Like a man having hungry thoughts.
She cleared her throat. “A compliment? Don’t shake your reputation now. I might faint.” She tried to laugh—and failed.
“I never pretended not to be interested, Maggie. I’m not that good of an actor.”
Heat raced into her face. In spite of her exhaustion, in spite of the night’s pursuit and her recent intruder, she felt a melting sensation somewhere in the pit of her stomach. “What are you trying to say?”
He closed the suitcase with a snap. “I’m simply stating the obvious.” There was a harsh edge to his voice.
“It wasn’t obvious to me.”
“So now you know. Does it bother you?”
“I’ll tell you after I’ve slept for twenty-four hours and I have at least a few brain cells firing again.”
“Sometimes thinking doesn’t help,” Jared said. He put something into her hand. “You dropped this.”
It was one of Chessa’s creations, a long wisp of lace and crepe in a gray-blue shade that matched Maggie’s eyes. Jared studied the fragile fabric. “I’d be seriously appreciative if you wore that for me sometime.”
When she looked into Jared MacNeill’s eyes, something stirred inside her, making her pulse jolt. Maybe what she felt were dreams, newly roused after too many empty years.
They walked outside in silence, Jared gripping her suitcase. A chill wind slashed down the street while the moon shone behind pale, boiling clouds.
Jared turned up Maggie’s collar, then studied the sky. “Do you believe in magic?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
She hunched her shoulders against the cutting wind. “On whether there’s a full moon and whether the air is filled with the scent of roses.”
“Yes on both accounts. The last roses of summer are in bloom in the abbey’s conservatory. They’re said to be the most beautiful of all.”
“In that case, the answer is yes.”
She thought he would chuckle. Instead, his eyes narrowed. Something flared in those twilight depths. “That makes two of us. And since we’re being honest…” Slowly, his hands opened on her shoulders. “I want you, Maggie. I didn’t expect it and I don’t know where it will take us, but you need to know.”
She swallowed hard, suddenly conscious of every move of his body. “Jared, I—”
“Don’t answer. I don’t need an answer.” His hand smoothed her cheek. “At least not yet, I don’t.”
~ ~ ~
Jared drove fast and well, while Max lay dead to the world at Maggie’s feet.
Her pulse skipped as her thigh brushed his beside the gearshift.
Maggie took a long breath.
“Sorry if it’s a tight fit,” Jared muttered.
Maggie didn’t answer. It was intensely seductive to ride with the motor throbbing and the dark miles slipping pass, but she wasn’t going to tell him that.
Their legs brushed again, and she licked suddenly dry lips.
“Hasn’t anyone complained?”
“Only once.” Jared smiled slightly. “She said the gearshift cramped her style.”
Maggie had a sharp image of restless hands and heated limbs. Both left the quick flare of jealousy. “I’m sure you managed in spite of all obstacles,” she said sweetly.
He chuckled. “Jealous?”
“Not a chance, MacNeill.”
“I do like that steel in your voice, Maggie.”
“Sure you do. But you didn’t answer my question. Did you … score? I believe that’s the word you men use?”
His hand curved down over hers. “I don’t use it. And the answer to your question is no. I didn’t. We didn’t. Sometimes trying to get someplace can be a lot more fun than actually arriving.”
Heat arrowed through her chest. More images swept into her mind, sharp and tormenting. Getting someplace with this man would be more than she could handle, Maggie sensed.
He was too smart. Too calm. Too damned self-controlled.
She seemed to be just the opposite.
The challenge slipped from her lips before she knew it. “Maybe you’ve lost your touch?”
He slowed, then pulled into a grassy curve bordered by a high hedgerow. Between them the motor purred. “I’m not clear about the question,” he said roughly. “Is that a question—or an offer?”
Maggie knew. She wanted to see him restless, and confused. Hungry … for her. She decided she was entitled, considering he had already made her feel all those things.
“Bad response, MacNeill. You know what they say—if you have to ask, you can’t afford it.”
Moonlight touched the hard angle of his jaw. He anchored her chin and slowly traced the curve of her lower lip.
Maggie realized that she was trembling and that her silly challenge had just become something dangerous.
“You’re trembling.” Jared’s voice was husky.
“So?” There was no hope of hiding the fact while his hand cupped her face and his thumb explored her lips. “Does it matter?”
“I’m not sure.” His fingers slid into her hair. “Do you tremble like this often?”
“Maybe.”
He tilted her head until moonlight poured like liquid silver over the curve of her cheek. “Lying isn’t your style, Maggie,” he whispered.
“What makes you think—”
“Because you’re bad at it. Because you freeze up when a man like the Don Juan in your hotel gives you a suggestive glance. But right now, you’re interested, and that frightens you because you’re not used to being interested.”
Maggie caught a sharp breath. How did he read her this way? In twenty-five years no one had ever seen through her defenses half as well.
“Do you do card tricks along with your mind-reading act, Maestro?”
“You might be surprised.” There was an odd tension in his voice as he twined his fingers around a strand of her hair.
