Her heart pounding so hard now she could scarce hear her own thoughts, she yanked the door open, unable to withstand a moment more of suspense. “Oh,” she said, the word a gasp of delight she couldn’t contain. Because unless she’d lost her mind completely, that was him. Standing not a foot away from her. Where she could reach right out and touch him. “It is you,” she whispered. And a joy and happiness that was likely unwise to indulge in, but impossible to tamp down, filled her clear to bursting. He had come for her!
At that moment, that was all that mattered. Not that they’d have to part once more, or that parting again would be made even more difficult the more time they spent together. No, at the moment, all that mattered was that he was here, standing before her, where she could reach out and touch him. Fall into his arms once more, feel his lips on hers, his hands…
So full of her giddy reunion excitement, it took her a moment to notice that he wasn’t looking at her with the same joyful glee that she knew was beaming out at him. In fact, his mouth hung open and his expression could only be described as one of complete and utter shock.
“Maura?”
“Aye,” she said, confusion swiftly crowding out the joy.
His eyes closed as if some sort of truth had just dawned on him. “You’re…?” His chin dipped momentarily and he blew out a long breath. When he looked back to her, his face was blank, utterly devoid of any emotion and completely unreadable.
Without knowing exactly why, Maura felt a chill creep over her that had nothing to do with the cold air whistling in through the open doorway. She folded her arms tightly in front of her, tucking her hands against her body for warmth. Hands she’d just moments ago thought about using to tug him through that door and up against her body.
If she didn’t know better, she could only guess he had no idea she would be the one opening that door. But… what other purpose could he have for being here?
He was shaking his head, letting out a bitter laugh that was so unlike the man she’d been with the night before. “Jesus, he couldn’t have planned this little set-down any better if he’d been alive and standing in front of me.”
“I’m sorry?” she asked, wondering now if perhaps something had happened to him between Calyth and Ballantrae. He sounded a wee bit… well, daft.
He looked at her squarely then, and those bright gold eyes of his pierced her, and not in that sensual, electric way they had last night. He had an almost fatalistic look on his face now as he asked, “You’re Maura Sinclair?”
She nodded, still quite confused. “Aye, I’ve already said as much.” She shifted back a step, “You… you look as if you’ve seen a ghost or something. Did you no’ come looking for me?”
He was still studying her, as if she were some specimen, or artifact he'd dug up, but couldn’t quite figure out how it had gotten there. “Are you telling me you don’t know who I am?”
“I believe you’re the man whose bed I climbed out of this morning, if that’s what you mean,” Frowning now, she let her arms fall to her side. “What’s going on here? Why are you behaving so oddly?”
Now he frowned. “So you’re telling me you don’t know, then? Who I really am?”
She folded her arms, temper beginning to rise. “Beyond my carnal knowledge of you, you mean? No. The only thing I know is what the truck driver, Angus, called you. T.J.” She studied him. He appeared downright suspicious of something, but for the life of her, she couldn’t imagine what. After all, he’d chased her across the mountains, not the other way around. “Am I supposed to know something more?”
“Did you know a man by the name of Taggart Morgan?”
The question caught her so off guard, she couldn’t answer him right off. Now it was she who regarded him suspiciously, realizing quite too belatedly that despite their activities of the night before, and the foolish emotions he’d roused inside of her, he was still an absolute stranger to her. She took a slow step back, reaching for the door, debating if she could get it closed and at least one lock thrown before he stormed the castle. Which, judging from his expression, he was quite close to doing. “Why do you ask?” she said finally.
He swore beneath his breath. “The ‘T’ in those initials stands for Tag. Taggart by birth.” He folded his arms now, regarding her closely. “The ‘J’ is for James.”
Now it was her turn to stare in open-mouthed shock. “Taggart… James. Morgan? You’re his son?”
Perhaps it was the row of teeth lining his neck, but the smile that spread across his tanned, handsome face made her shiver… and only part in dread. “At your doorstep,” he responded. Then the smile turned downright lethal. “And… apparently at your service.”
Chapter 11
Tag didn’t know what to think, much less how to feel. His mind was still reeling. Foremost was the belief that, no matter what she pretended to know or not know, their meeting yesterday could not have been coincidental. Because, honestly, what were the chances of that?
Which meant what? But he couldn’t follow that track, because, as the reality of the situation sank in, he realized that this woman in front of him, the one he’d taken like a man possessed not twelve hours ago, was the woman who’d written those letters to his father. Long passages of which he’d all but committed to memory. The woman who’d both captivated him with her wit and humor… and disconcerted him with her ability to develop a close relationship with his father.
Had he been so blind? Had last night just been the latest scheme of an accomplished mercenary? Of course, if she’d played on an old man’s loneliness and terminal illness to secure the roof over her head, then why he wouldn’t put it past her to seduce him to get the same, he had no idea.
He’d recalled how he’d braked the rattletrap truck he’d bummed off of Robey as he’d rounded that last bend coming off the mountain, just before descending into the valley. The entirety of the crumbling glory that was Ballantrae had sprawled before him, as he supposed it had for many a chieftain in past centuries.
