by Caro LaFever
Doc’s next text had led him into complete disaster, however.
Bravo had been the name of the store.
“Can I help ye, sir?” A young lass with hair as red as his had smiled and led him like a bull to slaughter.
“She might like this, Mr. Ross.” She’d wheedled his name from him before proceeding to make his head spin with the options.
Push-up bras with pink lace. See-through silk panties. Embroidered little dresses she called babydolls. Corsets and teddies. Garters and slips.
He’d gone mad. Completely mad.
Glancing over his shoulder, he gave the pile of packages in the backseat an ironic smile.
What the hell.
He had money.
Ceri would soon have a range of pretty things to choose from, beyond that old cotton bathrobe. To please herself. And to please him. A hum of excitement rumbled in his throat at the thought of her wearing the lingerie he’d picked for her.
The see-through striped gown with its matching black panties.
The white lace camisole.
The red leather corset.
Gifts. Dozens of gifts. Surely when she saw all this, she’d let him see her naked again. Taste her again. Surely, she wouldn’t say no.
He spent the rest of the three hours of driving in a pleasant bubble of images. The rain slanted against the car’s windows, the slap, slap of the blades making him settle into a comforting rhythm of thoughts. By the time he turned into the lane leading to his castle, he felt more than okay with the world. Even okay with Doc.
Maybe having a place in Edinburgh would be good for their business.
The gloom of the rain had settled on the castle, turning dusk into a dirty, sloppy night. He pulled the Range Rover to a stop and began to turn off the car lights.
There was a bright-blue tarp hanging over a mountain of something lying in the corner of the parking lot.
“What the hell is that?” he said into the silence surrounding him.
Grabbing the torch from the glove box, he flicked it on and the car lights off.
He stepped out of the car.
Just then, a squall spat a flurry of raindrops onto his head, drenching the wool jumper and jeans he wore and making his skin itch.
He hated when his skin itched.
The torch’s light flashed across the tarp. Had she ordered a mound of dirt to finish the planting in the garden? But from what he could tell, the landscaping had been completed.
Lorne glanced at the castle.
He was tired from driving and didn’t want to stand here in the rain any longer. Whatever the woman had ordered could be dealt with tomorrow after he’d given her his gifts. She would be happy and he could figure out how to get rid of this eyesore then.
Deciding her gifts weren’t going anywhere and he had clothes inside, he slammed the car door and strode up the stone steps to the front door.
His key didn’t work.
“What the hell?” he grunted into the cold, wet air. He jiggled the key in the lock again, but the door stayed stubbornly shut.
Lorne pulled the key out and glanced over to see a sign. A new sign right by the side of the door.
Castle tour tickets required to enter.
The bloody woman was stubborn beyond belief. She had a court order not to proceed and yet it appeared she wasn’t going to follow instructions. Annoyance flashed to irritation in a second. Turning, he frowned at the tarp-covered something. The something that now looked like a circular disk at the top.
A disbelieving growl escaped him.
Marching down the stairs, he walked to the tarp and flipped it off.
His satellite dish.
Boxes. He ripped one open.
His clothes.
A roar of fury rushed from his mouth when he saw the rain sleeting onto his computer screens.
His mobile rang in his pocket. Snarling, he flipped the tarp back over his stuff. “What?”
“Happy guy.” Doc’s voice went wry. “What’s wrong? I’ve heard from my lovely lady estate agent and she told me you went ahead and offered on a property today.”
“God damn her.”
“My lovely estate agent who got you a very good price on a very good townhouse?”
“The woman.”
“Ah,” Hugh said. “Not my lady friend then, but yours.”
“Not my friend,” he blurted. Ceri Llewellyn was not his friend by any stretch of the imagination. He wanted to have sex with her, yes. But he had no interest in becoming her friend. “She locked me out of my castle.”
“Uh oh.” A silence fell, interrupted by his friend’s sudden laugh. “She didn’t.”
“She did.” Lorne glared at the tarp. “She also moved all my stuff out into the rain.”
“Your computer and screens?” Doc’s voice hushed. His partner might tease and laugh at almost everything. Not about computer equipment, though. They were sacred in their world.
“Aye.” He turned to glare across the garden. The cottage stood at the end of the lane with cheery lights shining from its windows. “She did.”
“Told you she was scared.”
Outrage billowed inside him. “What the hell does that have to do with this?”
“It means when a woman feels cornered, she does nasty things.”
“I spent a fortune on her today.” He kicked the edge of one soggy box of clothes. “A fucking fortune.”
“Did you now?” Hugh whistled. “I knew that store would get your interest.”
Fury blistered his brain. “A fucking fortune, Goddammit.”
“She doesn’t know that, now does she?”
His friend’s reasonable point flew straight past the lingering logic floating in his brain. He felt as if the top of his head was about to explode. “I’m going to kill her.”
“This is the man who claims he has no temper.”
Doc’s attempt at teasing only made him angrier. “I’m going to do it right now.”
“Skiff. Take a deep breath.”
“No.” He marched past the front of the car and onto the lane leading to the cottage.
