Ten minutes later, he still had no whiskey.
Though he hated to leave the room to seek help, he was resigned to do just that when a soft wind gusted behind him lifting the hair off his neck. No windows were open to let in such a breeze. His leg muscles tensed. Windless breezes preceded only one occurrence.
“Bloody hell,” he mumbled.
“You were supposed to speak into the mouthpiece,” said a voice behind him. “Humans are pitiable mind readers.”
Calum steeled himself and turned.
Leaning against the wardrobe was the trickster, dressed in a pale green waistcoat over close–fitting breeches belted in black leather with a gleaming, square buckle set in his middle. One knee–high, black, cuffed boot was propped casually on the seat of the chair.
“Finn, I didn’t expect to be seeing you again so soon,” he whispered and glanced toward the thin door with Beth on the other side.
“You’re so newly human,” Finn said. “You’ll be seeing me fine enough.”
That wasn’t what Calum had meant. He knew humans weren’t able to see Finn unless he allowed it. He’d meant — what the hell was Finn doing there?
“How is it, being human once again?” Finn pushed off the chair to give Calum a look–over. “I expected to see you in a tangle of bed sheets regardless of your,” his gaze dropped to Calum’s groin, “‘incapacity.’ Is your true love not happy to see you?”
Vowing to control his temper before his head burst, Calum counted to five and took a deep breath. A soft grunt escaped him as he unclenched his teeth. He and Finn were eye–to–eye. Calum took a step back. He would not be examined like a prime specimen.
“Perhaps I can help,” said Finn.
Ah now, there’s a suggestion. He gave the immortal his full attention.
Beth’s voice sounded from the bathroom. “I could have sworn I brought that robe in here.”
Finn’s lips curled in a thin smile. He held the white terry robe up between two fingers.
Calum rolled his eyes. That wasn’t the help he’d had in mind.
“You don’t want Bethia out here in a wee towel?” Finn asked.
“Well …”
“Calum,” Beth called. “I’ve washed some things in the sink, so I need a robe. Bring me one, but turn your back first. Just hold the robe out, and I’ll grab it.”
The trickster put a finger to his lips.
Calum shook his head and advanced on Finn. “That kind of help I don’t need.” He jerked the robe from Finn’s grasp that was so loose the robe snapped into the desk light sending it clattering to the floor.
Finn looked pleased despite his robe game gone to ruins.
“Calum! What are you doing out there?”
He rapped on the bathroom door with his knuckles.
It opened a crack. She hooked her body behind the door. Humid air misted around her carrying a soft scent of vanilla. He inhaled deeply.
“I asked you to turn your back.”
His smile was full of innocence. “Oh, did you now? I couldn’t hear you so well. Thought you asked me to wash your back, and I was about to explain how that translates in my culture.”
“You are so very not funny. Just give me the robe.”
He held the robe a tad beyond her reach until she opened the door further. The tease couldn’t be helped. She was beautiful, damp hair brushed off her faultless heart–shaped face, skin flushed and glistening, a hand fisted in the towel clenched under her neck.
“Get a good eyeful, warrior?” She snatched the robe from his hand.
“Not nearly full enough,” he grumbled to the door shutting in his face. “But I’ll do for now.”
Finn laughed. “Ah, warrior, it pains me to see you persist in what can only be a futile end.”
“You don’t look the least bit pained,” Calum pointed out. The last thing he wanted to accept was his propensity for a futile ending among the bed sheets. Barring Calum’s expectation that sheer will would overcome his physical handicap, there was no prospect greater than Finn’s power. Bloody hell. He needed the trickster.
“Sorry,” said Finn, looking anything but. “I find you most entertaining, warrior.”
Another last thing Calum wanted. “Finn, perhaps I could appeal to your sympathetic side. If you could just fix this wee — ”
Finn vanished in a soft gust that blew through Calum’s hair. Faint silver laughter trickled out of the hotel room.
“Of all the self–serving, egocentric … to suggest I be his damn entertainment — ”
“Who in the world are you talking to?” Beth exited the bathroom clad in robe and turbaned in white terry.
“No one!” Calum roared, then immediately stifled his outburst and smiled sheepishly. “I was talking on that phone trying to rouse some servants.”
“You were doing what?”
“I’m in need of a bottle of whiskey, woman — a big one.”
Her brow furrowed. She glanced in the mirror and rummaged through the bag of goods they’d purchased downstairs. “Since you didn’t give me time to pack my hair straightener, I’ll have to pull it straight with a brush and blow dry. And just so you know, I have clothes on under this robe, so — ”
A bottle dropped from midair at ceiling height. Calum caught it inches from the ground. “For the love of God!”
In the mirror’s reflection, Beth’s gaze fell from his face to the bottle in his hands.
“Imagine that.” Focusing on the bottle, he read the label. “A 1973 Edradour single cask. There was whiskey tucked away here all along.”
Her gaze narrowed to such a degree, he worried she might strain a muscle. Calum was happy to turn his back to slide forward the two glasses on the desk. He dumped a good measure in both and handed one to Beth.
“Slàinte.” He raised his glass to hers before draining it. “Now that’s a damn fine whiskey.”
