Beyond the Highland Myst

by Highlander 01-08

  "I doona see any other women around here, lass," he said coolly. "Do you?"

  Chloe rolled her eyes.

  "Have I asked anyone else to go to Scotland?"

  "I said okay, all right? I'm just making sure you understand the terms."

  "Och, I understand the terms," he said in a dangerously soft voice.

  She thrust out her hand. "Then shake."

  When he raised it to his lips and kissed it, Chloe felt suddenly light-headed.

  The moment felt, well… positively momentous. As if she'd just made a decision that would forever alter her life, in ways she couldn't even begin to imagine. The Greeks had a word for such a moment. They called it Kairos—a moment of destiny.

  Giddy with excitement, she rose and, with a connoisseur's eye and no mercy for the devil's wallet, began selecting her treasures.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  The man had never really tried to seduce her, Chloe decided the next morning when she raced down the steps and ran smack into him as he was stepping out of the first floor bathroom at the base of the stairs.

  Seduction was this: one look at him in nothing but a towel.

  Towering, two hundred pounds-plus of glistening golden skin poured over solid muscle, a sinfully small towel about his hips. Sculpted torso, rippling abs. A small cut marring his muscled chest, from their skirmish yesterday. A dark silky trail of hair disappearing beneath the soft white fabric.

  Wet. Little beads of water shimmering on his skin. Thick black hair slicked back from his face, falling in a wet tangle to his waist.

  And she knew that if she said the word, he would stretch that incredible body full-length on top of her and—

  Chloe made a little puffing noise, as if the air had been knocked out of her. "G'morning," she managed.

  "Madainn mhath, lass," he purred his reply in Gaelic, steadying her by the elbows. "I trust you slept well without the bonds?"

  He may not have tied her, but he'd slept outside her door. She'd heard him out there, moving about. "Yes," she said a bit breathlessly.

  The man was just too beautiful for any woman's peace of mind.

  He stared down at her a long moment. "We've much to do before we leave," he said, releasing her arms. "I'll be but a few moments getting dressed."

  He skirted around her and went up the stairs. She turned, bemused, watching him with wide eyes. He hadn't even tried to kiss her, she thought, irritated with him that he hadn't, and irritated with herself for being irritated that he hadn't. Heavens, the man filled her with impossible duality. She was determined not to be seduced, yet she relished his seduction. It made her feel utterly feminine and alive.

  Holy cow, she thought, watching him. With each step he ascended, the muscles in his legs flexed. Perfect calves, hard-as-rock thighs. Tight butt. Trim waist flaring to muscular shoulders. Absolutely ripped with muscle, he was powerful-looking in a lean, hungry way. Time seemed to spin out dreamily while she watched him.

  "Oh!" she gasped suddenly, going rigid with shock.

  Had he really done that?

  God! How would she ever get that vision of him out of her mind?

  At the top of the stairs the blasted man had dropped his towel!

  As he was taking that last step. Legs slightly parted. Giving her the briefest glimpse of… oh!

  She was still trying to breathe and not succeeding very well, when she heard a soft, husky and very smug laugh.

  Shameless womanizer!

  Dageus left when Chloe got in the shower. It was either leave, or join her, and she was not yet ready to permit what he needed. Wiser not to imagine stepping into the shower behind her, taking her slippery, wet body in his arms, getting his hands on those magnificent bare breasts. He'd have her in Scotland anon, and there in his beloved land, he would claim her completely.

  She would have let him kiss her, he'd seen it in the dilation of her eyes, in the softening of that lush petal-soft mouth.

  But there was much to do before they left, and a skilled lover knew there were times when heightening a woman's anticipation was far more seductive than satisfying it. So, with a provocative bit of aloofness, he'd resisted the kisses he might have claimed and shown her instead what she was denying herself. What she could have if she but said the word. All of him, his insatiable desire, his need, his stamina, his determination to pleasure her as no other man could. Slave to her every carnal wish. He knew she'd seen the heavy weight of his testicles betwixt his legs and the thick head of his shaft below them as he'd taken the last step.