“Think, old chap. This plays right into your hands.”
Stopping in his tracks, he glared into the downpour. “What do ye mean by that?”
“Do you know how to get into the cottage without using the front door?”
“What?” He slid his hand through his wet hair and the tie binding his hair flew off. “God damn it.”
“Stop cursing and listen.”
Dripping curls soaked his neck and cheeks, making the fury inside swell. The wool jumper sagged on his shoulders and chest, scratching his skin. His temper bloomed into a towering rage. “I don’t have time to talk. I have a woman to murder.”
“My, you Scotsmen are bloody-minded.”
Doc’s voice turned cheery, making Lorne want to reach through the phone and shake him. “Fuck off, ye stupid Englishman.”
“There, there, laddie.” His friend chuckled. “Take your temper and use it in your favor.”
He stomped down the lane, his vision going blurry with hatred. “I’m hanging up now because I need both hands to punch the cottage’s front door down.”
“Lorne.”
Stopping at the tone in his partner’s voice, he scowled at his mobile before putting it back to his ear. “What?”
“She’s probably got the front door locked.”
“Likely. That’s not going to stop me.”
“This could get you into trouble, can’t you see?” Hugh’s tone went serious for once. “The local chief inspector might pass on throwing the laird out of his castle, but he’s not going to be so kind when you’ve bludgeoned your way into a woman’s home.”
“Shite.”
“Good. Your brain is still working.” His friend hummed, a sound he made when he was planning some new project or some new game. “Listen to me and we’ll make a plan so you can do this right and end up with Ceri in your bed.”
“I don’
t want her any longer.” His temper wailed inside, wanting to hit and punch and pummel.
Hugh laughed. “Come on. Don’t lie to me or yourself.”
“I don’t want her—”
“Shut up, Skiff. And listen.”
Perhaps he’d given up. Given up the castle and the estate and the fight.
Ceri settled into the sofa with a hot cup of tea and sipped. The night had fallen once again with no Lorne Ross to muck it up. Granted, he’d left most of his stuff behind, but perhaps she’d been right when she talked about the rich often leaving things without a thought.
Perhaps.
The hard lump sitting in the middle of her stomach wasn’t disappointment or depression. She’d made herself too big of a supper, that was all.
She took another sip of tea.
The thought of turning on the telly wasn’t appealing. She could call Rose and see what was going on in town, yet the thought didn’t appeal either. Her plans for the new herbals and the store she wanted to open lay on the kitchen table, ready to be worked on, but for once, even her dreams didn’t give her any motivation.
The worry she’d pushed behind her yesterday reared inside.
He’d left so suddenly.
As she’d folded his jumpers and jeans, as she’d stuffed his tight running shorts into a box, as she’d fingered the black silk dressing gown, she’d wondered. She kept telling herself she was foolish to worry. He’d likely gone to London. Returning to his company and his billions.
Then her mind went through the memories of how he’d thrown the suitcase into the backseat of the Ranger Rover. How the car had sped off. How his clothes fell out of the armoire. The worry flooded back.
Then and now.
“You’re being stupid,” she said to the flickering firelight shining from the fireplace. “He’s not worth thinking about.”
There was something intimate about packing a man’s clothes and personal items. She’d hated herself, but she couldn’t help lingering over the surprising pile of thongs and breathing in the tang of his shampoo.
“Stop thinking about him,” she said to her teacup. “Stop.”
Going to bed was probably the best option. Tomorrow, the castle’s doors would open to the first busload of tourists at ten a.m. sharp. She would be leading hourly tours of the castle for those who wanted a VIP experience, so she needed to be bright-eyed and ready to go.
She took one last sip of tea.
A loud thump came from the back end of the cottage, where Elis stored his fishing equipment and camping gear.
Ceri shot off the sofa and spun around to stare at the hallway.
What was that?
Some kind of animal? Had some rabbit or mole tunneled under the walls and found a way into the cottage?
Another thump echoed down the hall and her heart began to gallop inside her chest. That was too loud of a sound for a small animal to make.
The slam of wood on stone shocked her into stumbling back.
The back door had been unusable for as long as she’d lived here. The wood was old and rotting, the lock damaged beyond repair. Will had told her it was too dangerous and would need to eventually be replaced. Using the entrance would only make it worse, he’d said. He’d placed a large utility table in front of it to ensure it couldn’t be opened or closed. The table was piled with Elis’s school projects and some old clothes.
The screech of steel table legs on stone screamed through the cottage.
She froze in horror.
No animal could be conniving enough to figure out how to open a broken and blocked door. That noise came from some human pushing their way into her home. Her hand shook as she grabbed the fireplace’s brass poker and raised it above her head.
Lorne Ross charged into view, his bright-fire hair and beard soaking wet, his wool jumper and jeans sodden as well.
“You!” she screeched.
His blue eyes were almost black with rage. “Don’t ye come near me. Not if ye want to live.”
Marching to the front door, he yanked the lock and threw the door open to the pouring rain.
Her heart thundered in her chest. With relief. With anger. With a bloody stupid joy. “Get out of here.”
