hulking presence were failing miserably. His appearance at her door had thrown her off her stride, to say the least. She’d expected one of the staff, or perhaps Angus, to escort her down. Having Callum pop up at her door left her off-center. Of course, bumping up against his mountain of muscle hadn’t helped the situation. Her hormones still popped and sizzled from the impact. Granted, just about any red-blooded woman would have some reaction. That made her normal. What wasn’t normal was her body humming with enough sexual energy to light up London on the darkest of nights. Her pulse thumped as if she’d run a mile. All that from just one little brush. Goodness, what would happen if the man ever kissed her?
“You’ve been in archeology for most of your life?” he asked, pulling her out of her musings.
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Before birth, really. I believe my mother was in Cairo until a month before I was born.”
“What made you go into the field?”
She laughed, and he looked up, his eyebrows raised. “I’m sorry, but most people know I had no choice.” She shrugged. “My parents planned my life.”
“You let your parents decide?”
She would’ve laughed again, but that would have been too painful. “I was so young. All I really knew was their world, their field of study. I never went to school. Private tutors in Cairo, Madagascar, everywhere. The first time I was really thrust into a group of peers was when I started college.” But they hadn’t been peers. They’d been older, more experienced, and most of the time, cruel.
She didn’t like those memories any more than she liked the way he was studying her now. Any formidable opponent would be looking for her weaknesses. If she showed any kind of vulnerability, Callum would jump on it and exploit it during their negotiations.
She schooled her features and focused on the multitude of antiquities that graced the Lennon home. Phoebe had always been an odd duck, never quite fitting in with other women. Most lusted after jewels, or they fancied pretty men or designer clothes—or a really great pedicure. Phoebe’s weakness had always been artifacts.
There was no way not to gawk at the history hanging on the walls. Almost every surface had what she was sure were antiques dating back centuries, and Holy mother of God, they had what she was sure was a fourteenth century broadsword. She’d sell her soul to the devil to get ahold of that. If she could get it into a lab to have it tested, she could determine if it was a replica or real. Indentions in the handle told her there was something missing, perhaps jewels. From the intricate design, along with the quality of metal, she was sure—
“Dr. Chilton.” Callum’s voice interrupted her musings again.
She realized he’d asked her a question. “I’m sorry. I was admiring some of your decorations.”
“Decorations?”
She smiled at the scorn in his voice and waved her hand in the direction of the sword she’d been drooling over. “Yes. I was completely distracted by that broadsword. Fourteenth century?”
He nodded.
“So you’ve had it tested?”
“No. It’s a family heirloom.”
She wanted to ask more, wanted to know the history behind it, who had used it and in what battles, but Callum didn’t allow for that. “I believe our dinner is ready.”
He stepped aside, allowing her to ent
er. It was smaller than she expected, with a medium-sized table. It wasn’t until she noticed the two place settings that she realized she wasn’t going to be dining with the rest of the Lennons. That meant she was stuck spending time with Callum Lennon alone—a man who already had shown his ability to turn her mind to mush with the barest touch. Bugger.
Phoebe knew there was no way out of this, not without appearing weak. Sure, if she muttered an excuse, headache or the like, not many would fault her, but she would. She wanted that grant more than she wanted to know the secrets of Stonehenge—and that was considerable. This job was a means to an end. Callum, being the savvy businessman that he was, was upping the ante by making the negotiations one on one. She knew better than to think any of the others would have much of a say, but at least they could be a buffer. He planned it this way to put the pressure on her. She’d be damned if she would lose ground to him.
She said nothing as she crossed over the threshold and into the dining room.
“Everything looks splendid, Belvidore.”
She hadn’t noticed the servant standing just inside the room. The suspicious look he threw her made Phoebe frown. She’d noted a few of those looks from servants throughout the day. She knew many in Scotland still didn’t like the English, but she thought that was taking it a bit far.
Phoebe dismissed Belvidore and walked further into the room. Again, it was a testament to a family who apparently collected an immense amount of history. It surrounded her, from the Persian rug on the floor to the Meissen china on the table. She curled her fingers into her palms, knowing that it would be bad form to fondle.
Callum drew her attention by stepping forward and pulling out one of the chairs. As she approached, she smiled. Callum scowled, eyeing her warily.
“Thank you.” She settled into the chair.
He moved to his own and then gestured with his hand for the serving to start. He was cold in both manner and expression, something she should be used to. She tried not to care, to pretend that was exactly what she wanted. And it was. If he didn’t like her, she wouldn’t feel so guilty about deceiving him. Still, she had to tamp down her feminine disappointment.
Why would she even care if he liked her? It wasn’t as if he’d be interested in a woman like her. And she’d never been someone who made friends easily. It hadn’t bothered her much before. Well, all right, it had—a lot. She’d refused to acknowledge it did. Truthfully, she never felt comfortable about large groups of people unless she was working or talking about work. So she should be in her element. Instead, she kept contemplating wholly inappropriate things, like what it would be like to lick whipped cream off his bare skin.
Bloody hell, she sounded like a sex-starved grad student. It had to be him. Simon hadn’t generated such overwhelming lusty thoughts, and he’d been more her type than Callum Lennon. She didn’t usually go for the “lord of the manor” types—especially ones who skulked around like the ruler of the underworld. She needed to gain a little distance, so she looked away from him and studied the portraits. She needed something to take her mind off the hunk of man sitting next to her.
