by Susan Conley
It wasn’t difficult to pick up on her emotions now. He sensed fear, mixed with excitement though, not terror, and the fear wasn’t entirely directed at him. Their struggle in the kitchen had only served to arouse him — that he felt sharply with no hope of a satisfying release — but he had not been the only one. The tousle had aroused her as well, so like the Bethia he knew.
“So, Tarzan.” Her chest rose and fell in quick successions. “Are you going to pound your chest now, affirm your dominance?”
He had her pinned against the wee car in the garage, her back against the front door, his hands pressed to the window on either side of her.
He left the humour out of his smile. She knew him better than she thought. “I’m giving you a choice now. You can either drive the car to a nice inn, when I say it’s far enough away, or you can ride in the trunk.”
The storm clouds in her eyes darkened. She attempted to back away from him, but there was nowhere to go. Leaning in closer, he drew a breath of her, fully intending to intimidate her with his size. She needed to relinquish her irrational need to resist him.
“I am definitely enrolling in karate classes.” His Bethia craned her neck as far from him as she could manage. “Stop breathing on me. Why do you think I’ll be in trouble if I go to the police?”
“It’s complicated. You’ll have to trust me.” He drew back slightly and felt her sigh.
“I don’t know you well enough to trust you.”
“You’ll have to use your intuition then, lass. I’ll tell you how I know you’re in danger when the time is right. This isn’t the time.”
She exhaled a perturbed breath that breezed over his neck. “I choose which hotel.”
“Fine.”
“Don’t think it’s going to be isolated … or cheap.”
“Nothing but the best, lass.” Calum felt for the pocket full of paper money. Still there. He scanned the car under his hands in a quick glance. “Whatever possessed you to purchase such a wee car?”
“Hey, I’m going along with you, okay? Not because you threw your weight around, Mister–I’m–So–Much–Bigger–Than–You–I–Can–Have–My–Own–Way because I truly hate that. So don’t think yourself superior. I’ll go to a hotel because I want to go.”
“Good enough. My concern is only for your safety.”
He’d grabbed the black satchel off the floor and her purse from the counter. When Beth slipped in behind the wheel, he ran around to the passenger side then tossed her the little bag. Inside were the keys like she’d promised. She didn’t resist, but drove the car out of the garage. Good sign.
She hadn’t called his bluff. Restraining her would have been a problem because driving a car wasn’t one of his strengths. Calum’s knowledge of the last century or so on Earth was adequate — he’d kept up with progress for the most part — but he couldn’t possibly catch every detail. Besides, watching and doing were not quite the same. No doubt he would master the car eventually.
“There wasn’t enough money in that backpack to warrant Bruce’s crazed behaviour.” She turned on to the main road. “Either he’s psycho, or there was something else in the backpack that I missed. Is this somehow connected to the university?”
He pulled on the zipper tab, amazed by the way the wee metal latches came apart. While keeping his wonder to himself, he couldn’t resist pulling the tab closed and open another time. Brilliant invention. “Are you certain the satchel contained not a thing but the money?”
“A small bag of marijuana too.”
Drugs. He pressed his fingers along the seams inside the bag and examined each pocket. “Nothing else?”
“No, nothing else.”
He turned to face her and knocked his head against the door frame. “Damn, we might as well be riding in a soapbox.”
She glanced at him, but he enjoyed no more than a hint of sensuality in her gaze before she focused back on the road. She masked her attraction to him by looking pleased at his discomfort.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she reminded.
“I don’t know if the satchel is connected to anyone at the university, but it’s a thought.”
“It strikes me odd that you don’t want to involve the police? Why do you think that could lead to trouble?”
“I am a soothsayer.” It was the best explanation he could give at the moment.
“You’re psychic? Yeah, right.” A little puff blew from her lips of pink, lips that glistened like the inside of a seashell.
He began to count the moments until he’d have the taste of her on his own lips. “I am right. You’ll realize it soon enough. I’ve told you the truth whether you believe it or not. I’m not your enemy, lass. You’re mixed up in something malicious and I’m here to help.”
A baffled glance came his way. “Okay, let’s assume for one minute you do have insight into all this. Why do you care? You don’t know me.”
“Why did you not keep the money?”
“Ill–gotten gains? No thanks. I’m not afraid to get involved and do the right thing. If you think about yourself all the time, then people get neglected or hurt.”
“People like you? Who hurt you, Beth?” He knew exactly who — her mother. The woman had the maternal instincts of a fish.
She pulled the car to a stop at a red light and flashed him the kind of look a wolf gives a rabbit. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you changed the subject again. So, you’re delivering me from a future crisis you’ve psychically foreseen because you’re one of those good guys who believes in doing the right thing, just like me.” Each word was carefully coated in sarcasm.
“Ah, well said. You’re a fine judge of character, Bethia.”
“Stop saying my name like that.”
He laced his smile with the promise of bedtime. “Like what?”
“My name’s not Bethia, and you sound like your mind is on pure sin when you draw my name out like that. It’s no way to gain my trust.”
