by Claudy Conn
He wasn’t the trusting sort—she could see that—and if he caught her in this lie before she came clean, he would never be approachable again. It was the kind of lie she despised. She had to pretend to be someone she wasn’t. She wasn’t a writer … well at least not a novelist. Maybe a fashion editor one day if she ever made it out of the situation she was in.
Roxie had always taken life head on and believed in facing all truths, even the hardest to deal with, and this didn’t sit well with her. It didn’t feel right; who she really was wanted to just blurt out the real reason she was at MacAdams. She knew in her heart that if it weren’t for the bit about ‘saving the world’ they had laid on her, she would never have agreed to go through with it.
However, now that she had met Chase, she knew there was no way he would easily be persuaded by a stranger. He probably would have just asked her to leave, and that would have been that. Nikki had said this was the only way to get to Chase MacAdams, and although Roxie saw that Nikki was right, a large part of who she was absolutely hated what she was doing.
It wasn’t how she did things, and she’d almost spilled the beans today and just come right out and told him the truth, but then she’d seen that they were correct, that he would have turned her away had she told him why she really was there. He wasn’t ready to join any side, good or bad. He was a world unto himself, and that was the way he wanted it—because he had his own war to deal with.
They needed him. He was a potent and invincible hybrid, and they needed him on their side. Things were about to get complicated and bloody, and Chase MacAdams had powers they could use!
* * *
Still troubled by all of this, some hours later Roxie sipped her ale and picked at her fish and chips as she looked around the dimly lit and lively pub. She had already turned down a few robust and well-meant flirtatious guys who had tried to keep her company. From the looks of it, she was going to have to turn down yet another.
She sighed to herself as the tall, pleasant-looking, if somewhat lanky, Scotsman approached her table.
She had purposely chosen a small square table at the far end of the pub and situated in the darkest corner in the hopes she might be left alone. No such luck.
“Well now, darlin’ lass,” the lanky Scotsman with the broad smile said in what he undoubtedly thought was a sexy voice, “would ye be liking soom coompany?”
“Not tonight,” she said politely but firmly with the hint of a smile. After all, she didn’t want to make enemies on her first night in town.
He pulled up a chair and sat, and she raised her eyebrows at him. He laughed and settled in, although he took a quick look over his shoulder.
Uncompromisingly, Roxie said, “In English that means no—not wanting any company.”
“Oh, feisty, are we?”
“I wouldn’t call it feisty, I would call it not wanting any company tonight, and you are beginning to annoy me.” She eyed him coldly. “I don’t think that is what you came over here to do.”
“Oh-ho then, what—canna ye not give a man a break? Just wanting to keep ye entertained while ye enjoy your dinner …” He reached over to take one of her chips.
She slapped his hand and rose to her feet. “Don’t want your entertainment. What I do want is for you to leave me in peace …”
“Or what, little lady, or what?” He was chuckling, but there was no humor in it. His friends had told him he would be shot down, and they were watching. He got unsteadily to his feet and made a grab for her arm, “Now listen, ye could play nice…”
A low but strong male voice at his back answered, “Or what is not a question ye want to ask of me.” A hand came down on the young man’s shoulder and squeezed. “What I think ye be wanting is to leave the lady in peace as she asked and return to yer friends, and ye want to do that right now, because the lady is with me, and ye wouldn’t want it said ye were trying to move in on another man’s woman, now would ye, lad?”
The lanky Scotsman looked around and up. He was already terrorized by the incredibly strong grip on his shoulder—a grip he thought was about to crush bone at any moment. Then he saw the grip belonged to Chase MacAdams. No one in the village really knew Chase MacAdams personally, but everyone knew who he was.
At six-foot-something and all muscle, Chase stood in a black silk shirt and black jeans—an imposing figure with his gold eyes grim and his black hair slicked back and tied at the nape of his neck. Roxie felt a shiver of attraction as she watched him.
