Scotland for Christmas (Harlequin Superromance)

by Cathryn Parry

  She glanced up at him from beneath her eyelashes, but he was looking away from her. Checking in all directions, like a working bodyguard.

  She studied his identification card, which was a New York State driver’s license. Jacob Ross. New York City. A West Side address. A November birthday. He was two years older than her—early thirties—and he was five feet eleven inches tall.

  “Everything copacetic?” he said in a somewhat testy voice.

  “Lovely, Jacob.” She smiled tersely and passed him back his identification card. She was used to “testy” men—the trait seemed to run in her family. He didn’t scare her one bit. “Please don’t take it personally. I’m trained to be careful.”

  “Any other questions?” he asked. It was...interesting how everything he was feeling showed in his face, his voice, his posture. He hid nothing from her. He had a smoldering intensity that was completely unnerving, like she had never seen before.

  And right now, it was very clear that he didn’t approve of her. She felt a twinge just realizing it.

  Ah, well, she would work to change his opinion. But first, the most important thing was to help him understand that she needed him to accompany her to the street discreetly, as if he was a friend here to visit her, rather than a paid bodyguard.

  “If you don’t mind, I’d prefer that when we go out there again, you take care not to appear to be my driver,” she said as pleasantly as she could. “And I’d prefer to sit up front in your car, in case anyone is watching us out the window.”

  “That isn’t protocol,” he snapped.

  “It’s my protocol.” She smiled at him. “I’m sure you won’t mind.”

  “I do mind, actually.”

  She didn’t know what to say. His response was just rude.

  They were silent for a moment, sizing each other up. He had the advantage with his dark sunglasses. But she was no lightweight either—she could handle anything.

  “Look,” he said finally, “it’s not personal. I’m trained not to talk to or be familiar with my protectees. But I’ve got to say something.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “Yes, I’m listening.”

  He glanced around her room. “Why are they letting you live here? This place is a security nightmare. I would never let my protectees stay here. See that window?” He pointed. “It’s sniper bait. And this building only has one way in and one way out. With your money and your profile, you should be living in the Ritz-Carlton. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “That would go over well in my study groups, Mr. Ross,” she said calmly. “I’m surprised you don’t see the danger in your suggestion.”

  Jacob’s mouth opened and then closed.

  She stood patiently. Waiting. From this position, she could see the corners of his eyes behind those dark glasses. He was gazing at her warily. His expressive eyes were a clear blue, as intense as he was. As if he had a hidden banked fire, burning within.

  He expelled a breath. “Like I said, it’s my training.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and gingerly moved her away from the open window. “It’s what I do.”

  Then he walked over and lowered the blinds. “I get people door to door safely. That’s what you can expect from me this weekend. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

  This was an interesting situation for her. Maybe she should consider it another of her tests, the steps she’d been taking in working toward becoming the leader of her family’s personal-care products business.

  At least she didn’t have to pretend with him.

  “Can you do so and still act low-key?” she asked, rubbing her arms. “You know, not broadcast that the person you’re with—me—finds it necessary to hire a bodyguard just to drive a few hours, the way most people do every day as a matter of course?”

  “You’re not most people, Ms. Sage,” he said between his teeth. “You know this, don’t you?”

  He could be a big problem to her. Rajesh was right—Jacob, in his intensity, stuck out. He also didn’t care that he stuck out.

  She cleared her throat. “What I do is stay low-key, Mr. Ross. You’ve heard the phrase ‘fly beneath the radar’?”

  His frown intensified.

  “That’s what we need to do today.”

  He didn’t seem convinced. “You don’t know all the bad things that can happen to a person,” he said in a low voice.

  She didn’t like to hear this kind of talk. “Do you feel uncomfortable with this job the way I’m describing it?” she asked bluntly.

  He nodded. “Yes, I have to admit that I do. Your safety is my highest concern. We can’t just waltz out there and—”

  “Would you feel better if we canceled altogether?”

  His brows flew up. “No, not at all.”

  Still looking flustered, he removed his sunglasses. Held them out to her, and then placed them on her dresser. “Okay, fine. Against my better judgment, we’ll do it your way. Here, look...”

  He took off his suit jacket, shook it out and folded it. “I’m not a Secret Service agent anymore. I’m just your friendly limo driver. Satisfied?”

  But that only accentuated the gun and the handcuffs at his waist. He looked so flustered at the realization that she had to smile.

  She placed her hand to her mouth to cover it, but it didn’t stop her feeling from coming out.

  He gazed helplessly at her. Without the glasses on, his eyes were so blue...a naked blue, with naked, desperate emotion shining within.

  “It isn’t funny,” he said.

  “No, I suppose it isn’t. I was just wondering what you’re like when you’re not on the job. Though I suppose you’re never not on the job, are you?”

  Wordlessly, he shook his head. Beneath his gruff surface, he seemed...barren and bleak and out of his element.

  Maybe she had completely misread him.

  “This is what we’ll do,” she decided. “I’ll walk downstairs with you to the car. I won’t touch your arm—your gun hand will be free. It’s all right, you can put your jacket on if you’d like. But I really would be more comfortable without the sunglasses. Can you live with that?”