Her heart foundered as she felt the hard flex of his thighs against hers. She waited for him to pull her closer. To tilt her head back and plant a searing kiss on her mouth.
He did neither, only watched her.
“It might be damned interesting to find out just how big this car is. How it handles under … close quarters. With the right person, the performance statistics could be awesome.”
He turned away and eased the car back onto the road. Maggie stiffened. “But I’m not the right person, is that it?” She felt a stab of uncertainty. Until that instant she hadn’t realized how everything had blown out of proportion, which only showed what a fool she was. She shoved his hand away with jerky fingers. “Well excuse the hell out of me. So sorry if I don’t fit your statistics for the perfect partner.”
“You’re not listening, Maggie.” He caught her arm. “There are two of us here, remember? I’m as wrong for you as any man alive. Even if I weren’t, there would still be the question of timing, which is definitely bad.”
She glared at his shadowed face, trying to decide if this was perfect diplomacy or something he actually believed.
“Instead of questioning everything, why don’t you try trusting me instead?”
“Stop doing that.”
“What?”
“Reaching out. Probing my mind. Pulling out things I haven’t said.”
“You think I’m a mind reader?” he asked slowly.
“I think you’re something. I just don’t have a name for it yet.”
“I hope it will be mentionable in mixed company.”
Don’t count on it, Maggie thought, turning to stare out at trees lit by restless moonlight. How could she have let her defenses down so completely? Was she losing her mind?
“Get some rest.”
As if she could sleep with his thigh brushing hers every few seconds. As if she could ignore her erratic pulse every time a curve brought her body against his. But she probably ought to try.
Maggie stifled a yawn. While the motor purred in her ears, she sank down into slee
p, dimly aware that Jared was saying something in Gaelic.
Low tones, rolling and rich. They were sounds that might have led men into war or consoled mothers on their loss of a braw son.
And for no reason she could name, they sounded familiar…
~ ~ ~
They rode through the night and far into the gray morning. She was past noticing time or location, cramped before her captor in a tight, uncomfortable ball. When the horses finally slowed, hard hands pulled her down onto the ground.
She swayed to her knees, but shoved away those who tried to help her. “Remove this cloth from my eyes. Or are you too much cowards to let a woman see your faces?”
She heard the pace of restless feet and low muttering. Something brushed her cheek and she flinched.
“‘Tis no weapon I hold. Drink, my lady. We’ve but a brief rest, then we’re back to the road.”
Pride warred with common sense—and pride lost. She swallowed, choking on the raw spirits that burned down her throat. “Do you think to turn my wits to mush with your vile drinks?”
“No, though it might be better for us all. You may pace freely now and ease your legs until we remount.”
“Where do you take me, to some enemy of my father’s? Have they promised you gold for my capture?”
There was no answer save the sigh of the wind.
“There will be no gold, you fool. My father will trade not a ha’penny for my release,” she said with weary bitterness. ’Twas a son her father had prayed for, not a sniveling daughter, and he had made those feelings clear every day since her birth.
What fools these men were, to expect gold coins or treasures in trade for her freedom. Her father might even offer a prayer of thanks to be relieved of the daughter he had never wanted.
A stubborn, ill-graced daughter. One who would rather study the shaping of gold than the art of needlework, as any normal female ought.
Thinking of her father hardened her resolve. “Have you no tongue?”
“Aye, a tongue I have. And also the wit to know when best to keep that tongue between my teeth. He’ll have my skin for a saddle if aught of harm comes to you. ‘Tis time to remount,” the man added flatly.
He? The question rang through Gwynna’s head as she fought the hands that trapped her shoulders. Then she was shoved back onto the weary horse, and there was no hope of escape.
Who commanded these men? Who had laid down the conditions for her capture?
She was glad for the rag that hid her bitter tears as they took to the muddy road once more.
Headed north where steep hills lay veiled in heather.
~ ~ ~
Maggie sat up slowly. Somewhere a motor sputtered to silence while her heart pumped. She ran a shaking hand over her face. “Don’t tell me I almost put my fist through the windshield again?”
“Close.”
She looked down. Her hand was buried in the folds of his old tartan. Jared must have placed it over her while she slept. Just a worn piece of cloth, but again she had the sharp sensation of another world. Another set of hopes and dreams.
She swallowed. “It was just … a dream.” She shoved the tartan behind her.
“Do you make a habit of fighting in your sleep?”
“I don’t know.”
Silence hung. “Did … your partners never tell you?”
There had been few enough of them, Maggie thought, and discussing her dreams hadn’t been part of the late-night conversations
She looked away. Remembering left her too empty. “Not that I recall.” She wasn’t about to discuss her sexual history with anyone, even with Jared.
Especially not with Jared.
“Can we go now?”
He didn’t move.
“Or is this interrogation part of your official duties as my keeper?”
“I’m not your keeper, Maggie.”
“No? You could have fooled me.” A fragment of memory surfaced from her dreams, making her shiver.
Jared studied her face. “If you ever want to talk—”
“I won’t.”