  Best she get acquainted with his body now, in slow degrees.

  He smiled, as the cab came to a dead stop in bumper-to-bumper traffic, recalling her soft, shocked little gasp. The knowledge that she had never been touched by another man inflamed him. He swallowed, his mouth dry with anticipation.

  She'd given him a list of things she needed, and had told him her passport was in her jewelry box. She'd said aye. She'd agreed to come with him. He'd not liked the thought of having to coerce her.

  He may not have yet seduced her into his bed, but he'd succeeded in seducing her into his life in countless other ways, each an invisible, silken knot, binding her to him as he lured her deeper into his world.

  He was obsessed with her, as he'd never been with any other woman. He wanted to tell her more of his story. He'd been testing the waters last eve, feeling her out, trying to determine how much she might be able to take. He'd never once considered telling a woman aught about himself—particularly not one he hadn't yet bedded—but the possibility of a woman such as Chloe knowing what he was and choosing to be his woman anyway made the blood burn like fire in his veins. A part of him wanted to cram his reality down her throat, forcing her to accept him, with no excuses offered. A wiser part of him, the man he'd used to be, warned against such ruthlessness.

  Slowly. He need employ utmost care and caution if he hoped to achieve his aim.

  Late last eve, while watching her dither over which artifacts to choose, he'd realized with startling clarity, that it wasn't merely her body he wanted in his bed, he wanted all of her, given without reservation. He wanted it nigh as much as he wanted to be free of the evil within him, as if the two were somehow intertwined. And the animal in him sensed her killing weakness: Chloe was a lass who could be trapped by the man who won her heart. Netted and kept for life. His strategy was no longer simple seduction; he was vying for the core of her, her very lifeblood.

  A woman such as she—entrust you with her heart? his honor mocked. Have you lost your mind as well as your souls?

  "Haud yer wheesht," he growled softly.

  The cab driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "Eh, what?"

  "I wasn't talking to you."

  And if you somehow manage to win her, what, then, will you do with her? his honor taunted. Promise her a future?

  "Doona be trying to steal my now," Dageus gritted. " 'Tis all I own." And since her advent into his life, the now held more interest for him than it had in a long time. He was a man who'd succeeded at living since the eve he'd turned dark, only by doing it hour to hour.

  Shrugging at the cabbie who was now watching him with blatant unease, he reached in his pocket, double-checking to be certain the list and her key were there.

  The key wasn't. Thinking back, he realized he'd left it on the kitchen counter.

  Though no one was more adept at breaking and entering than he, he did it only when necessary. And never in broad daylight.

  He eyed the backed-up traffic impatiently. By the time the cab driver got them turned around in this mess, he could, like as not, be back at the penthouse on foot.

  He shoved fare through the slot and stepped out into the rain.

  Chloe shaved her legs with one of Dageus's razors (studiously ignoring the cheeky little voice that volunteered the wholly unsolicited opinion that a girl didn't need to shave when it was so cold out, unless she was planning to take her pants off for some reason), then stepped out of the
shower and smoothed on lotion.

  She moved into the bedroom, slipped into panties and bra, then packed a few things in the luggage he'd set out for her while the lotion absorbed into her skin.

  She was going to Scotland.

  She couldn't believe it—how much her life had changed in just a few days. How much she seemed to be changing. In four days, to be exact. Four days ago she'd entered his penthouse, and today she was getting ready to fly across the ocean with him, with no idea what might come.

  She shook her head, wondering if she'd completely lost her mind. She refused to ponder that thought too hard. When she thought about it, it seemed all wrong.

  But it felt right.

  She was going and that was that. She wasn't willing to let him walk out of her life this afternoon—forever. She was drawn to him as irresistibly as she was drawn to artifacts. Logic didn't have a damn thing to do with it.

  Her mind raced over last-minute details and she decided she had to get word to Tom. He was probably already sick with worry and if he didn't hear from her for another month, he'd have the entire police department in an uproar. But she didn't want to talk to him on the phone, he would ask her too many questions; and the answers weren't completely convincing, even to her.

