“Round, I’d guess. It’s the part that sits on the table, the base, so it could be a hexagon or similar.”
“I hope it hasn’t been thrown away over the years.”
“Or melted down to make bullets. That’s the kind of thing the Drummonds might do with miscellaneous metal.”
“They sound a lovely bunch, your ancestors.”
“‘Keep thy blade sharp’ is the family motto. It’s right on the crest under the raven’s claws.”
That might explain James’s ruthless pursuit of his goals. He had no idea she even knew of his reputation. She decided to call his bluff. “You seem so different.”
“Am I?” He didn’t look at her, but out a small leaded window, at the white sky. “Sometimes I wonder.”
“Why do you think of yourself as ruthless?” Maybe she could make him peer into his own hard heart and appeal to his sense of right and wrong to get her father’s factory back. Then he’d be grateful to her for helping him see the light. They could be friends—or lovers?—and live happily ever after.
Reality smacked her in the face as his laugh bounced off the thick stone walls. “I think I’m the last person you should ask about that.”
She decided not to push further. Not yet. She was here as his guest, and she didn’t want him getting suspicious about her motives. The hallway seemed to go on forever, and all the doors along it were closed. “What’s behind all these doors?”
“Small bedrooms. Probably once inhabited by vassals.”
“What the heck is a vassal?”
He chuckled. “Hangers-on. People who lived off the good grace—what little there was of it—of the auld Drummonds.”
Like me. “Interesting. What would they get out of keeping such people around?”
“People who are obligated come in useful when you need a favor. Or some dirty work done.”
She glanced behind her, for no good reason. Had James brought her here for reasons of his own? She thought she was so cunning to get invited into the heart of his empire, but maybe he had his own nefarious plans for her.
The fearsome clack of her own shoe heels was getting on her rather raw nerves.
Suddenly James took a turn to the left and pulled back an iron bolt on a tall wood door. “Welcome to the oldest part of the castle.”
The door opened onto a sort of balcony. She stepped through it and peered over a stone rampart into a square-shaped hall. Antique wood furniture sprawled uninvitingly on the flagstone floor of the hall about thirty feet below where they stood. Above them a ceiling of great wood beams had probably held up the roof for a thousand years.
James marched along a gallery and down a flight of narrow wood stairs toward the main floor. She followed slowly, staring around the space. She could almost feel the presence of all the men and women who must have breathed the air in this space over the years. “This is incredible. How come you don’t use it?”
“The newer parts of the castle are more comfortable. And they have heat.”
A grand stone fireplace stood cold and empty. Visions of a roaring flame, and maybe something roasting on a spit, crowded her mind. “How strange to think that your ancestors have lived here since the day it was built.”
“They haven’t.” He stared up at a carved crest above the fireplace. “Gaylord Drummond lost the whole estate in a game of dice in the eighteenth century. That’s how some of the Drummonds ended up in America. He gambled and drank away everything they owned except the one mysterious cup everyone’s so excited about, so his three sons took off for the untamed shores of the New World to make their fortunes. There they apparently split up the cup and each took a piece, vowing to reunite it one day.” His stony gaze still rested on the chiseled stone.
“And one of them ended up back here.”
“He made a killing in beaver pelts up in Canada.”
“Poor beavers.”
“They used to make hats out of their fur. Very waterproof, apparently. He made his fortune, then sailed back here and bought the place from the son of the farmer who had won it from his father.”
“And presumably he brought his piece of the cup with him.”
James shrugged. “Can’t say I care one way or the other.”
“You’re terrible. It’s a part of your family history.”
“I keep this pile going. That’s my contribution to the family history. Maybe I should start playing dice. Losing it would save me a fortune.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Not really.” He finally looked at her, and again his gray gaze stole her breath. “Though sometimes I wish I did.”
She thought she saw emotion somewhere behind his stony facade. How could you not feel a powerful sense of history—even destiny—while standing in such an ancient and dramatic space? If she could feel it, she knew ancestral pride must beat somewhere in James Drummond’s cold heart. She could hardly imagine being heir to such a kingdom even if, by today’s standards, it was rather remote and unpopulated.
She drew in a long breath and stared about her. “I think it’s magical.”
His attention focused on her again, its icy blast like a laser. Did he suddenly suspect her of trying to worm her way into his affections so she could be mistress of this place? Women must have been trying for decades. She regretted her cheesy enthusiasm, and managed a casual shrug. “But I can see how a condo near Orchard Road would be easier to maintain.”
He laughed. “Unquestionably.” His eyes narrowed and she felt herself under scrutiny again. For a split second his gaze seemed to scan her body like an unemotional piece of precision equipment, but somehow it left her nipples tingling, her belly quivering and her knees shaky.
She wheeled around. Maybe if she couldn’t see him he’d have less power over her. It was infuriating how a simple glance from him sent her pulse racing. He was her enemy, for crying out loud. Perhaps he brought all his potential conquests here to astonish them with his family grandeur and made them swoon into his arms.
