Though she’d dreamed of the man almost every night for the past four months since she’d met him, this was the first time he’d uttered a single word in her dreams.
“I’m turning into a total freakazoid.”
She spoke the words aloud as she pushed up to one elbow and swung her legs over the side of her small bed. Something had to give and pretty darn soon, too. Dreaming about this guy every single night was making her crazy. What she’d originally thought was some simple infatuation had lingered until she’d begun to worry that it was morphing into obsession.
How was she supposed to concentrate on her work at the dig site if she couldn’t get more than two or three hours’ sleep without that man running around inside her head? This opportunity was way too important for her to blow it over some guy she’d met only once in her life.
Not even the soothing sound of rain pattering against the window would lull her back to sleep now. She glanced over to the clock, counting the hours backward on her fingers to determine the time difference before she grabbed up the phone. It might be five in the morning here in Scotland, but in Los Angeles, it was barely even bedtime.
“Hello?”
“It’s getting worse.” Without preamble, Abby launched into her tirade, sounding as frantic as she felt and not caring one little bit. If anyone could help her think this through, it would be Casey.
“Abby? Is that you? Damn, girl. Isn’t it like, middle of the night or something over there?”
“Five a.m., not that it matters. I can’t sleep. Every time I shut my eyes, he’s there. I’m losing it, Casey. I’m even hearing his voice now.”
Just over a month ago, she’d confessed to Casey all about the mysterious Scot she’d dragged home after their last Girls’ Night Out in Denver. She’d told her about the dreams, too.
“Is he still in your bed? Still making love to you?”
“Not by the end of this one.” She probably shouldn’t have shared that, in the dreams, Colin was always in bed. Not that it took much effort for her to rationally explain that part away. It was likely only because the first time she’d ever seen him, he had been in her bed. What she couldn’t rationally dismiss was that the bed and the room she saw in her dreams were definitely not hers. In fact, they looked like something straight out of a museum re-creation. “And, anyway, I told you, we don’t ever actually make love in the dream, it’s more like—”
“Oh, excuse me,” Casey interrupted. “Wild foreplay, then. You and I both know where those dreams are leading, girl. If you ever finish one out, you will be making love, trust me.”
Not at all true. She’d just gotten much closer to finishing one and she’d ended up in the mother of all nightmares.
“I’m telling you, it’s that wish we made,” Casey insisted. “I don’t know how, but that has to be it. You ended up with a naked Mr. Perfect in your bed and the day I got home, Sam and I set the date for a Christmas wedding so you’d be back in time and then Lauren called just yesterday to say her doctor confirmed she’s pregnant. I know it’s crazy, Abby, but I’m convinced this guy is haunting your dreams because he’s the one you’ve been waiting for your whole life. You wished for him, you got him, and then you let him slip through your fingers. Now you’ve got to go hunt him down, girl. There’s no question about it. He’s The One.”
“No way,” Abby muttered halfheartedly, all the while remembering how the lights had gone that crazy green color when they’d made their wishes that night. “Besides, I wouldn’t even know where to begin to look for him.”
Unless she contacted her ex-professor in Boulder, but there was no way she was going to humiliate herself like that again. It had been bad enough calling the woman up the last time to ask her to come get her cousin. Professor Navarro probably already thought she was some sleezy barfly psycho. What would she think if she got a second call? Hey, remember me? The one who had your naked cousin in my house? Um . . . speaking of Colin, could you tell me where to find him?
Not happening.
“Not a single idea where to look for him,” she repeated insistently.
“Yes you do. Didn’t you say he told you where he lived in Scotland? Think, girl! You’re right there. I mean, the whole country probably isn’t much bigger than Colorado. Hunt him down. Go see him. You have to do this, Abby. It’s like fate or something. It’s way bigger than you. Besides, you want to be able to sleep again, don’t you?”
Abby caught herself nodding along as her friend spoke, knowing from the roiling in her stomach she’d already made her decision. Fool that she was, she was going to do it.
“Okay, fine. I’ll Google him as soon as we get off the phone.”
“Then we’re off the phone now. You call me as soon as you meet up with him again, you hear? I want to know absolutely everything! Now, go.”
“Bye, Casey. Thanks.”
Her words echoed back from the dead line, her friend already having disconnected.
“All-righty, then,” she attempted to reassure herself, crawling out of her bed and padding across the uneven floorboards to the old end table she used as a desk in this little room.
Not that she’d dream of complaining about her accommodations. She knew how lucky she was the dig organizers had found this wonderful old bed-and-breakfast so close to their dig site. Swan House fairly resonated with history. And having access to a wireless internet connection, even as unreliable as it sometimes was, was a rare and unexpected blessing.
“Dun Ard,” she murmured, her fingers flying over the keys.
To her surprise, it popped up on the first page of entries. Not a town at all but instead, an ancient family holding turned into a rustic-looking hunting lodge. A quick MapQuest search informed her that the lodge was within a few hours’ drive from here. With the rain, there would be no site work today and because of that, no reason she couldn’t use one of the vans.