“I don’t drink Scotch … normally. Couldn’t be much farther from normal, could I?” She took a healthy gulp, squeezed her eyes shut, and shivered. “Ugh, that’s awful. Fill me up again … just half.”
Chapter 10
Desire Him, Desire Him Not
Beth felt a little more relaxed after the burn of whiskey dulled to warmth she felt mostly in her head — all buzzy and unperturbed up there. The slight haze felt welcome.
Calum’s eyes trained on her like a hungry wolf, but he stayed put in the Bergère chair. Not that she wanted him to get closer, she affirmed. Then affirmed again.
The more she looked at him, the more appealing he became. The polar opposite of Matthew, Calum looked like he’d be one with the mountains, not a city boy. The rugged look was accentuated by stubble that shadowed his square jaw. His hair was chin length, usually off his face, but caramel strands swung forward as he reached for his glass, muscles moving smoothly under his mocha sweater. She imagined him wielding one of those heavy claymore swords with elegant grace. Now that was a dangerous direction for her thoughts to go. Why was there nothing about this man that said professor?
“What course do you teach, Professor Cunningham?”
“I don’t teach. Just collecting research, lass, for the University of Edinburgh. How do you know for sure that this Matthew is the one for you?”
“Matthew is a man driven to set goals and attain them — not my strong suit. I tend to live in the moment. He’s breaking me of my disorganized habits and has detailed a three–year plan for me. It’s tacked up on my bulletin board, and believe me, I am on track.”
Calum leaned back in the chair with cougar–like eyes on her. “Does your soul burn for him? Do you feel him now deep in your bones? Does he know you so well that his mere touch brings you to your knees, Bethia?”
If bullshit was music, this guy would be a brass band. And he’d don
e it again, drawing out her name with that sensual inflection, and speaking of burning, that smoldering look could melt the robe right off a woman. Beth slid back until her head bumped the wall and her jean–clad knees were pulled up tight against her.
“You are so inappropriate,” she said. Soul–burning love? Right up until the one you love walks out the door for good. She’d always known she wouldn’t waste her life chasing it.
“And you wish Matthew was more so?”
Infuriating! “I live in the real world, Calum, not a fantasy. Is that what the women in your life tell you — that you make them weak in the knees?”
His smile was back to seduction. “Just one woman.”
“Really? Good for her.” He has a woman? Oh. Well, the man did have some appeal after all, if you liked the primitive, animalistic sort.
It was getting late. She put her glass on the bedside table. “I’m going to sleep now. You look quite comfortable over there in that chair, and I’ll thank you to stay in it.”
“You need not worry about me molesting you in the night.” His smile was as slick as a devil’s. Did he practice in front of a mirror? Oh geez. She couldn’t quite look away as he wet his lips and continued. “Not unless you want me to.”
She felt a faint tremble then silently cursed herself and steeled her eyes. “Give it up, Calum.”
“What does your father think of Matthew?”
Her father liked Matthew just fine. Two peas in a pod united in their quest to improve Beth’s financial sense. “You are beginning to irritate me. I’ve been more than accommodating, driving all day because heaven knows, you didn’t offer to. You had to watch your victim. Let’s remember what this is. You kidnapped me from my kitchen — ”
“No. I saved you from an assault. You were stuck to your chair, but no matter, I would risk my life for you again.”
She scoffed. “Risk your life? You’re built like a warrior. You dropped Bruce with one punch.”
His expression was full of self–approval.
“You threatened to put me in the trunk.”
“I was only wanting to impress upon you the seriousness of the situation. I’d not have followed through. I don’t think you would have fit.”
He was so not charming. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.” But she did know. It was just like the old Beth, the bane of her father’s life, the Beth she’d promised to leave behind. Impulsive, live in the moment, never look ahead for consequences.
“I’m trying to help you, but I can’t explain the way of it as yet. Can you not feel what is right inside you and trust me?”
Yes, she felt safe for some reason, but that reason remained too much a mystery to be comfortable. “Trust you? Do you have any idea how intimidating you are? It’s not just that you’re built out of stone and outweigh me by eighty pounds, it’s that look you get — you have a way of staring me down with pure sin.”
That exact sinful look washed smoothly over his face.
Beth glared — not charming at all.
“I’ll not apologise for it,” he said. “But I give you my word, I’ll not kiss you until you ask me. I know you will, Beth, and in case you suffer doubt, I will bring you to your knees. I’m a man of my word, but you’d best not forget, I am a man.”
She groaned, flicked the light off, and pulled the blanket up to her neck. Tell me something I don’t know. She’d never met a man who was more man than this man.
Ten minutes later, Beth lay awake in contemplation — her dad’s idea. I can’t impress upon you enough, Beth, when you’re unsure, spend time in contemplation before you act. Better late than never, she supposed.
Calum might be intent on saving her from some evil, but she’d not forgotten where he put his hand when he carried her out of the house. A carnal jolt of heat had penetrated her so exquisitely. Her body had never reacted that way to a man.