  “Sounds reasonable.” Sheepishly, he shrugged his arms into the jacket. “You’re lucky. Usually we carry a radio, too. Sometimes an earpiece.”

  “Then I’m glad I’m a CEO-in-the-making, and not a head of state under your protection.”

  He smiled the barest hint of a smile, and then glanced at her again. He seemed to be seeing her through a new perspective.

  It pleased her. She wanted him to know that she had big dreams she was acting on. It was the reason she put herself through this loneliness in New York. To her, her goals were important, even if she sometimes needed to play down who she was in order to succeed with the people she lived and worked amongst.

  “I behave discreetly,” she explained, “because I need to make a good impression on my classmates. I need this degree in order to be successful in my uncle’s—in my family’s—company and this is the simplest way to achieve it. If I walked about telling people who I am, open about the fact of who we are, it could be a problem. People react to my family in strange ways, Mr. Ross. Some are angry or envious. Some think about the favors they might gain if they befriend us. It’s akin to winning the lottery, you see. You can only really trust the people you knew before you hit it big, and even then, money changes people.”

  It was the most she’d ever spoken on the topic, the most honest she’d been since she’d arrived in New York.

  She bit her lip, surprised at herself. Jacob was outwardly staring, saying nothing.

  “Are you sure you want to make this trip with me?” she asked. “It might be a long three days.”

  “Let’s get you there,” he said quickly, as if he was afraid she’d change her mind. “Let me get
you there.”

  She felt a surprising tug of warmth. “All right.” She gestured to her bed. “Let me just get my case.”

  “Your case?” he asked, even though he was plainly looking at her case lying shut on the coverlet.

  She sighed. She was forever making mistakes—it was the small things that tripped her up most, betraying what she tried to keep hidden. She just couldn’t let people know who she was, not really.

  Then again, Jacob had a pretty good idea already, just by virtue of the job he was assigned. She wouldn’t have to be on guard quite so much with him. It was a relief, actually.

  She picked up the case. “Sorry, I meant to say suitcase.” She put it down on the floor, extending the handle. “Are you ready for our weekend adventure, Mr. Ross?”

  He looked at her as if he wasn’t quite sure.

  CHAPTER TWO

  SHE HAD SURPRISED HIM.

  Isabel Sage wasn’t anything like Jacob had expected. Oh, on the surface she looked just like the photo Lee had sent him. Poised and put together. With her long blond hair, her list of accomplishments and that smiling expression, she appeared the consummate Golden Girl. Until he’d actually met her, he would have thought her a spokesmodel. Or a newscaster. Maybe a television personality.

  Even a fresh-faced, though privileged, girl next door.

  But beneath the surface, she was something else. An heiress to an industrialist’s fortune? Nope, he never would have guessed that. He interacted with people from that background every day, and Ms. Sage was unique because she didn’t display an entitled attitude.

  Instead, she was accommodating. Pleasing. Appealing.

  He couldn’t let her too close to him—though he understood why she was asking him to treat her the way she was. He was starting to respect that she had a legitimate strategy, flying under the radar as she was. Maybe he could handle her sitting up front with him, at least until they left Manhattan.

  “We’ll switch out the seating arrangement once we’re out of the city,” he said to her, taking the handle of her suitcase. “When no one can see us, you can go back to sitting behind the partition.”

  Ms. Sage said nothing. Her expression was set in that accommodating smile again, that really said very little.

  He just couldn’t stop staring at her. He knew he should move faster, but he was stuck, one hand resting on the doorknob, the other gripping her suitcase.

  And then a call came in to her cell phone.

  She looked blankly at him.

  He shook his head slightly. Don’t. Don’t pick up, he willed her. We need to get going.

  But she was already glancing at the screen. Not much passed her face in terms of emotion. This woman would make a great poker player.

  “Excuse me.” She turned her back to Jacob. Spoke in low tones into the cell phone. No longer the American accent she probably used to blend in but a sweet lilt to her words that he clearly recognized as Scottish.

  Her voice struck a chord in him, deep inside. Made him feel centered in a way he hadn’t expected to feel in her presence.

  Mentally shaking himself, he focused on what she was saying. Obviously, she knew the caller. Her voice had risen in surprise.

  “Where are you?” she asked the caller. “Don’t worry, I know it’s confusing. Please stay put, I’ll come to you instead.”

  Oh, no. Walkabout, he automatically thought. His Secret Service team’s expression for dignitaries who suddenly went off script, necessitating a massive operational response to accommodate the protectee’s whims.

  As Jacob went rigid, his hand automatically moving to a radio at his belt that wasn’t there because this was an unofficial operation, she was fumbling at her desk for a pen, holding the cheap plastic cap between her teeth as she scribbled.

  “No, it’s not a problem about being lost,” she said. “Yes, I can find you.” Laughter seemed to flutter from her lips. “Actually, I’m just thankful that you’re here. You have no idea. God, how I’ve missed you.”

  What the hell?

  She turned to look at Jacob, but he just gripped her suitcase handle tighter.

  “Change of plans,” she said lightly to him as she pocketed her cell phone. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Jacob, but...er, we won’t be needing your services after all.”