She didn’t have a single excuse not to do this. None except her own cowardice, and that was the one excuse she simply wasn’t willing to accept.
Less than an hour later, freshly showered and more determined than ever, Abby stepped into the hallway and headed down the stairs. She refused to allow herself to dwell on what would happen once she reached her destination, instead focusing on the journey itself.
Too much thought on what she’d do when she actually came face-to-face with the inhabitant of her dreams, and her determination might well evaporate before she even got started.
“Abigail!”
Her footsteps faltered as she recognized the voice of her benefactor, Jonathan Flynn, the man responsible for her great fortune in being chosen for a coveted spot on this dig.
“Where are you headed so early this morning, my dear? I thought the rain delay would have everyone sleeping late.”
“Sightseeing. I thought rather than waste the day, I’d take in some of the countryside.” The lie fell from her lips as easily as if it were truth.
“What a marvelous idea.” Flynn’s face creased in a smile as he approached. “I’ll join you on your explorations, if you don’t mind. I’ve been wanting to get out and about a bit.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Flynn. I’d really prefer to go alone. I’ve begun work on my initial findings report and I need some time to think through what we’ve found so far and what the implications are.”
Abby hoped the lie would satisfy him because, truly, she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. But considering the fact he’d made it obvious on more than one occasion that his interest in her wasn’t entirely confined to the professional arena, somehow, confessing she was off to hunt for a man who haunted her dreams didn’t seem a wise idea.
“Jonathan,” he corrected, any real emotion masked by the false smile he so often wore. “We’re far too close for such formality, Abigail. It would mean so much to me if you’d but use my given name. As I’ve asked you before.”
“Jonathan,” she murmured in response, a ripple of guilt troubling her conscience. Yes, he’d asked before. And, yes, she’d ignore
d the request, not wanting to lead him on.
“That’s better. Here, then.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. “Take my car. I’ll feel better knowing you’re driving it rather than one of those lumbering site vans.”
“Thank you, Jonathan.”
She reached for the keys, surprised when he captured her hand.
“My cellular phone is lying in the passenger seat, just in case you need anything. You have the number for Swan House with you?” He paused, not continuing until she nodded her affirmation. “Very well. Be careful, my Abigail. The roads are wet and narrow. I’d be quite distressed should any harm befall you.” With that warning, he lifted her hand, brushing his lips against her wrist before letting go and walking away.
Abby let out a shaky breath and all but ran through the big front door and down to the car park. Once in the vehicle, she wiped the rain from her face, fastened her seat belt, and leaned her head back against the plush leather headrest.
Was this whole road trip a huge mistake?
With a last glance back toward the house, she started up the engine and pulled out onto the road. She hadn’t seen Jonathan standing in the parlor window watching her, but she was sure he’d been there. It was as if she could feel his eyes following her.
Jonathan Flynn was a great guy, the kind of guy most women would give their eyeteeth to have show an interest in them. Perhaps it was only that his interest in her was so obvious—and the teasing she took from the others on the team as a result of it—that made her uncomfortable.
He certainly had been blessed with all the prerequisites to classify him as a perfect catch. He was wealthy, handsome, intelligent, and generous to a fault. She knew that she should be feeling lucky to have caught his eye.
Instead she simply felt uncomfortable.
Again she sighed, tightening her hold on the steering wheel.
More the fool, her. Here she was, driving away from perfect catch material, headed toward some mystery dream man she’d met only once. One who’d never bothered to try to see her again after spending that one night with her.
Which probably should tell her something important about her own mental state, not to mention what kind of guy this Colin MacAlister really was.
Abby chewed on the corner of her mouth, considering for a moment whether to turn the car around and head straight back to Swan House.
No. She had to do this. It was the only way to get Colin MacAlister out of her system. And without a doubt, she’d reached a point where getting him out of her system was the only way to save her sanity.
Eight
Will you be wanting yer tea here in the sitting room, Mr. Flynn?”
Flynn O’Dannan turned with a start toward the elderly hotel keeper, shaken by her use of his name. Of course. She thought it his surname. Not for the first time he silently acknowledged the foolishness of his having used any part of his real name in this charade.
“Yes, thank you. Over by the fire will be fine.”
He turned his back on the woman, stroking his thumb and forefinger against his chin as he peered through the ruffled curtains to watch Abigail drive away.
Abigail. So trusting. So innocent. So absolutely desirable. The latter realization had come as a pleasant surprise over the last couple of weeks. Having her turn out to be the one he sought would certainly bring an unexpected bonus. But was she the one? Was she all Mortal or was it the Faerie blood rushing through her veins that called to him?
She’s Faerie! Every one of his instincts screamed the accusation every time she came near. And though his instincts rarely let him down, he wanted proof before he made any drastic moves. Absolute, irrefutable proof.
But how?
Just a taste. Her blood can’t deceive.
No! With a snort of disdain, he turned his back on the window to take a seat by the crackling fireplace. He would not allow the demon Bloodlust to lure him down that path again. He had more than enough poor choices haunting his past without adding another.
Joining the rebellion against the Earth Mother had been only his first mistake. His second, choosing to follow Reynard Servans, had been equally unwise.