She gasped. I will bring you to your knees. Oh no! She’d followed him like a puppy dog because he’d felt good. The physical thrill had superseded her reason. Just like her mother who’d hardly come up for air between men. What did that say about her ability to steer clear of men–hopping behaviour?
Good thing her rational brain had finally kicked in despite her exhaustion. Come morning, she would be out of there — without Calum. He wasn’t a threat, no way. She would lose him easily. Beth peered over the blankets at the dark form softly breathing in the chair across the room. Sorry, warrior, some other life perhaps.
Chapter 11
It Takes a Tropical Thief
Calum woke at first light with the room still black as night. He pulled back the curtain to see trees tinged faintly in dawn’s grey then he let the drape fall back in place. As his vision adjusted to the dark, he moved silently to the shower. Standing under the hot spray, he heard a soft sound from the bedroom. Disappointment washed over him, even though he had expected it. Beth was going to run.
He left the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist, and stepped into the vestibule. Her hand was wrapped around the doorknob to the room.
“Don’t you need these?” He held her bra and panties washed clean the night before.
She jumped. “Geez, you scared me half to death. Oh …” She stopped in mid–sentence, mouth open showing him the pale rose of her tongue.
Good. She was still his Bethia. He remembered the effect her near naked, glistening skin had on him. With the woman rendered speechless, eyes fixated on his torso, he stood and silently offered — protection, promise, pleasure — and not in that particular order.
“I-I” She lowered her head. When she spoke, her gaze hit the floor and missed the glint of self–satisfaction in his eye.
“I was going to get some coffee,” she said finally.
“Wait, I’ll go with you.”
She sighed. “I may as well use the bathroom first.”
Standing in her way, he moved only the slightest, so she would have to brush against his skin if she wanted to pass, or ask him to move. She didn’t ask. He felt his blood grow warmer — progress. As she squeezed sideways, strands of her hair, the softest corn–silk, caressed his chest. He halted her by slipping his arm across the doorway. Shifting slightly, he leaned in close, a mere hair’s width between their bodies.
She looked up, rose pink lips parted slightly. He lowered his mouth toward hers, so close to taking her, his mind on a slow, passion–infused kiss. Come to me, he urged silently, careful to keep his thoughts to himself. She moved a fraction then hesitated. Come, Bethia.
She wasn’t ready. He gently brushed her mouth with his then tugged her upper lip into his mouth to taste her with a flick of his tongue before releasing her. By God, it took self–restraint. He ran the backs of his fingers along her cheekbone.
“Good morning to you, lass,” he purred. Then he left her pressed against the door frame. A few moments passed before she moved.
• • •
The Hilton offered a substantial breakfast buffet. Calum piled four pancakes against a healthy serving of sausage and scrambled eggs. His mood had deteriorated as he’d gotten dressed. That encounter with Beth had stimulated him down to his very warm blood. He’d felt every muscle go taut with expectation — except one. Damn. Normally he would have been hard as oak. She’d have felt him rising between them. What if she’d noticed and thought he wasn’t much of a man? What if he was never like oak again? What if no matter how strong his will, he was unable to make love to Beth? A low growl formed in his throat, and he sneered at a man who reached for the same biscuit he’d gone for. The man quickly retreated, sending Calum an equally loathsome look.
Bloody hell. This wouldn’t do. He breathed in to the count of five then slowly exhaled. A calm, even–minded outlook couldn’t be so difficult to maintain.
He walked over to the man and tossed the biscuit on his plate. “M
y pardon.”
The man’s face wrinkled in distaste as he glared at the biscuit.
No thank you? Be damned then, he thought. Some people were hell to please.
Calum spotted Beth, crossed the small dining room, pulled out a chair, and sat down. She quietly worked her way through a bowl of fruit, reading the paper, while Calum devoured breakfast.
“Oh!” Her fork dropped to the table with a clatter.
He swallowed his eggs. “What’s is it?”
“Meals on the Move is in the paper.” The article trembled in her hands.
“You have meals that move?” He gave the buffet a quick glance. Still there.
While the colour drained from her face, she explained that she delivered lunches to elderly shut–ins twice a week and then related the details of a three–paragraph account. The police were investigating complaints of missing jewelry from homes in the Ashbury area. The commonality among the seniors was that they received daily meals from a community food service that was now under investigation.
“Mrs. Miller mentioned that she’d misplaced jewelry when I delivered her lunch yesterday. How selfish and uncaring can a person be to have robbed Mrs. Miller? The poor lady thinks she has Alzheimer’s. How could one of the volunteers stoop so low?”
“That’s the extent of the article?” he asked. “It doesn’t mention your name?”
“Why would it?” Her gaze dropped back to the paper as she read it once more. “It says the police aren’t releasing any further information at this time while considering a family’s request. What could that mean?”
She gave him no time to respond. “Do you think I’ll be questioned by the police? I will, won’t I? Of course I will; my client has jewelry missing.”
He grimaced as he pictured Beth secured to that chair in her kitchen. “You find the black satchel in your yard, and then jewelry disappears from your customers and the police have a reason to question you. I do not like it.” His stomach clenched like a fist around his breakfast. Beth was not only linked to a crime by the satchel, but also by the food service.
Love of Her Lives Page 6