The ‘lad’, as Chase had called him, pushed away with his hands outstretched comically in his rush to leave. He was himself six foot and was astonished to find the man towering above him was so much taller. “Didn’t know she was taken …” He shrugged nonchalantly and then tried a smile over his shoulder as he left. “Can’t blame a man for trying.”
Chase gave him a half smile and pulled up the discarded chair, setting it in place against the wall. He then motioned for Roxie to be seated again, which she thankfully did with a sigh. She was, in fact, very much impressed with the way he had conducted himself and handled the situation. She didn’t want to be impressed, though—she was quite used to taking care of herself.
Once more a shiver raced through her blood and told her brain that this was a serious hunk. However, she didn’t want to get involved with Chase MacAdams … not on that level. She was here to do a job … get it done and step back from him. She wasn’t going to allow herself to get romantically entangled with a hybrid. Nooo, no way.
He sat not opposite her but next to her so they both had the wall to their backs and a view of the entire pub ahead of them. He also reached for one of her chips, and this time she allowed it with a welcoming smile. She moved her chair slightly so she could look at him fully.
“Thank you, but you know … I could have handled him,” she said. “He was really harmless … and I am not sure I like the fact that now the rumor will go around the village that the new gatekeeper at MacAdams Retreat is also his woman. Kinda cramps my style.” She eyed him mischievously.
He laughed. “As to cramping yer style, m’lovely, I think ye were doing a good job of that on yer own.”
Damn, but his Scottish-accented voice was mesmerizingly low, husky, and so very damned sexy. No, not sexy, but lusty, so damned lusty; sexy was not enough of a word to describe the feral tones that swept over her and made her want to lean in closer and catch every word he said.
It was more than his ‘eye candy, let me lick you all over’ looks. It was his style, which oozed sex appeal and more. Something in the way he moved, talked, and eyed a woman (her at the moment) told her—hell, promised her—that he would take her to heights never reached before and that she would be pleasured beyond belief at his hands.
Roxie conceded with a smile, “I suppose you could look at it that way, but tonight all I wanted was dinner.” She shrugged. “I didn’t have a chance to pick up any groceries today for the gatehouse.”
“What did ye do then all afternoon?” He grinned.
“I cleaned and dusted and bought some sheets and towels and a coffee maker as there wasn’t one, and I arranged for Internet service—”
“Right then.” He held up his hands and laughed. “I get it, woman—ye were busy.”
A waitress arrived then, and it was obvious the waitress knew him well—very well. She was a pretty woman, no more than twenty or so, with short auburn hair and bright eyes. She nudged him with her hip.
Roxie noted that the young waitress shot her a once-over glance and had that jealous look going on. She wondered how ‘involved’ Chase was with the pretty.
“Well then, love,” the waitress said. “What will ye be having tonight?”
He brazenly, openly stroked the hip she rubbed against his shoulder and allowed his hand to slide downwards and pat her ass. And Roxie had her answer.
“Anna—what will I be having then? Now, sweet … ye would know the answer to that, wouldn’t ye?” He flirted openly in front of Roxie, and she had the fee
ling he was doing it for a reason. What? Did he want to show her he was the ‘playboy type’?
Satisfied with his answer, ‘Anna’ sent a superior look to Roxie and said, “The midnight special?”
He laughed out loud. “Oh, I have enjoyed that often enough, haven’t I, but sadly, Anna, not tonight—tonight I’ll just have …” He looked at Roxie and then her plate and said, “what Miss Roxie is having.”
Anna didn’t seem pleased with this, but she turned and walked off, flirting loudly with what were obviously the regulars as she passed them.
At that juncture a draft of cold air made its way into the pub as the doors opened and a group of four young women entered, hefting musical instruments. It wasn’t long before they had set up in a corner and started playing, their voices rising in harmony.