  E-mail! That was it. She could shoot him a short note on the computer in the study.

  She glanced at the clock. Dageus should be gone for at least an hour. She slipped into her jeans, tugged a T-shirt over her head, and hurried downstairs, wanting to get it out of the way immediately.

  What would she say? What excuse could she possibly give him?

  I met the Gaulish Ghost and he's not exactly a criminal Actually, he's the sexiest, most intriguing, smartest man I've ever met and he's taking me to Scotland and he's paying me with ancient artifacts to help him translate texts because he thinks he's somehow cursed.

  Yeah. Right. That coming from the woman who'd endlessly berated Tom for his less than lily-white ethics. Even if she told him the truth, he wouldn't believe it of her. She didn't believe it of her.

  She went into the study and was briefly sidetracked by the artifacts scattered about. She would never get used to such casual treatment of priceless relics. Scooping up a handful of coins, she sorted through them. Two had horses etched on them. Replacing the others on the desk, she studied the two coins wonderingly. The ancient Continental Celts had etched horses on their coins. Horses had been treasured creatures, symbolic of wealth and freedom, meriting their own goddess, Epona, who'd been commemorated in more surviving inscriptions and statues than any other early goddess.

  "Nah," she said, snorting. "There's no way they're that old." They were in such mint condition that they looked as if they'd been fashioned only a few years ago.

  But then, she mused, all of his property did. Looked new, that was. Impossibly new. New enough that she'd entertained the possibility that they might be brilliant forgeries. Very few artifacts survived the centuries in such impeccable condition. Without the proper means to authenticate them, she had to trust her judgment. And her judgment said—impossible though it was to believe—his artifacts were genuine.

  A sudden image rose in her mind: Dageus, dressed in full Scots tartan and regalia, his hair wild, war braids plaited at his temples, swinging the claymore that hung above the fireplace. The man exuded Celtic warrior, as if he'd been transplanted in time.

  "You are such a dreamer, Zanders," she chided herself. Shaking her head to scatter her fanciful thoughts, she re placed the coins in their pile, and turned her attention back to the task at hand. She turned on the computer, and tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for it to boot up. While it whirred and hummed, she sidled out into the living room and eyed the answering machine, twirling a strand of curly wet hair around a finger. The phone had rung many times since he'd turned the volume down.

  She peered at it. There were nine messages.

  Her hand hovered over the play button for several indecisive moments. She wasn't proud of her proclivity to snoop, but figured as far as sins went, it wasn't chiseled in stone on the Top Ten. After all, a girl had a right to arm herself with all the knowledge she could, didn't she?

  It would be naive and foolish not to.

  Her finger inched down toward the play button. Hesitated, and inched again. Just as she was about to press it, the phone rang loudly, startling a little screech out of her. Heart hammering, she skittered back into the study feeling weirdly caught and guilty.

  Then, with an exasperated snort, she dashed right back out there and turned the volume up.

  Katherine again. Sultry-voiced and purring. Ugh.

  Scowling, Chloe turned it back down, deciding she'd really rather not hear them all. She didn't need anymore reminders that she was one of many.

  A few moments later, she logged onto the Internet, signed into her Yahoo! account and typed swiftly:

  Tom, my Aunt Irene (God forgive her, she didn't have one) was taken suddenly ill and I had to leave immediately for Kansas. I'm so sorry I wasn't able to get in touch with you before, but she's in critical condition and I've been staying at the hospital. I'm not sure when I'll be back. It may be a few weeks or longer. I'll try to call you soon. Chloe.

  How neatly she lied, she thought wonderingly. She was smoking cigars, accepting bribes and lying. What was happening to her?

  Dageus MacKeltar, that was what.

  She reread it several times before hitting the send button. She was still staring at the "your message has been sent" message, feeling a little shaky about what she'd just done because it made it all seem so final, when she heard the door open and close.

  He was back already!