“So, where’s the cup?” She walked farther away from him, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“Hardly. You know where the nooks and crannies are.” There didn’t even seem to be any that she could see. Though there were some battered wooden doors along one wall. “You know, the places where they locked up their enemies and left them for dead?”
“Oubliettes are more of a French thing. We Scots prefer to slit their throats in broad daylight then have a party.”
She had to laugh. “A simple folk.”
“Yes. Reporters have accused me of similar behavior in my business dealings.” Humor glittered in his cool gaze.
She cursed the way her heart fluttered. He’d just admitted that he was a ruthless bastard! How could she still be attracted to him? She should be worried about her own sanity. “Do you think they’re right?” She tried to maintain a steely stare.
“Maybe.” He turned and strode across the room, leaving her standing there, heart pounding and unspoken words crowding her brain.
You stole my father’s business and left him penniless and devastated. She had to keep a cool head until she figured out how to get it back. She couldn’t let him know that she was on the side of those who despised him. “I guess that’s just business, huh?”
He wheeled around, and she was surprised to see a half smile on his face. “It’s a relief to talk to someone who understands.”
She blinked. Okay. She’d opened this trapdoor and fallen in all by herself. “I haven’t had to slit any throats yet.”
He laughed. “You’re still young.”
“Not really.” How arrogant of him. He was only a few years older than she. “I have plenty of life experience.”
Laughter danced in his eyes. “Of course you do.”
She wanted to slap him. “I started my first business when I was twelve.”
“A lemonade stand?”
“Buying old computers and reselling them for
scrap.” She lifted her chin. “Much more profitable than squeezing lemons.” No need to mention she’d had the lemonade stand, too.
He moved closer to her. Which was unsettling considering that they had about an acre of space around them. “I started my first business at eleven.”
“Competitive, aren’t you?” She raised a brow. All the tiny hairs on her body stood on end, prickling with awareness as he moved even closer.
“Very. Some have even said it will be my downfall.”
Maybe sooner than you think. “What was your first business?”
“I bought wholesale chocolate bars and resold them to the desperate souls at my boarding school.”
“A captive audience.”
“The best kind.” His shoulders were broad, almost straining against the elegant cut of his shirt. The great room was cool, but she could feel her body temperature spiking as he shifted his stance. His gray gaze rested right on her face, thoughtful, daring her to argue with him.
She straightened her own shoulders and raised herself to her full height, which unfortunately was a good half a foot less than his. “Is it hard to find a captive audience these days?”
“Not at all.” He held her gaze for a heartbeat. “Everyone’s captive in one way or another.”
“Are you?” Had he moved closer? She didn’t see him move his feet, but he was now so near she could lift her hand and touch him. His male scent—expensive wool and subtle musk—tickled her senses. Her nipples now strained against her bra, and she hoped he didn’t notice.
“Absolutely.” His voice was a low growl that took her by surprise, but not as much as the way he stepped in, lifted her chin deftly with his fingers and pressed his lips softly to hers.
Electric voltage zapped through her. Her body temperature shot skyward as his tongue touched hers. I’m kissing James Drummond.
She felt the weight of his palms settle on her lower back. Her breath now came in unsteady gasps, and her hands crept up to his torso and fisted themselves in his shirt.
This man is a beast. He chews people up and spits them out. He just confessed as much!
His low moan in her ear made her desire surge. Her fingers dug into his hard back. His rough skin created pleasurable friction against her cheek as he shifted the angle of the kiss and plunged deeper, making her arch her back and lean into his arms.
Uh-oh. Instead of fighting him off, she gripped him tighter and kissed him back with all the strength she possessed.
His scent was intoxicating. Surprisingly masculine and rugged, betraying the man hidden beneath the expensive designer clothes. She could feel the raw passion of his warlike ancestors surging through them both.
Was there magic in this place? If so, it might be the dark and scary kind. She certainly didn’t feel fully in control of this situation—or even herself—at this moment.
And there was that family curse to contend with….
James’s strong hand squeezed her buttock, which made her squirm. Her breasts bumped against his chest, and his other hand rose to skim her nipple with his thumb. His lips never left hers. His kiss was alternately fierce and tender, drawing her in and taking her breath away. She’d never been kissed like this.
He’s your enemy.
This is probably exactly what his ancestors did with their enemies. The female ones, at least. She was being ravished. Why did it feel so good?
Her fingers had somehow wandered into his thick hair. She pressed the length of her body against his, and the thickening of his arousal made her heart beat faster. James Drummond seemed so cool, so controlled, that it only heightened her desire to feel him surging within her with heat and passion.
There was definitely more to this man than met the eye, or was written about in the columns of Investor’s Business Daily. The way she felt right now, she could easily imagine peeling off his shirt and pants and making love to him right there on the cold stone floor of his ancestral castle.
But he pulled back. His hands slid from her waist and his lips slipped away from hers. An icy chill seemed to replace his touch. She opened her eyes—how long had they been closed?—and found herself blinking in the cold light of the empty hall.