Chieftain. He would have laughed at the folly of it, the absolute ridiculousness of it. Somehow it hadn’t been laughter that had risen in his throat. Something else had, something he hadn’t been able to name, but had choked him nonetheless. Ballantrae. It was hardly Camelot, but there was no denying the enormity of it, or the burden it had to impose on the owner. He’d swallowed hard then, realizing that that owner was him.
Which brought him back to the woman standing before him, hands now propped on her hips, looking at him as if she couldn’t quite figure out his game. Well, that made two of them.
How could she have found out he was headed here? Had she finally given up ever hearing from Taggart’s heirs and contacted Jace after he’d left? She had the roof over her head, so maybe she’d run out of ready cash. Of course, from first glance, it didn’t appear the money was being used for its supposed intended purpose. No matter what those reports had said. And really, other than those pieces of paper, which she’d generated, and her say so, what proof had his father really had that she wasn’t just blowing the money and enjoying free rent?
There were no work trucks, no obvious signs of labor, but plenty indication of the need for it. A few of the distant farmhouses he’d spied on his way in had smoke spiraling from their chimneys, but most plots appeared to be long-abandoned concerns. So just what in the hell had she been doing with his father’s money?
And what in the hell had she been doing with him?
Talk about a total mind fuck. Caught up in his train of thought, he didn’t bother to stop and question the extremity of the measures she’d gone to in hopes of ensnaring him. Nor did he bother to consider that not only couldn’t she have predicted he’d lose control of his car, she hadn’t even been in close proximity of the accident site when he’d become part of it.
All he knew at the moment was that, while his father might have been taken in by her—his actions last night notwithstanding—he wasn’t going to be her next sucker bet.
“At m
y… service?” she spluttered. “What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean? I’m just as surprised by this as you are!”
Tag just snorted and pushed his way past her. Best for her to understand right off the bat just who was going to be calling the shots from now on. “Just what the hell kind of game are you playing here?”
She spun around and stormed in behind him. “Excuse me, but I don’t recall inviting you in.”
“Oh, I think you’ve invited me about as far in as a man can get.” He tossed a very uncivilized smile over his shoulder. “Perhaps you should have thought about the possible consequences before you so readily straddled my hips last night.”
Her mouth opened, but all that came out was a string of indignant, spluttering sounds. “Wait,” she finally commanded as he strode down the dimly lit hallway. “I don’t care if we shagged ourselves bloody unconscious, it doesn’t give you the right to come storming in here and—”
He spun around so quickly she smacked right up against his chest. He gripped her arms before she could back away, unsure of just where his explosion of temper was coming from—he wasn’t supposed to give two damns about Maura Sinclair or Ballantrae, right? But whatever the source, be it the humiliation of being used, or the destruction of his own personal fantasy about Maura Sinclair, letter writer—one he hadn’t realized had taken such deep root inside him until the loss of it so thoroughly disappointed him—the sheer force of it overrode any ability on his part to control it.
His grip tightened. “From what little I’ve learned about our common ancestors, a Morgan has breached Sinclair walls more than once over the centuries. And only some of those boundaries were made of stone.” He leaned closer. “I’m just continuing the family tradition.”
He’d intended to insult her, to lash out in righteous indignation. And she flinched as if he’d struck her physically. But there had been a split second there… right before that flinch… where her pupils had shot wide. And not in fear. Much the way they had when he’d run his fingertips over her—
No! He shoved that thought and her away at the same time. He was hardly an adolescent in the throes of his first sexual experience. No matter that his experience with her had been unparalleled in the annals of his personal sexual history. Just another part of her planned arsenal, he was certain. She liked living here, on his father’s dime, and who the hell wouldn’t? She would do whatever was necessary to keep her cushy little overseer position.
Well, she would no longer be doing it with him. No matter that his body had gone hard as the stone beneath his feet the instant he’d put his hands on her.
“Listen,” she said, obviously furious, an d just as obviously trying to rein it in. “It’s apparent that neither one of us knows what the hell is going on here.”
“Oh, one of us knows quite a bit more than the other.”
She gave him a patently false smile, as her blue eyes were still blazing. “Fine, then why don’t we go settle ourselves down somewhere so you can fill in all the blanks. Because, I can tell you that I have a number of them. All of them starting with what the hell last night was all about.”
She went to march around him, but he instinctively blocked her escape. To look at her, you’d think she was the one being wronged here, the one being duped in some way. She was damn good, he’d give her that. But then, he’d learned that firsthand last night, hadn't he?
“Just to make things perfectly clear, there will be no repeat of last night,” he stated evenly. “Fool me once, shame on me.”
“Fool you?” She laughed harshly. “Oh, that’s rich. Let me ask you one thing. If I was out to ensnare you, then why would I leave your bed? Why not stay and continue weaving this supposed web of mine? And further, how on earth was I to know who you were in the first place? Much less that you were coming to visit? It wasn’t like I received advance notice.”
“A simple call to the States could have provided a wealth of information, including my travel itinerary.”
