by Cara Summers
And it wasn’t just the lure of danger and excitement that had captured her imagination, it had been the man she’d imagined doing everything with her.
Cam Sutherland.
He was the man she’d imagined lying beneath. He was the man who’d kissed her, touched her and thrust into her.
And now that she wasn’t operating on imagination, now that she’d had a taste of reality and experienced the promise of what might lie beyond the kisses they’d exchanged…
Her blood heated, raced, and something deep inside of her tightened.
She pressed a hand against her heart to keep it from pounding right out of her chest. How could she possibly reconcile her response to him with the woman she was and had always told herself she wanted to be?
Women who ran off with sexy strangers, chased bad guys in cars, dodged bullets and plunged into mountain streams were…just…not her.
She was organized, goal oriented. She made lists and liked to follow them. She made five-year plans for heaven’s sake. So what if her first one had crashed and burned? That only meant she had to concentrate fully on the next one. There was zero room in her life for unplanned and unwanted adventures. Lightning strikes and missing jewels were not on her agenda. And neither was hot-as-you-can-imagine sex with Cam Sutherland.
And if all that were true, why was she losing her mind every time he touched her?
She dropped her head in her hands. Before she did something really stupid, she had to think about this. She had to get some kind of a handle on it and come up with a plan.
Gathering the papers on the desk, she put them back into her compartment and closed the lid. She had to think this through, and her favorite thinking place had always been at Tinker’s Falls. After replacing the lock, she tucked the box into her bottom drawer. Then she hurried out through the French doors and headed into the woods.
* * *
CAM SLIPPED TO the side of the French doors just as he saw Adair start toward them. When he’d arrived on the terrace she’d had her head dropped in her hands. The posture was so unlike her that he’d stopped short to study her. Once again her vulnerability tugged at him. Had her meeting not gone well? He’d glanced around the room, then arrowed back to the flimsily locked metal box. Was that what was upsetting her?
For a moment all he’d wanted was to go to her, to draw her to her feet and just hold her. But before he could give in to the impulse she lifted her head and gathered up the papers on her desk, put them back in the box and tucked everything away in a drawer.
When she had risen from the desk he’d stepped to the side of the open doors, and now he watched her cross the terrace and head to the path that led to the woods. The energy in her movement, the intent way she’d left the office, reminded him more of the Adair he thought he knew than the woman he’d glimpsed with her head in her hands.
He waited only until she disappeared before he stepped into her office. The space was roomy and might have once served as a second parlor. There were bookcases flanking a stone fireplace, double doors on another wall that opened into the entrance foyer, and to the left, French doors that led into the main parlor.
He had a theory now about why Vi and Alba were having their sleep disturbed and Adair wasn’t, and it also might explain why neither of the women had noticed anything missing from the castle. Vi’s room was situated over the castle’s library, a two-floored room that hadn’t been used in years. It still housed a dust-covered but extensive collection, some of it dating back to Angus One. According to Vi, the last person who’d used it for any length of time was his mother. That room was where she’d spent most of that summer when he and his brothers were ten.
If the castle did have an intruder and he or she had confined themselves to the library, that might explain why Adair’s sleep had never been disturbed. But that theory opened up a lot of questions. Such as, why would someone want secret access to the library? Why not do what his mother had done and simply ask permission?
Or maybe he was totally off the track. But he’d wanted to talk to Adair about it. More, he’d wanted simply to see her. For a moment he found himself torn. There was a part of him that wanted to follow her and another part that was curious about the contents of the mysterious box.
And he might not get another opportunity like this one. Glancing over his shoulder, he checked to make sure that she was out of sight. Then he crossed to her desk. It was typical Adair, with its day planner and To Do list. He skimmed the first two items, then studied the third. Call first husband—Dr. Barry Carlson.
So she really was torn about the wedding. Perhaps her gut instinct was giving her a message similar to Daryl’s. Something wasn’t right about Lawrence Banes.
He opened the bottom drawer and lifted out the box. She hadn’t bothered to latch the tiny lock, so he removed it and opened the lid.
It was divided into three compartments. One was stuffed with folded pieces of colored paper: the one on the left with yellow, the center one with blue and the final one with pink. Organized. He recalled what Vi had said about the three girls writing down their hopes, their goals and their dreams on colored papers and burying them in the stones.
That scenario didn’t fully explain the acuteness of Adair’s embarrassment. Cam removed the folded colored papers on the top of each section and spread them out on the desk. The date in the top right-hand corner told him that each had been written on the night that his mother had married A. D. MacPherson seven years ago. Each was a different length, each was in a different handwriting, but they had one thing in common. The title at the beginning of each one read: “My Fling With My Fantasy Man.”
Totally captivated, Cam sat down in the chair and picked up the first one.
Half an hour later his view of the MacPherson girls had undergone a transformation. They might have been young when they’d penned the fantasies, but they’d had active and inventive imaginations. Though they’d definitely been written from a woman’s viewpoint, he’d been caught up in each of the fantasies. Enough that he could use a cold shower.
