Callum

by Melissa Schroeder

  “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 enter. 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 rap
t 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 responding. 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.”

  Her self-depreciating humor almost did him in, but he steeled his conviction. “And you don’t want notoriety? I find that hard to believe.”

  She laughed. “No. I’ll be brutally honest with you. I have spent most of my life under a microscope. Thanks to my IQ, I have been the subject of many studies throughout my life. Many weren’t pleasant experiences. Between that and starting college in the middle of puberty, I’ve had my share of notoriety.”

  There was something there beneath the pleasant speech, something like pain. Nothing in her expression showed what she was feeling as she continued smiling at him, but he sensed it. Something in her past was hurting her, and the need to be the one to soothe the ache surprised and irritated him.

  “Why?”

  She cocked her head to the side. The interest was back and directed at him. “Why don’t I want notoriety? I thought I explained that.”

  He shook his head. “Why do you want to do it then? Why do you research Celtic legends?”

  She relaxed back into the chair, her gaze turning contemplative. “From the moment I was born, my parents had my life planned. Everything has been their choice.” She drew in a deep breath and returned her attention to him. “Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Lennon. I’ve had a charmed life. There are things I have seen and done that people only dream about. I owe my parents a debt of gratitude for it. But Celtic mythology and legends are my own little addiction. Something I love to do. I’m lucky enough to be able to indulge in it when I want, again, thanks to my parents.”

  He nodded as he took a sip of wine. When he said nothing, she continued.

  “So, when you ask me about why, I can only tell you because it is the one non-scheduled activity I can indulge in. I share it with no one. Not my parents, not even my husband when he was alive. It is the one extravagance I’ve allowed myself. When an opportunity like this arises, I jump on it if possible. With my schedule for the next year and a half, my little addiction is going to be hard to squeeze in, so that’s why I came all this way now.”

  Callum didn’t want to believe her, but he did. Responsibility had been riding his back for more years than he could remember, so he understood her need. People depending on you could weigh you down, even if you loved them. It could get damned hard to remember that you were an individual, and he sensed she’d struggled with that for most of her life.

  Apparently worried she hadn’t swayed him, she said, “Truthfully, with your money and resources, you could make sure anything I tell the press doesn’t make the light of day. And I’m sure you know with one word from you, my reputation would be destroyed. It is the one thing I do not play lightly with.”

  After that, she waited. Again, he didn’t want to be swayed by her arguments, but they made sense. She had no idea what she was talking about because she didn’t know exactly what she was getting into, but he could destroy her, her reputation, and her parents on a whim if he wished it. Granted, if the information made the rags they would be scrutinized, perhaps even considered freaks, if anyone believed the truth. He had fought most of his life to keep their secret safe. He would destroy anyone who threatened their safe haven. But clearly she understood what such rash actions could cost her.

  He knew that all the other cousins had conceded to let her look at it without a contract. Callum wasn’t comfortable enough with it.

  “A confidentiality agreement then?”

  She nodded. “After I see the diary.”

  Bloody hell, the woman wouldn’t give over, not even a centimeter.

  “And you give me your word you aren’t working for a paper?”

  She laughed then, a real one that sent lust curling in his belly, rolling through his veins. “No. In fact, there is one particular reporter for The Mirror who has a non-harassment order against me. The press and I are not the best of friends.”

  “You physically threatened a reporter?”

  “No. I punched him.” She waited a beat. “Then I threatened to castrate him if I ever saw him again.”

  He couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped. It was hard to believe this woman would be able to hurt anyone, especially a grown man. Her head barely reached his shoulders. “Was there a reason?”

  “My late husband was actually a very distant relation of Prince Phillip. When Simon was sick, there were a few people who thought to make a story of it and his…our personal life. I thought otherwise. I protect what is mine.”

  He was momentarily distracted by the mention of her late husband. It nettled that he wanted to know more about the man, what their marriage had been like. Why would he give a damn about that?

  He mentally steered himself away from that subject and back to their discussion. Her expression and voice held a conviction he admired. He understood what it took to hold onto that conviction through troubled times. The strength of her character showed by her actions. He knew at that moment he was going to cave to her wishes. There really was no other choice. They had no one else they could turn to, but he knew there would have to be some kind of agreement.

  “If I agree to this—without requiring a contract—there are some rules I will not bend on.”

  She nodded and waited. Smart
lass—too smart.

  “Only you will review the book and only in my office. It is a rare find, and I will not have it misplaced.” She opened her mouth to argue, probably trying to defend herself, but he didn’t have the time or patience. “First, you need to understand that I don’t often work without written agreement other than for payment. Also, I am not only talking of you, but of others. The book is worth a lot of money—one reason we haven’t told the staff about it. Anyone with a brain might think to take it.”

  When she smiled at him, a full smile with dimples and teeth, he knew she would agree. She thought she’d won. Which, he conceded, she had. But he would do everything to make sure it was on his terms.

  “You will not have possession of the book unless I am present. You are only allowed a minimal amount of notes when you leave, and I will review all of those.”

  Phoebe nodded. “Agreed. Can I see it?”

  Her eagerness made him uneasy. Why would she agree so quickly and without haggling?

  “Don’t you think it is a little late to start?” He glanced at his watch. “I assumed you would like a night’s rest before you start.”

  She sighed again, the sound as arousing as it was irritating. “Okay, I’ll wait.”

  He could tell she wasn’t happy. Callum didn’t care. He needed a break from her presence before he made a bigger ass out of himself.

  “Breakfast is usually served at six sharp. I’ll meet you here.” He glanced at her plate and noticed she had finished her meal, the napkin lying over the china. He buzzed for Belvidore, who arrived immediately. Knowing his distrust of anyone not in the Lennon family, the butler was probably waiting by the door.