He laughed a deep rolling sound gilded in jasmine and starry nights. “A fine judge of character, indeed,” he said under his breath.
“I heard that.”
Good. He turned and looked out the window. She’d caught his intent. He had no desire to mask it, but planned a slow seduction culminating in Beth begging for pure sin. They were man and woman — bonded souls. Their love already existed.
When he thought back to their past lives together, he saw how passion held them together even through tumultuous times. Passion he must rekindle, so she would open up to him and he could determine if there was truth in what Finn proclaimed.
Would he be waylaid by a mere performance problem? Her pleasure would be his. And not to be underestimated, his spirit was strong. Surely, when the time came, mind and spirit would fortify body and so tightly queued, woven in love and passion, there would be no stopping his rise to the occasion. No breaking of eternal bonds.
Somewhere deep in her subconsciousness, the love of his lives knew what was at stake. She’d best prepare herself. Her safety was but one of his priorities. Bethia had merely glimpsed the obsession prowling his mind for her.
Chapter 9
Tricksters Don’t Knock
Beth glanced at the warrior crumpled on her passenger seat. A message had been drilled into her head and became so firmly rooted she couldn’t remember not knowing it: never get into a car with a stranger — never mind that — never talk to strangers, never take candy from them, and certainly never entertain fantasies about them in your bed. It was unheard of.
Yet, here she was. And though she hadn’t taken his candy, something told her it would be the richest, smoothest chocolate, a sumptuous indulgence to be licked from his finely sculpted … Stop that! What was wrong with her? This guy had abducted her from her kitchen, fully acknowledged a sinful disposition, and
she had him covered in chocolate? It was time to get real — the controlling brute.
So what was it about him? He’d had her fully piqued back in the kitchen. Attacking him with the broom stick had felt like a game she wanted to play. He’d deflected her blows without hurting her, using force only to carry her to the car. She’d even heard him chuckle when he’d picked her up like he was having a grand time.
Why instead of fearing Calum did she feel safe with him? Way down in her bones, the warrior evoked security. And why did her stomach clench at the thought of walking into a police station? Beth trusted those gut feelings — her dad’s influence — if it doesn’t feel right, don’t do it. In her upside down world, it felt right to stick to Calum.
When they reached the bottom of Main Street, he peered out the window with dismay. “Are there no hills or mountains in this land?”
She shot him a bemused look. “In this land? No, Calum. The closest mountains are the Laurentians in the east. We do have the Niagara Escarpment though — a good view to keep a watch out for bad guys.”
“I prefer the mountains. Head east then, somewhere safe. Far from Ashbury is all the better.”
She scoffed and continued south. Did he really believe she’d drive to Quebec at his command?
Quebec.
A gasp rose in her throat. The business card from the backpack had been from a real estate office in Quebec City. The name came clear in her memory — Chantal Desjardins, RE/MAX Alliance. Could Chantal Desjardins shed light on the backpack mystery?
She turned east. Not because it was his idea. She would not be controlled by any man. Her gut feeling was one that impelled her to escape Ashbury. The driving force behind the feeling was undetermined and could just as easily be excitement as much as it could be fear for her safety. Adventure slipped in the window like a long–lost friend and curled down her leg to the gas pedal.
He had taken her by surprise back there in the kitchen. She thought he was flirting with her when he raked her body with a sensual look–over. He’d probably been calculating the ease with which he’d throw her over his shoulder. She’d be ready for him if he tried that again. An ember of excitement glowed at the thought. Okay, so she was slightly attracted to the guy — less than slightly, just a mere sliver of attraction — but that had no bearing on her urge to drive clear into another province with him.
Right.
Better watch that. She would not be ruled by physical attractions. Remember how Matthew had looked like the whole package? With a vital break–up dinner pending, she would not be fixating on another man — ever. She would be a career girl, a psychologist specializing in addictions. Sex was the addiction that had ruined her family. She would save others from the same fate.
The sun had set when Beth slowed the car and pulled into the Hilton parking lot. “Where are we then, lass?” he asked.
“Montreal.” She stretched out her legs with a satisfied smile and waited for his exclamation. He had abducted her with a pretext of protection from a threat he wouldn’t explain, so he shouldn’t be surprised to learn she would seek her own answers. Too bad for him those answers were a province away. Perhaps he’d learn a lesson in minding his own business.
“Very good.”
She felt her brow rise. “Very good? You’re not bothered that I’ve taken you so far from Ashbury?”
He shot her a dry look she couldn’t fathom interpreting. “No,” he answered simply. “You choose to stay here?”
She nodded her head. “Don’t you have to answer to anybody? No girlfriend at home who might be surprised to hear you’re in Quebec?”
“No.”
“Fine then, if you don’t want to share details of your personal life, so be it. I’m tired. Make sure my suite has a Jacuzzi, please and thank you.”
“I’ll see what I can do about a Whatoozi, but I’ll not have you staying alone, not yet.” His fair eyebrows drew together. “You can wipe that look off your face. I’ll not sleep in your bed.”