  We? Who’d been on the phone? A boyfriend?

  “Ma’am,” Jacob said by rote, and then stopped, remembering. This wasn’t a regular assignment. All his training was out the window as far as Ms. Sage was concerned.

  He sighed, swiping his hand over his forehead. She was going through the clothes in her closet, shuffling through hangers.

  “Ah, Isabel, why don’t you tell me what’s going on so that I can help, too.”

  “That was my boyfriend.” Her cheeks were flushed and rosy. “I’m sorry, Jacob. I know this is unexpected and I’m as surprised as you are, but we really don’t need you to drive us to Vermont.”

  “What? What are you talking about? What’s changed?”

  “Alex dislikes security. He...especially dislikes guns....” She glanced at Jacob’s midriff, letting the sentence fade away.

  Instinctively he covered his service weapon. There was no way he could lose this assignment. “Where is this Alex?” he barked. Jacob disliked the guy already.

  At the tone of his voice, Ms. Sage froze, kneeling, a dress in her hand, in the midst of unzipping the upright suitcase he still held so she could stuff it inside.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, unhanding her suitcase and stepping back. Watch the intensity. He couldn’t just order this woman around. He had no authority over her. She could fire him at any time, and it appeared she just had.

  And oh, cripes, he needed this assignment. The simple truth was he needed her more than she needed him. She had little use for him, in fact.

  He eyed the clothing she was adding to her luggage. “Are you still going to Vermont?” he asked in a calmer voice.

  “Yes,” she said, zipping the suitcase again. “I realized I forgot an outfit. In any event, Alex and I will handle the logistics of getting there, thank you.”

  “At least let me drive you to him,” he said. Wherever this Alex was, they could all discuss it there. Jacob would prevail. He had to.

  One advantage was that Alex apparently didn’t know enough to get himself a cab. And it appeared he was calling Isabel on a borrowed cell phone.

  He looked at Isabel, but she was shaking her head. “No, really, I’ll call a taxi and—”

  A knock sounded on her door. Inwardly, Jacob groaned again—nothing about this day was going right—but he did his job and opened the door before she could.

  The short young man—mid to late twenties—with horn-rimmed glasses and spiked hair stood in her doorway. The one with the Che Guevara T-shirt.

  Really? Really? Jacob thought.

  “I didn’t get to say hello to your boyfriend,” Che Guevara said to Isabel. He peered at Jacob and stuck out his hand.

  “And you are?” Jacob said, squeezing Che’s hand hard, playing this for all it was worth. If he got Ms. Sage tangled up in her own lies, then she couldn’t dismiss him so easily.

  “I’m Charles. I’m Isabel’s economics partner.” He winced and shook out his hand.

  Isabel hastened to intervene. This time she just looked confused about her backfired plans. “Charles, thanks for stopping by. I, ah, sent the document to your email already.”

  Jacob noted that her voice once again held no trace of a Scottish accent.

  “I got it,” Charles said. “Have a good weekend.” He left them.

  “How is it that he’s a business student and yet is wearing a Che Guevara shirt?” Jacob asked her. “Doesn’t he know Che was a Communist?”

  A terrorist, too, if you asked him, but he wouldn’t
scare Isabel by using that word.

  Isabel closed the door and smiled tightly at him. “Charles is a genius at economics. His father is an investment banker, and Charles will probably work with his firm, too, someday. Think of it as him trying to express his rebel side while he still can.”

  Everybody was fooling somebody, it seemed. Without asking, Jacob picked up her suitcase. The good thing about Charles’s visit was that Isabel had dropped all talk about not needing him to drive her across the city to pick up her boyfriend.

  As he held the door for her, Isabel smiled tremulously. He gave her a halfhearted smile of his own. Already he’d ratcheted down his intensity.

  His intensity. He didn’t know why he’d thought of that.

  Just...damn. What was happening to him?

  * * *

  OH, WHAT A tangled web we weave....

  Isabel’s head was reeling. Never in a million years had she expected Alex to show up for the wedding. This changed everything. Now, she looked forward to the weekend—she’d added a dress because maybe they could go out to a romantic dinner alone.

  His presence also solved her immediate problem of needing to make a good impression on her uncle. Malcolm had the advantage this weekend because it was his wedding, but Isabel couldn’t sit back, either.

  Unfortunately, Jacob needed to leave.

  She glanced at him. His brows were knit as he searched the storefronts for the Starbucks where Alex waited. Poor Alex. He’d asked the taxi driver at Kennedy airport to take him to her university, but the driver had dropped him at the wrong one. There were so many in Manhattan.

  Jacob pulled the black SUV alongside the storefront with its familiar green logo. He didn’t seem too concerned, however. She unbuckled her seat belt as he turned to her.

  “I’ll wait here for you.” He gave her an earnest look she hadn’t seen in his expression before.

  “No, please, we’re fine. Thank you for the ride.”

  “I’m not leaving you, Isabel.”

  He had that steadfast look to his gaze, the one she was starting to recognize. It was refreshing, actually. Nice to think there was someone in this big, foreign city that she could count on.