Chase made idle conversation with Roxie as she nibbled at her food. His conversation consisted of simple pleasantries, not really interesting enough to hold her spellbound, and yet she found difficult to look away from him, which was what she wanted to do. She shouldn’t keep staring at his mouth …
Without realizing it, she’d been tapping her feet to the song the girls were singing, and all at once, Chase stood and took her hand.
A swift charge of electricity went through her. Her blood bubbled from the heat of the fire the electricity created. Her body reacted by moving without conscious thought towards Chase MacAdams, and her eyelids snapped open as she realized what his touch had done to her.
His voice was husky and fully sexually charged as he asked, “Dance?”
She couldn’t speak as she allowed him to lead her onto the small dance floor. It was a lively rendition, of all things, of “Chicken ’n’ Biscuits”. She laughed when she searched for and found her voice. “I can’t believe they know this song here in the Highlands.”
“Oh now, doona be surprised at anything we have here in the Highlands,” he answered, and there was no doubting his meaning.
When the song ended, Roxie was flushed with the excitement of dancing and flirting with this hunk of all hunks. Then the female band began a ballad, and he immediately put his hand on her waist and drew her to him.
He led her in a slow dance, his movements becoming slower with each beat of the song. She felt his solid body press against hers in an erotic movement, and an explosion erupted inside her. She couldn’t tell its origin, she couldn’t think how or why, but she felt herself glide into his body as he leaned into hers, and suddenly her arms were sliding up his chest and his arms were wrapped tightly around her. There was no one else in the pub … were they in a pub?
Roxie felt as though they were in a black room lit by tiny stars and that he was leading her away from everything she knew. She felt the wolf in her raise its head and begin to howl with need and desire. She beat it down as she so often did these days … more and more lately.
She felt his hands move behind her to a point just above her butt, and she knew an instant where she wanted to guide his hands and make him grab her butt and pull her in …
She could feel his breathing in her ear, and she knew it wasn’t from the exertions of the dance. She sensed his alpha wolf reacting to her wolf, and she felt them both yearning to run. All at once, she was inside his head and she saw through his eyes as his wolf raced through the foothills …
He stopped suddenly and set her apart, staring down into her searching eyes with a strange expression on his face as he said, “What—what the hell are you?” His tone was as harsh as it was surprised.
“What do you mean?” She tried to appear innocent but felt guilty as hell.
“Don’t play games with me,” he returned, eyeing her doubtfully.
“I didn’t think I was,” she answered softly. She could see he wasn’t sure what he had experienced, wasn’t sure if he had really felt her in his head. How could he be sure of anything, when the experience had been an unexpected event for her as well?
Her inner wolf had suddenly emerged and joined with him in his mind. She had never had that happen to her with anyone. From his uncertain reaction, she was fairly certain the experience had been a new one for him as well.
The thing was, she told herself, she hadn’t initiated it—so how had it happened? What could have made her mind-meld like that with him? She hadn’t realized that she was inside his head until it was too late. And then her wolf had taken over and joyfully run with his … what the hell? This was potential trouble. She knew he had definitely realized something, but what? Did he think it had been his libido? Had it been his libido pulling on hers? She wasn’t sure.
He took her hand, brought her back to the table, and said grimly, “Sit.”
“What is it? What’s wrong?” She had to wheedle her way out of this by pretending ignorance.
“Ye be wrong—everything about ye is all wrong. For one thing, lass … look at ye—too lovely to be hiding out in the Highlands. It doesn’t make sense to me, and when something doesn’t make sense, there is a reason. I want the reason. Tell me now, the truth if ye will, just why and what are ye really doing here away from life as ye should be living it, and don’t be telling me it is to write a book, for I don’t buy it.”
She took a chance with half a truth, one that had been ever present during her years in university life. “I wanted to get away … just get away until I decided what I want to do with my life.”
“Why?”
“That is personal.” She lowered her gaze to her hands playing with one another on the table.
“Why do I hear a lie in those words, Roxie MacBran? I think ye know exactly what ye want to do … I don’t think finding yerself is why ye came here to me.”