Now she snorted. “I don’t exactly have the financial wherewithal to ring up the States whenever the whim strikes me.”
“Yes, I imagine things have gotten a bit tight without my father’s handout.”
“Handou—” She broke off, indignant once again. Color rose in her cheeks, that in any other circumstances would have been quite captivating. “Your father and I had a solid business arrangement.”
“Yes, and I imagine his death put quite a hitch in your lifestyle.”
“Lifestyle?” She choked on something that sounded like a cross between a burst of outrage and a laugh.
“I’m surprised you haven’t hit the remaining Morgans up for money already.”
If he wasn’t mistaken, that indignant flush took on an air of mortification.
“So,” he said, “you were planning on contacting us. Another of your charming letters perhaps?”
Her gaze sharpened instantly. “What do you know of my letters?”
He chose not to answer that. Anger and arousal, as it turned out, were a lot more closely linked than he was absolutely comfortable with at the moment. No sense treading into territory that was still raw and confusing to him. “I know you wrote my father chatty little letters, and in return he sent you large sums of money. As far as I can tell, you had the easy end of the deal. You didn’t even have to spend time on your back. I suppose I should count myself fortunate for having shown up in person.”
He caught her open palm slap an instant before it connected with his cheek. Her face was more than flushed now, her eyes had gone dark and stormy, her chest rising and falling in anger. He couldn’t stop the thought that she was almost as arousing in full temper as she was on the brink of climax.
Her wrist still clasped in his grip, she spoke with exaggerated calm. “I think this little conversation has come to an end.” She yanked her arm free and stepped back so she could pull open the courtyard door. “I’ll thank you to take your leave. I don’t know what you think I’ve done to you, or your father, but I do not have to stand in my home and be insulted by the likes of you. I begin to see where the estrangement stemmed from.”
“What?”
“You and your brothers, abandoning your only living parent. Taking for granted how lucky ye are to have one a’tall. Alone and dying he was, with not so much as a postcard from any of you.”
Tag’s mouth dropped open briefly, then he barked out a laugh. “You can’t be serious.” But he saw she was, and whatever cold humor he found in her misguided statement disappeared as swiftly as it had come, until all that was left was the chill. “You have no idea what you’re talking about, or should I say whom you’re talking about.”
“You know what? You’re absolutely right. Your father never spoke of you. Or your brothers. Not once, beyond acknowledging your existence.”
“Which should have told you something.”
She studied him coolly. “In fact, it did. Meeting you further illuminates the matter.”
“My, how nice it must be to fill in the blanks with your own overactive imagination.”
She arched a brow. “Hello Pot,” she said, sketching a mocking bow. “Meet Kettle.” She swung the door wide. “Now please take your equally black heart and leave my property. And don’t worry, I won’t darken your doorstep or your mailbox. In fact, I’d rather be the Sinclair that fails Ballantrae altogether than take another cent from your Morgan coffers.”
Tag had been all set to deliver a stinging comeback when her words sunk in. Either she was taking her overseer position way too seriously… or she was under the impression that she had a bigger stake here than she did. Either way, it was clear she had no idea what his stake was here. Perhaps she thought his father had left her the property upon his death. For all Tag knew, his father had promised her exactly that. Of course, if he had, he’d never followed through with it.
Whatever the case, she was in for a rude awakening. He stepped further away from the door. He had no intentions of leaving before they got everyt
hing out in the open. And he might not have any intention of leaving then either. After all, for the time being anyway, he owned this place.
“I understand,” he began, “the closeness with which the current generation here cleaves itself to its own history. I admit I’ve not read much about my ancestors beyond the ones who settled on my side of the ocean, but seeing as I was raised surrounded by Sinclairs and Ramsays, I am familiar to some degree with our joint, albeit distantly joint, past.”
“You mean to say you’ve made the study of past civilizations your life’s work, and yet you’ve never delved into your own?” She’d said it somewhat mockingly, but there was sincere perplexity in her tone as well. As if she simply couldn’t fathom a lack of interest in one’s own roots.
“Which only goes to prove my point,” he added. “Yes, I am in the business of studying the past. My reasons for avoiding my own are not up for grabs at the moment. Suffice it to say, I’m here, delving as you put it, now.” She folded her arms. “Yes, having been part of said ‘delving’ I can attest to that. But what specifically do you want here? Beyond tormenting me with your narrowminded and highly uninformed views, that is.”
He sighed, growing weary of this. “I never set out to torment you. I think we can both agree last night was hardly torture for either one of us. I didn’t even know Maura Sinclair was you, until you opened the door.”
“So you admit you did come here with some negative intent toward me? The me you didn’t think you’d met yet.”
“No! If you must know the truth, meeting you was pretty much the only part of this trip I was looking forward to,” he blurted out in frustration, then immediately wished he hadn’t.
She frowned. “Well, you’ve certainly taken care of that bit of business, now haven’t you?”
Teeth clenched, he spoke slowly, evenly. “I didn’t know it was you, okay? Any more than you claim to know it was me. But you’d have to agree it seems a phenomenal case of serendipity if what you say is true and we just happened to come across each other on the road here.”
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