• • •
Calum made up an address and checked them in, ignoring Beth’s gape when he admitted to not having a credit card. And no, he didn’t need help with their luggage. Did he look like a man who needed a lad no bigger than a toothpick to carry a few bags? Not that they had any luggage. Beth made him stop at the gift shop for all sorts of toiletries.
It was a good thing she’d not seen his face when that little room she’d boxed them into had risen up in the air and taken them to the eighth floor. An elevator, he realized afterwards. He’d not liked it one bit. For a man used to living in the Highlands and given the choice, he preferred solid ground.
Calum locked the door to the hotel room after they entered. No suites were available, only a room with a king–sized bed. If it was suitable for a king, it should be adequate for Beth, but bloody hell — the room was tiny with only one bed.
Two upholstered chairs sat in front of a window flanking a round table. He looked from the enormous bed to the puny chair. Damn. It would be an uncomfortable night.
He dropped the shopping bag on the floor and flexed his fingers. “I need to clear my head. Where will I find the whiskey?” Inside the closet, he found hangers and a long board, ah, pressing clothes.
“Over here,” Beth said with a lopsided look as though he’d been in a Hilton before. It wouldn’t serve him to admit it, not yet. She left a small door open for him under a contraption named Braun.
Snatching a tiny bottle of Crown Royal from the shelf, he tried to imagine a purpose for such an apparition. “What kind of men are these Quebecers? Are they wee people then or can they not hold their liquor?”
Beth’s mouth almost quivered to a smile as she took a step back. “Just so you know, I don’t find you funny at all. Humour often doesn’t translate well across cultures. And speaking of that, where did you say you were from?”
He swallowed the contents in one not nearly satisfying swig. “From a place where you’d as soon die as serve a customer a piddle as that.”
Beth sighed. “Can’t you just phone room service for more instead of complaining? I feel clammy from the drive and need to scrub the scent of Bruce Hopkins from my skin, so I’m going to take a shower.” She pulled a white robe from the closet.
“All alone?” Calum raised a brow suggestively.
“Not funny.” With the robe tucked under an arm, she crossed the room and snatched a desk chair that she pulled behind her towards the bathroom.
Too damn cute for her own good. “Must you sit down?”
She stopped to glare at him. “No, Calum, I’m wedging this chair under the doorknob — the locked doorknob — as extra insurance against you. If you dare come near that door — ”
He flinched. “‘Twas a jest, Beth. I’ll not intrude on your bathing.” Noting a lack of humour let alone arousal in her expression, he decided she was in no mood for him to clarify when she may deem his intrusion appropriate.
The door closed abruptly. The sounds of a scuff and rattle followed. Calum snorted disapproval and then looked over the room. She said to phone for service. A fine idea. A telephone sat on the desk against the wall. Surely he could manage room service; it was self–explanatory. He picked up the phone and frowned — not one offer to serve — but there was a bell tone.
“Ah,” he said smugly, putting the phone down. A servant would answer his page. He crossed his arms over his chest and peered out the window.
Ten minutes later, he still had no whiskey.
Though he hated to leave the room to seek help, he was resigned to do just that when a soft wind gusted behind him lifting the hair off his neck. No windows were open to let in such a breeze. His leg muscles tensed. Windless breezes preceded only one occurrence.
“Bloody hell,” he mumbled.
“You were supposed to speak into the mouthpiece,” said a voic
e behind him. “Humans are pitiable mind readers.”
Calum steeled himself and turned.
Leaning against the wardrobe was the trickster, dressed in a pale green waistcoat over close–fitting breeches belted in black leather with a gleaming, square buckle set in his middle. One knee–high, black, cuffed boot was propped casually on the seat of the chair.
“Finn, I didn’t expect to be seeing you again so soon,” he whispered and glanced toward the thin door with Beth on the other side.
“You’re so newly human,” Finn said. “You’ll be seeing me fine enough.”
That wasn’t what Calum had meant. He knew humans weren’t able to see Finn unless he allowed it. He’d meant — what the hell was Finn doing there?
“How is it, being human once again?” Finn pushed off the chair to give Calum a look–over. “I expected to see you in a tangle of bed sheets regardless of your,” his gaze dropped to Calum’s groin, “‘incapacity.’ Is your true love not happy to see you?”
Vowing to control his temper before his head burst, Calum counted to five and took a deep breath. A soft grunt escaped him as he unclenched his teeth. He and Finn were eye–to–eye. Calum took a step back. He would not be examined like a prime specimen.
“Perhaps I can help,” said Finn.
Ah now, there’s a suggestion. He gave the immortal his full attention.
Beth’s voice sounded from the bathroom. “I could have sworn I brought that robe in here.”
Finn’s lips curled in a thin smile. He held the white terry robe up between two fingers.
Calum rolled his eyes. That wasn’t the help he’d had in mind.
“You don’t want Bethia out here in a wee towel?” Finn asked.
“Well …”
“Calum,” Beth called. “I’ve washed some things in the sink, so I need a robe. Bring me one, but turn your back first. Just hold the robe out, and I’ll grab it.”
The trickster put a finger to his lips.