He’d immediately recognized Adair’s as the first one he’d read. It had been on yellow paper. Not that he hadn’t confirmed his judgment by checking the handwriting against her To Do list. That neat block lettering was a dead giveaway. And of course he’d had to read the other two. A good agent had to be thorough and look at all the data.
They’d each been incredibly arousing. Sex on demand, any time you want it, any way you want it, no strings, no holds barred. He could relate to that fantasy, all right. And the other one was interesting, too—a string of scenarios in which the woman was the seductress and always the initiator. Every man’s secret dream.
They just weren’t Adair’s. Hers was the longest and it was all about erotic sex on the run with that added spice of adventure and that hit of adrenaline. Even when they were kids she’d had that desire for adventure. It was why he’d been drawn to her and why he’d wanted to partner with her instead of her sisters. Because she could take a dare and she could issue one.
He glanced down at the block letters on the yellow pages. She’d certainly issued one now. He wanted to make the fantasy real for her, for them both. They were adults now—why not enjoy the fantasy and each other before they had to go their separate ways?
Right. Rising, he paced to the French doors, then walked back to the desk. You didn’t work six years for the CIA and not learn that things were seldom that simple.
He glared at the box. Curiosity was a very dangerous thing. It had killed the cat and it had caused Pandora to inflict chaos on the world. Now he had a feeling that it was going to play havoc with the life he’d built for himself. One that he’d been totally satisfied with until he’d seen Adair again.
He folded the papers, put them back in the proper compartments and replaced the box in the drawer. Then he strode out of the office, across the terrace, and followed the path Adair had taken into the woods.
8
ADAIR STRIPPED OUT of her T-shirt, then sl
ipped her sandals off and wiggled out of her shorts. Beneath, she wore a white string bikini that she’d put on that morning just in case she had a chance to get a swim in before lunch. Then she folded her clothes and placed them on a flat rock at the edge of the water. The pond that lay at the base of Tinker’s Falls was one of her favorite places on the castle property. The falls themselves were part of a stream that wound its way down the mountain. Twenty-five feet above, the water narrowed, then dropped in a clear curtain to the pond below. Behind the curtain there was a secret cave.
For as long as she could remember she and her sisters had used the place as their own private swimming pool. Flat ledges of rock flanked the top of the falls on either side and made perfect spots for sunbathing. Or diving. She walked to the edge of the pond.
It was about thirty feet long and twenty-five wide. And it wasn’t really a pond. In sixth grade science she’d learned that it was a deep plunge pool left behind when the glaciers had melted. There was plenty of room for the lap swimming she’d done at college.
Anticipating the shock, she dived into the water, then surfaced with a thrilling shiver and set out for the other end. A vigorous workout usually helped her think clearly, and Lord knew she could use a little clarity.
What in the world was she going to do about Cam Sutherland? Reaching the other end of the pond, she tucked, curled and then pushed off with her feet. So much was riding on establishing the reputation of Castle MacPherson this summer. She might have come up with the business plan on the fly, so to speak. In fact, she might never have thought of the potential business opportunity at the castle if she hadn’t been fired. But lightning strikes and possible runaway brides aside, she was beginning to enjoy the wedding business. It was exciting and satisfying to help young couples plan the most important day of their lives. She even liked the constant challenges. Not that she wanted any more lightning strikes.
She just didn’t have time for a complication like Cam. She surely didn’t have time for some adolescent action/adventure fantasy. Did she?
She let the question hang there for three more laps before she ruthlessly shifted her attention to another equally pressing problem. Barry Carlson, Rexie’s first husband. There was a good chance that Rexie was still in love with him. Was Barry still in love with her? She let herself consider that for five more laps. Calling Montana to find out what Barry’s feelings were was about as smart as kicking a hornet’s nest.
And just about as risky as thinking seriously about giving in to her attraction for Cam Sutherland. How in the world had she become a woman who was so attracted to living on the edge?
But wasn’t that one of the reasons she was so drawn to Cam? He was dangerous for her in a way that Baxter DuBois had never been. Bax had represented what she’d convinced herself she wanted in a man. Someone who had the same goals and wanted the same lifestyle. She’d felt comfortable with him. Maybe that’s why she’d let him talk her into the team partnership idea. And look how well that had turned out.
She’d never felt comfortable with Cam. He’d always stirred her, aroused her, challenged her. And those feelings had grown even more potent over time. What else could he make her feel? She wanted to know how much more there was.
This time when she tucked, curled and turned, she struck out for the left side of the falls where she’d left her clothes. Reaching it, she pulled herself out of the water and climbed up to the ledge of rock that bordered one side of the falls.
The sun was hot overhead, the wide, flat rock warm beneath her feet. Inviting. A quick glance at her watch told her that she could afford to stay long enough to dry her swimsuit. That would be practical.
And it struck her suddenly that there had to be a practical way to solve the situation with Cam. They both wanted the same thing. A fling. Why couldn’t she just look at it like a wedding plan, a short-term event that fulfilled both party’s dreams? And then life would go on.
As she stretched out on her back, using one arm to shield her eyes, she started working out the approach she would take with Cam. But it was kicking hornets’ nests that she was thinking of when she fell asleep.