As always when he allowed himself to dwell on the past, fear and regret curdled in his stomach as if it had been only yesterday.
His poor choices had resulted in his being exiled from his home world, banished forever to the Mortal Plain, his precious magic stripped from him.
Drawing on his inner discipline, Flynn loosened his grip on the arms of his chair and reached for the now cooled cup of tea.
That was all behind him now.
Once he’d faced the truth of his reality, he’d found the power to move forward. He wanted nothing so much as to go home to Wyddecol. Not to rule, but simply to live peacefully in the home of his ancestors, bathed in the glow of Faerie Magic.
Lo, but he missed the feel of the Magic coursing through his body!
Just a taste.
His grip on the cup tightened as he fought to ignore the ever-present demon.
There was a better way, though it required time and patience. A female descendant of the Fae could locate and open a portal to the Realm of Faerie. He needed only to find such a woman and convince her to help him. The woman he needed was Fae, but she was Mortal as well.
In Abigail Porter, he hoped to have found such a one as he sought.
Mortals were, for the most part, easily manipulated if you were clever and patient. Take the time to win a Mortal’s heart and she’d do anything you asked of her. Winning Abigail’s heart should be an easy enough task. In his experience, Mortals were vastly materialistic. He had only to shower her with her heart’s desires to win her over, and that was something he could certainly do.
Once he was sure she was the one.
Too often he’d seen the results of mistaking some woman for what she was not. And as for him, he was through making mistakes.
Flynn reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black case. One glance inside assured him the GPS tracker in his cell phone was functioning properly, giving him an accurate record of wherever Abigail traveled on this little jaunt of hers. He’d worked far too hard to find her to carelessly allow her to slip away now.
Not that he actually thought she’d run away. Already he could feel her molding to his desires. Even on a day off, she chose to spend her time working on his project, to make it better, to please him.
Rising to his feet, he walked back to the window, staring off into the distance, thoughts of Abigail filling his mind. Filling his senses.
Just a taste.
Once again he rejected the lure of the Bloodlust. There was a better way. Win Abigail’s heart, and she would do his bidding without question. A better way, and though it would take time, he had all the time in the world.
Nine
The rain had turned to a fine, light mist by the time Abby pulled into the car park at Dun Ard. Her stomach knotted into a tight little ball as her foot hit the crushed gravel and she fought the urge to turn around and run as she made her way down the walk and up the massive stone stairs.
This was it. In a matter of moments, she’d be face-to-face with the man she couldn’t seem to escape. Though she’d played that meeting over and over in her mind as the miles had slipped past, now that she had arrived, she still had no idea what she’d say to him.
Hi, remember me? We slept together that one time. You kissed me good-bye and my lips tingled for a week. I’ve dreamed about you making love to me every single night since then.
Yeah. Probably not. If he didn’t already think her a stalker, that little speech would push him over the edge.
At the top stair, her stomach flip-flopped again. What if he didn’t remember her? What if he wasn’t here? What if they’d never even heard of him?
A fine, prickly layer of perspiration broke out on her skin, and she dragged a hand over her forehead before opening the door and stepping inside.
“Good day, Miss. Welcome to Dun Ard.
” A smiling, ruddy-faced woman stood up from her seat behind a large antique desk, extending her hand in greeting. “I’m Margaret MacAlister. Are you looking for lodging?”
“No. I’m . . . uh . . .” Abby gulped in a breath, hoping to steady her shaking voice. “I’m actually looking for someone. Colin MacAlister. Is he here?”
The woman’s smile disappeared, a suspicious frown wrinkling her brow as she clasped her hands at her waist, looking for all the world like the disapproving headmistress in an old English movie.
Oh, lord. That didn’t look at all like the “I’ve-never-heard-of-the-man” face.
“And just what might you be wanting with my Colin?”
Her Colin?
A new suspicion hit Abby like a tidal wave, a suspicion that made her feel as if she might be sick all over the carpet in this lovely, ancient-looking lobby.
What if he was married? This woman did say her name was MacAlister.
“I. . . uh. . . he, that is, Colin . . .” Abby’s tongue felt remarkably as it had the time she’d visited the dentist and he’d had to give her Novocain twice to deaden her gums. “I met Colin a few months ago when he visited Denver. I only wanted to stop by and say hello.”
Not true. She’d wanted much more than hello, though even to herself she couldn’t say what, exactly.
Almost immediately Margaret’s face brightened. “Well then, Miss, it’s no my Colin yer wanting. He’s no ever stepped foot in the States.”
“I beg your pardon?” Oh, his feet had been in the States, all right. Not only had they been in the States, they’d been in her bed. This woman might not want to believe her husband had been there—hell, she didn’t want to believe Colin had a wife!—but it was fact.
Clearly, she trod a fine line here. It might be best for everyone if she said nothing more. Just turned around and walked away. There was still a chance for her to save face before it was too late.
But, as if controlled by a force outside herself, the words slipped from her mouth. “He told me his home was Dun Ard.”
Highlander’s Curse Page 6