“—then I’ll be here to listen,” he finished quietly.
He was cool, detached, and she hated him for it. She refused to lay her dreams and sorrows bare for him or anyone else to see. “I’ll remember that. Now can we go, if you are quite finished?”
“I’m finished,” he said softly. “For now.”
He settled Max back on the floor at her feet. The motor coughed, then fell into a low purr. Maggie felt a wave of relief when they began to move.
She closed her eyes, refusing to think about the strange dream that seemed to grow sharper each time she slept. Fighting a yawn, she snuggled back down in the seat and told herself it was all her imagination.
~ ~ ~
“Maggie, wake up.”
A hand shook her knee.
“Go ‘way. Not asleep,” she mumbled. She jerked awake to darkness and peered outside, seeing only shadows. “Where are we?”
“Almost at the abbey.” Jared’s voice was grim.
“That’s good, isn’t it?”
“It would be if there weren’t a car parked just in front of the drive.” She stared at the unbroken sweep of trees. “I don’t see anyone.”
“His lights are off.”
“Then how did you see him?”
“Just an instinct.” And a decade of experience in the world’s worst places. Jared knew that stabbing pressure pull his neck well. It had saved his skin more than once. But he didn’t tell Maggie that.
Even now he could sense her mind at work sorting possibilities, snapping puzzle pieces into place. It was fascinating to touch that restless intelligence, and Jared knew he had already been drawn in far deeper than he intended. She was entitled to her secrets.
“You think that’s … him? The man from London?”
Her voice was steady, but he could feel her fear. And he refused to lie to her. “It might be. I’m taking no chances.”
She gnawed at her lip. Calculating again. “Is there any other way in?”
“Nothing I could manage without four-wheel drive. Definitely not at night.”
“So what happens now?”
“Reconnaissance.”
“But—”
“Hold Max.” The night was cool and silent around them as Jared got out of the car.
“I’m going to bring combat boots the next time I go anywhere with you,” Maggie grumbled.
“There’s no need for boots. You’re staying right here, Princess.”
“I’m no princess.”
He touched her chin slowly. “Maybe that’s for the prince to decide.”
“Newsflash, MacNeill: there are no princes. There are only princesses with bad eyesight and frogs who are excellent at concealing the extent of their imperfections.”
He held her a moment longer than necessary—and a hell of a lot longer than he should have. “We’re going to have to work on that pessimism of yours,” he said roughly. “Now sit and don’t move. Not for anyone or anything, understand? Not until I get back. And keep Max reasonably quiet.”
“All right, but I still don’t understand why—”
The car door gently closed, and the leaves parted. Maggie realized she was talking to empty space.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It was all too familiar, Jared thought grimly. Damn it, how had he gotten back into the work that had nearly killed him?
Because a friend needed a favor, and you don’t refuse a friend.
Especially not if he’s the man who saved your life.
He hugged the ground, silent and wary. His old skills were coming back, along with the biting adrenaline high. He wished he didn’t remember the sensation so well.
At least tonight he brought certain new skills to the table, skills that most people would deny even existed.
Jared took a deep breath and listened to the night.
Listened.
Became one of the silent night creatures.
> To his left, a wary rabbit slid back into its narrow burrow. To his right, an owl clung to a high branch, implacable and patient with the certainty that comes only with great age and many kills.
Jared felt their presence—just as he stretched his senses to find the man sitting behind the wheel of the car parked beyond the narrow stone bridge. Jared heard him curse, shove open the car door, then glance at his watch.
Moonlight struck the outline of his badge.
Or what was meant to look like a badge.
Jared crept closer, one more shadow in the restless night. When the officer lit a cigarette, light brushed his face briefly.
In silence Jared worked his way behind a hedge, where he was close enough to scan the license plate.
2A61D.
He memorized the string, then inched toward the far door. Somewhere the owl hooted, sighting his prey. For a split second Jared felt the keen eyes move through the forest and then the great wings opening. Higher, flushed with killing instinct, the great bird soared, then dropped down, talons bared to cleave cold space.
A strike. Claws thrusting deep into fur and quivering muscle.
Jared imagined each detail as he crouched unmoving by the unmarked police car.
He looked down and realized his fingers were buried in the soft earth. His back and shoulders were taut, and his pulse hammered in his ears. With angry determination, he focused on the job before him.
Across the clearing the officer dropped his cigarette and ground it out beneath his boot. Jared realized he would get no more information here. He had melted back into the night by the time the policeman turned back to his lonely post.
~ ~ ~
Maggie peered into the darkness. Wind touched the bushes and sighed through the high hedges. Somewhere a bird called shrilly. But there was no sign of Jared.
Where in heaven’s name was he?
It had to have been twenty minutes since he’d left. Maybe even more. She tried not to conjure up images of danger. After all, the night was quiet and this was a peaceful English road, not some powder-keg war zone in a third world dictatorship.
She bent her head to Max’s warm face. “It’s safe, isn’t it, Max? I’m just a big fool to sit here worrying.” The puppy gave her a forceful lick and shook his stubby tail.
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