“Look,” she said, leaning forward. “I am a Patquah Indian, and my family wanted me to return to the fold. I wasn’t ready to turn them down cold, and I wasn’t ready to go back. I love them … I love my tribe, but I wanted to know the land my dad came from—thought I’d come up here and see what he left behind when he fell in love and married my mother.” Half-truths were often worse than lies, her mother had told her. Half-truths often caused hurt in the end because they were believable.
Chase leaned back in his chair as though accepting her words and asked, “Yer father is a Scotsman?”
She laughed. “MacBran is the name.”
He leaned forward again, coming very close to her, and said softly, “Aye then, I can see both in ye—the exotic Indian and the beauty of Scotland. Where did he hail from—yer father? Nearby?”
“Yes, oh he is very much a Scotsman, and he lived on the other side of Inverness. In fact, he maintains his ancestral home there still, MacBran Manor, and we have stayed there often, so it is not so strange for me to want to be here in the foothills of the Grampians.” She smiled tentatively. She was aware in that moment that she wanted to tell him everything. He was a hybrid—he would understand what it was to be different. She wanted to confess what she was and why she was there. Instead, she bit her bottom lip and felt ashamed of the lie that stood like a boulder now between them. She knew she was lying—and he suspected it.
He gave her a half-smile and wagged a finger. “Right then, we’ll leave it at that for now …” He eyed her speculatively and asked, “So, an American Indian are ye? That makes sense, for ye have that beauty in ye.”
She smiled. “My mother is our chief.”
He had taken her fingers and played with them. She was surprised she’d allowed him that, and then she realized she hadn’t allowed it—she couldn’t break away!
He let her hand go and sat back in his chair once more. “Is she now. Aye, ye ’ave been groomed for leadership. I see it in ye … but ye don’t want it, do ye?”
“No, I don’t want it.”
He tapped the table then and leaned towards her once more. “I’ll tell ye what, lass, for now ye can stay and keep the job, but I’ll be watching, and I don’t make ye any promises. I’m not sure how long this will last, for the sorry truth is I jest doona trust ye—not even a wee bit, lass. Can�
�t put m’finger on it, but there is something more here than meets m’eye.”
“I don’t much like being watched, or mistrusted.”
He shrugged. “Yer choice … that’s the way of it.”
Roxie sat thoughtfully looking at him as he picked at the food Anna had brought to the table while they were on the dance floor. She no longer had any appetite for her own and pushed her plate of half-eaten and now thoroughly cold food aside. She stood and said, “Good night, lord watcher of the manor.”
He stood and said, “May I take ye home, lass?”
“I have my own car, thanks.”
“Then let me follow ye home and make sure ye get in safely … on yer first night, ’tis the least I can do.”
What was happening to her? Everything he said and did made her feel like a bowl of mush. What she should have told him was that she was capable of taking herself home and seeing herself in safely. What she told him as she moved to leave was, “Sure.”
When he took her hand to lead her out, once again a charge of something snaked up her arm. This time she was aware it did the same to him, for their eyes locked.
“Coom then, lass,” he said, his voice low and husky, as he led her to her rental car. As he saw her situated in her vehicle he said, “Best be turning that thing in soon. No sense renting when I have a jeep ye can use.”
She smiled, not wanting to tell him that she liked her independence and could well afford her own expenses. Better not add that to the brew, for it would further his curiosity. If she was financially independent, again he would ask, why had she taken the job?
She followed him as he weaved his Jag out of the small village and took the main road to MacAdams Drive. When they reached the gate, she waited for him to use his remote, rather than use her own. The black wrought iron gate swung open, and she followed him through.
The gatehouse was about fifty feet up and to the left of the gate, with a short circular drive that led to the cottage’s front door. Roxie felt strangely excited as she pulled onto the gatehouse driveway. She parked her vehicle and waited for him to drive past her on his way up to his own house.