He ignored her in his usual way. Stepping into the rain, he hefted a soggy cardboard box into his arms.
Ceri sidled across the room and peered into the storm. The man had lugged what appeared to be most of his belongings from the parking lot to the cottage steps. “What are you doing?”
He ignored her again by stalking off down the hallway.
“Where are you going?” She slammed the brass poker on the hearth and ran after his lanky form. “This is my home.”
Stopping at her bedroom door, he looked in. A shiver of embarrassment went through her. She didn’t know why. The room was tidy, the double bed made, her clothes put away. But something felt too intimate about him looking in on where she slept.
She came up right behind him and slapped his shoulder. “I’m talking to you.”
He turned to glare at her. “Did I not tell ye to stay away from me?”
Before she could yell at him again, he paced along the hall to her brother’s bedroom. Slamming the door open, he stepped inside and threw the box of clothes on the floor.
Elis’s bedroom was filled with a typical teenage boy’s hobbies. An old Playstation stood by his ancient desktop computer. A line of skateboards were propped against one wall while another was covered with a mishmash of band posters. A big wire basket held his collection of balls—football, tennis, rugby. The bed was stripped, other than his bright green bedspread. She’d planned on putting the sheets on in a few weeks, along with dusting and mopping to get the room prepared for him when he returned from school.
“This is my brother’s bedroom,” she stated in a belligerent tone, hands on her hips.
“Ye have a brother. That’s right. I’d forgotten.” He walked to the single bed and tested the mattress. “It’ll do.”
Horror and rage tightened inside her throat. “You know about my brother because you went behind my back and snooped.”
“Not me personally.” He flashed her a grim glare. “But aye, I ordered an investigation on ye.”
“You are not moving in.”
“I am.” His words were stated in a monotone, yet his gaze continued to rage at her. “You’re the one who made this decision.”
He stalked past her, going down the hallway.
“What do you mean?” She raced behind him. However, she knew what he meant. She’d kicked him out of the castle, so he thought it fine to come here and invade her cottage. The man’s arrogance made her blood boil. “You can’t just break into a person’s home and bring your stuff into a bedroom.”
“I didn’t break in.” He grabbed another sodden box and turned to give her another glare. “The back door wasn’t locked.”
“It was blocked.” She folded her arms in front of her because the outside air was cold and she suddenly realized she wore only her bathrobe. Again. In front of this man. This man who’d opened this one tie, stripped her naked, and given her an incredible orgasm. Embarrassment threatened to flush her cheeks so she focused on glaring back at him. “And my front door was locked.”
Hefting the box in his arms, he shot past her.
“I won’t let you move in,” she yelled at his broad back.
“Is that so.” He disappeared into Elis’ room.
Ceri tried to calm down and think, but her brain buzzed with fear and fury. Trying to soothe herself, she covered her face with her hands to block his presence from her sight.
Her mind quieted.
She would call Chief Inspector Bruce, that’s what she’d do. He might object to kicking Laird Ross out of the castle. Still, he couldn’t ignore a man breaking into a woman’s home. Grabbing her mobile, she punched in the beginning numbers.
“Don’t bring anyone else into this.” His dangerous voice curled around her like a dark, delicious threat. “I warn y
e.”
“I’m calling the police.” She kept punching.
“Ceri.” The gentle way he said her name made her glance up.
His slate-blue eyes were now pure black with fury. “I noticed there’s a new sign by the castle door.”
“So?” She stopped before she punched the last numeral. Something in his voice and his eyes made her pause.
“You’re going forward with the tours, aren’t ye?”
“Did I ever say I was not?” Straightening her spine, she threw him a scowl. “What do you think all the landscaping was about?”
He leaned on the arched stone of the hallway entry and crossed his arms. “You’re going against a direct court order.”
“That’s my castle.”
“That’s actually in dispute, isn’t it?” He kept his gaze pinned on her like the point of a dirk on her neck. “If anyone should be calling the police, it should be me.”
The point sliced her. Her brain frazzled into only one response. “You can’t move in.”
“And ye can’t do the castle tours.”
They stared across the room at each other. The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, the heat filling the small, cozy room. The rain kept pounding down outside, the crisp, cool air creeping along the stone floor.
“We’ve come to an impasse then, haven’t we?” He tilted his head, his red-gold hair starting to dry into springy curls.
Her hand tightened on the phone. “Have we?”
“Stubborn woman. Doc warned me.” Shaking his head, he stomped out the door and hauled a wet computer and two of his three screens into his arms. “I’ll tell ye this,” he snarled her way. “If these don’t work, I’m coming after ye.”
I’m coming after ye.
A shiver of fear-laced anticipation ran through her. She’d still viewed Lorne Ross as a London dandy, though his dress now fit into the local crowd. Even after he’d given her a mind-blowing orgasm, she’d still seen him as someone she could eventually dismiss.
I’m coming after ye.
The menace in the threat brought back to her all the times her instincts had told her he was dangerous. Much more dangerous than his appearance let on.
He disappeared into the hallway, trailing computer cables behind him.