* * *
CAM STOPPED AT the edge of the trees to watch her climb out of the pond. She looked like some kind of nymph with her hair slicked back, the water sliding off of her body. She wore nothing except two scraps of white that had his mouth going dry as dust. And her legs—he’d gotten some hint of them before, but with nothing marring their length they were making him sweat.
She was strong, he noted as he watched her climb to the top of the ledge. When she rose to her feet and stretched her arms upward, it wasn’t a nymph he thought of—but a goddess. Her guts he’d never doubted. But the fearlessness he saw now and the vulnerability he’d glimpsed earlier were new. And they fascinated him.
He’d done his best to avoid thinking about her for years. Now he couldn’t stop. And he wanted to know more. Still he didn’t move toward her.
Everything should be simple. She wanted him and he wanted her. More than that, he was beginning to learn the way her mind worked. He thought he knew the approach to take. A practical one.
So why wasn’t he moving? No woman had ever made him hesitate before.
Dammit. He strode forward into the clearing and circled the pond, approaching the ledge from the back side. When he made it to the top he stopped again, surprised to see that she appeared to be sleeping and hadn’t heard his approach.
He glanced around. There was no one upstream. The trees pressed in on all sides of the falls, offering at least the illusion of privacy. His approach as well as any noise he’d made climbing up the rocks had been totally masked by the crash of the falls below.
He shifted his gaze back to Adair and stopped thinking of anyone or anything else. It had only been a matter of a few hours since he’d kissed her. The desire to do so again had only grown as he’d imagined her in each of the girlish fantasies he’d read. That was a hell of a lot of foreplay for a man.
And what she was wearing—or more specifically, not wearing—nearly had his tongue hanging out. Her skin was the almost-translucent color of fine porcelain and nearly all of it was showing.
He dropped to his knees, not fully recognizing that’s what he’d done. Then he simply couldn’t stop himself from touching her. Reaching out, he traced one finger over her cheek, then down her neck, and he felt the shock of the contact shoot through him with the intensity of a flame. All thought of his simple straightforward strategy slipped from his mind as he continued to run his hand lightly over her skin.
* * *
ADAIR DREAMED SHE was floating in a bubble of warm, sleepy pleasure. Something, the sun perhaps, was caressing her skin, stroking gently over her cheek and down her throat to trace a delicate path along the curve of her breast. She sighed even as she shifted, arching slightly into the caress. She could picture the languid fingers of sunlight stroking over her, arousing and seducing so delicately as they moved, as soft as an artist’s brush, over her rib cage to her waist and then down her thighs and back up. Slowly, achingly, the pleasure built layer upon layer upon layer as the pattern was repeated.
Warmth gradually edged into heat—little flicks of fire that raced outward along her nerve endings and seeped deeper and deeper into her center. She was melting now, and she wanted to. It was no longer the sun she imagined stroking her but a lover’s hands.
And the caresses were growing more demanding. When the fingers brushed again along the curve of her breasts they seared her skin. Her heart raced and she commanded her eyes to open. Blinded by sunlight, she couldn’t bring anything completely into focus. But as she reached to ease the burning sensation, her hand collided with, then gripped, a solid masculine one.
Reacting purely on instinct, she sat straight up, fisted her other hand and aimed an uppercut to his chin. The figure grunted, then landed on his behind just as she recognized her opponent. “Cam?”
“Hey!” He rubbed his jaw with one hand and extended the other,
palm outward, to forestall another blow. “You seem to be determined to hurt me. First a stone pitcher and now an uppercut.”
“Sorry.” Maybe it was the mix of shock and admiration on his face or his rueful tone, but she had to struggle to turn a laugh into a hiccup. “Really, I’m sorry.” She covered her mouth with both hands as the laugh broke free. “So sorry.”
“I’m glad I’m such a source of amusement.”
The dry tone had her stifling another giggle. “You might stop sneaking around.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” But he smiled.
Then after a beat of silence, he said, “I’d apologize for touching you while you were asleep, but it would be a lie.”
The words made her vividly recall exactly what he’d been doing before she’d decked him, and she remembered what she’d decided before she’d drifted off. Straightening her shoulders, she clasped her hands together in her lap. “I don’t want an apology. I’ve been thinking, and I believe I have a solution for what’s going on between us.”
“I’m all ears.” He had a solution, too, and he’d been about to demonstrate it just before she’d decked him. “But make it fast. I can’t guarantee how long I can keep my hands off of you.”
“It’s simple really,” she said, her voice a little breathless. “We’re both very busy right now. What we need is a plan.”
“A plan?”
“Yes. When couples come to the castle to plan their weddings, the first thing we do is sketch out the parameters before we negotiate the details. But in our case I think we both want the same thing—a short-term, mutually satisfying physical relationship with no strings and no complications. After all, in a few days you’ll be going back to Washington and I’ll be working on the next wedding here at the castle. So while we have this time together I’m suggesting we have what my friends in Chicago always called ‘buddy sex.’ ”
“Buddy sex?” All Cam could do was stare at her. She might just as well have punched him again. What she was suggesting didn’t fit with her fantasy at all. Was it the arrangement she’d had with the boyfriend back in Chicago? The thought made him furious and brought that coppery taste back to his mouth.