James’s eyes were narrowed, his face hard. “I hadn’t intended for that to happen.” He shoved a hand through his tousled hair. “Yet.”
Three
Fiona smoothed the front of her black shirtdress. She hadn’t changed since getting off the plane so it was probably rumpled even before James started roaming his hands over it. She couldn’t believe she’d let him smooch her before she’d been here one entire day.
The word yet said it all. She now knew he’d fully intended to enjoy her in his bed, but after a suitable preamble of flirtation. Apparently, he’d grown impatient, and she’d fallen right into his arms like the fawning girls who no doubt cooed over him on every continent.
“I didn’t intend for that to happen at all.” She tried to look calm. “In fact, I’m still not sure what did happen.”
“I think they call it kissing.” His narrowed gaze showed only the coldest glint of humor. “And it’s entirely too early in the day for it, apart from any other objections.”
Her body still pulsed with arousal. Her fingertips itched to touch his hard body, and her lips ached for the crush of his mouth. Who was he to suddenly announce it was a big mistake? “You started it.”
Her childish retort hung in the air for a moment and she wished she could take it back. It was true, though.
His eyes widened very slightly. “I didn’t notice you fighting me off.”
“Maybe I was just trying to be a polite guest.” This was getting sillier every moment.
One side of his arrogant mouth tilted in a wry smile. “Your manners are impeccable.”
Irritation surged inside her, mingling with the almost painful desire that had sensitized her whole body. She raised herself to her full, not very impressive height. “I don’t know about yours.”
He raised a brow. “I have to agree with you.” Then he frowned. “I’m not sure whether an apology is in order or whether that would be downright rude under the circumstances.”
She drew in a shaky breath. “Maybe we should just act like it didn’t happen.”
“I don’t think so.” His gaze drifted lower. Not to anywhere obvious, like her breasts, but to her collarbone, which felt singed by his hot, dark gaze, then to her hands, which were now knotted in front of her.
“I’m not good at pretending.”
He laughed. “Me, either. Okay, it happened and damn it, I enjoyed it.”
She fought a smile that wanted to rip across her mouth. “No comment.” Her enjoyment was so obvious there was no need to encourage him to gloat with triumph. “So, the cup. Where were we?”
James glanced around the room, as if wondering where exactly they were. “I confess I’m not entirely sure. Certainly not where I thought we would be.”
She laughed. Couldn’t help it. It was probably all the tension—sexual and otherwise—that had built in the air around them. “Let’s keep moving forward, shall we? And try to stay focused this time?”
“I like a woman with a good head on her shoulders.”
“I can tell.” She lifted her chin. “What’s through that door?” She marched forward, determined to have some say in where this was going. Drifting along, allowing James to lead the way, was obviously dangerous.
“Try the handle.”
She reached out, wondering what could be the worst-possible scenario for what they’d encounter on the other side. “What if it’s a closet full of your family skeletons?”
“If one of them is clutching a cup, we’re well on our way.”
“If the Drummonds in New York found the stem, and the ones in Florida found the part you drink from, there isn’t much cup for skeletal fingers to wrap around.”
“Are you afraid to open that door?”
“Not at all.” Her hand still clutched the small round handle, and she fo
rced herself to turn it. With her luck it would be locked anyway. It swung open suddenly, almost pulling her into the room with it. She let go of the handle as if it burned. The room was piled high with furniture. Literally, it was piled almost to the rather low ceiling. Chairs and tables and chests, all obviously old and made of unpainted dark wood. “I think we found the junk room.”
“Interesting.” James stepped past her and into the room. “I’ve never been in here. I don’t think I ever even noticed the door before.” He looked around at the stacks of furniture that blocked their entrance. “You certainly are bringing something to this quest.”
“Let’s hope it’s good luck that I’m bringing.”
“I’m not at all sure, but I’ll take my chances.” His challenging gray gaze met hers.
Her heart kicked violently in response. Partly because a simple glance from him had that effect on her, and partly because she hadn’t come here to bring him good luck.
“I bet some of these pieces are quite valuable.”
“Do you know anything about antique furniture?” He rubbed at the finish of a nearby upside-down chair.
“Nothing at all.”
“Me neither. I guess we’ll just leave it here for the next generation to rediscover. Though I suppose we should check all the drawers for cup bottoms.” He tugged on the brass handle of an elaborately carved chest. The drawer didn’t budge.
“Let me try.” She needed something to do. Her nerves were all on edge. She grabbed the handle and tugged on it. It came off in her hand, revealing sharp brass nails. “Oh.”
“Looks like we’ll have to keep you away from the priceless artifacts.” His eyes sparkled with amusement.
“I’m sure it will be easy to fix.” She looked at the handle in her hand. The nails made it look like a weapon. “Though maybe we should leave that to a professional.” What little she did know about furniture told her that this little carved chest was several hundred years old.
James wrapped his long, strong fingers around the outside of the drawer and pulled it out as if it were a matchbox. Empty.
A Trap So Tender Page 3