  She hit the shut down button, praying it would also disconnect the Internet. Though she had nothing to feel guilty about, she preferred to dodge a potential dispute. Especially after almost listening to his messages. God, he would have walked in and caught her doing it! How humiliating that would have been!

  Taking a deep breath, she pasted an innocent expression on her face. "What are you doing back already?" she called as she strolled out of the study.

  Then gasped, startled, and drew up short near the doorway to the kitchen.

  A man, dad in a dark suit, was standing in the living room, glancing through the books on the coffee table. Of average height, wiry build, with short brown hair, he was well dressed and had a cultured air about him.

  Apparently, she wasn't the only one who strolled at will into Dageus's unlocked penthouse. He really should start locking it, she thought. What if she'd still been in the shower, or had wandered downstairs in a towel to find a stranger there? It would have scared the bejeezus out of her.

  The man turned at her gasp. "I'm sorry I startled you, ma'am," he apologized gently. "Might Dageus MacKeltar be about?"

  British accent, she noted. And a funny tattoo on his neck. Didn't seem quite in character with the rest of him. He didn't seem the tattoo sort.

  "I didn't hear you knock," Chloe said. She didn't think he had. Maybe Dageus's friends didn't. "Are you a friend of his?"

  "Yes. I'm Giles Jones," he said. "Is he in?"

  "Not at the moment, but I'll be happy to tell him you stopped by." She peered at him, curiosity never dormant. Here was one of Dageus's friends. What might he tell her about him? "Are you a close friend of his?" she fished.

  "Yes." He smiled. "And who might you be? I can't believe he's not mentioned such a lovely woman to me."

  "Chloe Zanders."

  "Ah, he has exquisite taste," Giles said softly.

  She blushed. "Thank you."

  "Where did he go? Will he be returning soon? Might I wait?"

  "It'll probably be an hour or so. Can I give him a message for you?"

  "An hour?" he echoed. "Are you certain? Perhaps I could wait; he might be back sooner." He glanced questioningly at her.

  Chloe shook her head. "I'm afraid not, Mr. Jones. He went to get some things for me; we're leaving for Scotland later and—"

  She broke off
as the man's demeanor changed abruptly.

  Gone was the disarming smile. Gone was the appreciative gaze.

  Replaced by a cold, calculating expression. And—her brain seemed to resist processing this fact—there was suddenly, bewilderingly, a knife in his hand.

  She shook her head sharply, unable to absorb the bizarre turn of events.

  With a menacing smile, he moved toward her.

  Still trying to get some dim grasp on the situation, she said stupidly. "You're n-not his f-friend." Oh, gee, did the knife give it away, Zanders? she snapped at herself silently. Get a grip. Find a blasted weapon. She inched slowly backward, into the kitchen, afraid to make a sudden move.

  "Not yet," was the man's bizarre reply as he paced her.

  "What do you want? If it's money, he has lots of money. Tons of money. And he'll happily give it to you. And there are artifacts," she babbled. She was almost there. Surely there was a knife lying on the counter somewhere. "Worth a fortune. I'll help you pack them up. There are oodles of things here you can take. I won't get in your way a bit. I promise, I'll just—"

  "It's not money I'm after."

  Oh, God. A dozen horrid scenarios, each worse than the last, flashed through her mind. He'd duped her into freely admitting that she was alone for an hour by pretending to know Dageus. How gullible she'd been! You can take the girl out of Kansas, but you can't take Kansas out of the girl, she thought, hysteria bubbling inside her.

  "Oh, would you look at that! I've mistaken the time! He's due back any minute—"

  A sharp bark of laughter. "Nice try."

  When he lunged for her, she scrambled backward, adrenaline flooding her. Frantically, with hands made clumsy by fear, she snatched things off the counter and flung them at him. The thermal coffeepot bounced off his shoulder, spewing coffee everywhere; the butcher block hit him squarely in the chest. Flailing behind her, she grabbed one Baccarat goblet after another from the sink and flung them at his head. He ducked and dodged, and glass after glass exploded against the wall behind him, raining down on the floor.