Dammit. Why in the name of all that is holy would she be thinking of sleeping with him right now? Thoughts of shagging the dour Callum just kept popping up. They were improper, as well as embarrassing. Even during the first days of her relationship with Simon, she’d never had such lascivious thoughts. Of course, her late husband hadn’t had the body of a god. Phoebe would bet she could bounce a coin off of Callum Lennon’s ass.
She closed her eyes and counted backwards from ten in Russian, something she’d used in college to keep her mind focused. This time it didn’t work. Her stomach fluttered when Callum spoke to Belvidore. The rich Scottish wrapped around each word. What would it be like to hear that voice in the dark, hear it slipping over her as he woke her with kisses?
Opening her eyes, she noticed that both master and servant were staring at her. Belvidore’s lip curled in disdain while Callum’s eyebrows drew down in a scowl.
“You’re shivering. Didn’t catch a chill, did you?” Callum asked.
She shook her head and forced herself to smile. “Just a bit weary from the travel.”
He nodded but continued to study her as Belvidore served. She had a feeling Callum didn’t believe her, which was probably for the best. It would be far better if he thought she was sickly, rather than contemplating how good a romp on top of the Chippendale table would be.
* * * *
Callum watched as Phoebe thanked Belvidore for the plate he set in front of her. Her smile got her nowhere with the old family retainer and never would. The butler hadn’t uttered a word of dissension, but he reeked of disapproval. As with his ancestors, it was Belvidore’s sworn duty to protect the Lennons, but he took it to extremes. With a sniff, he moved away from Phoebe to serve Callum.
After Belvidore left them alone, Callum said, “I want you to understand that no one except family members knows about the artifact. We’ve told them you are here to research something for the family. That’s all we’ll ever say.”
She nodded and cut into her roast, but said nothing for a few moments. The only sounds in the dining room were silverware clinking against china. Dr. Chilton acted as though she was just out to dinner with a friend or that he didn’t even exist. Callum did not like that one bit for reasons he simply did not want to explore.
After daintily touching the napkin to her mouth, she turned to him. “Are you going to tell me about it?”
Just like the first time he saw her, every thought in his head evaporated. She turned those mermaid eyes in his direction, and he couldn’t put two syllables together. It took a moment to get the brain cells moving. He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of wine to cover his reaction.
“Aye. Angus told me you are familiar with Celtic myths and legends, with a special interest in witchcraft.”
“Yes,” She said as she set down her wine. “I’ve had a love for Celtic myths since I read of Celtine and Hercules.”
“You believe Celts are the descendants of Hercules?”
She chuckled, low and easy. The rich warm sound slid beneath his skin. “It would explain why you are all so huge.”
He raised an eyebrow. “So, you’ve had personal experience in that?”
At first she looked at him blankly, but then a delicious blush crept up her face. “No comment.”
He wanted to take her further, tease her back into a smile, then kiss it away from those lips—not to mention show her that having a flesh-and-blood man would be more exciting than lusting after a legend. Dangerous territory there. Callum cleared his throat and thought it better to move on.
“The artifact is a diary.”
She turned her attention to him again, those sea-green eyes filled with excitement. It was stunning to have all that attention focused on him. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had his share of women or had never known what it was like to have a woman pay attention to him. But in all his years, he’d never had a woman concentrate so wholly on him—as if he were the only thing she cared about in the world.
“Mr. Lennon?”
He blinked and regained his wits. “The first item we must discuss is the contract.”
All that rapt attention turned cold as she eased back from him as far as she could in the chair. “I told you. I’ll not sign a contract, not one that restricts me.”
“Dr. Chilton—”
“Is there a reason you don’t call me by my first name?”
It would be too familiar, but telling her that would be giving her a weapon against him. “No. I like to keep my professional relationships just that, professional.”
She sighed. “So be it, even if I do find it asinine.”
For a second, he didn’t say anything. People just didn’t talk to him like that, and this woman did it all the time. He would never get used to it. His temper was getting the better of him, and he gritted his teeth to keep from respondi
ng. He would either yell at her…or kiss her. Either one would have drastic results.
She folded her arms and watched him, an expectant look on her face. It was then he realized she’d been trying to get a rise out of him and had succeeded in spades. Not that he would let her know she had.
“Is there a reason you won’t sign a contract, Dr. Chilton?”
She cast her gaze heavenward. “I told you. I don’t sign anything without seeing what I’m to work on. It isn’t a good decision on my part.”
She continued to eat as if they discussed nothing important. There was definitely a layer of steel beneath that soft exterior. While he admired her, he cursed her at the same time. They needed her, and she knew it. She was using it to her advantage. Bloody hell.
He rolled his shoulders and reviewed his options. He could sit here all night and fight her, but there was no way she would budge. She had the upper hand at the moment, and damned if she didn’t know it. “As I said, we have obtained a diary. Our problem has been deciphering it.”
She frowned. “Is it in an old language?”
“Several. That’s part of the problem. It also seems to be in some kind of code.”
Interest sparked in her eyes and across her face as she sat forward. “You mean several languages together?”
“Aye. But first we must discuss the contract.”
She was back to frowning, and he felt…deflated. “I just told you that I won’t sign a contract. I work much better without restrictions. I’ve made mistakes in the past, and it has led to disastrous problems. On top of that, I do not want to be bound to the project.”
“I need to protect the Lennon name.” And keep our secrets. The less said about that, the better.
“I assure you, I would do nothing to cause the family harm.” Before he could say something in rebuttal, she continued. “I know that many people have an opinion of archeologists thanks to movies like Indiana Jones and The Mummy. But seriously, we are more like The Absent-Minded Professor. We are more than happy to dig in the dirt or spend hours in the library rather than gain recognition in the press.”