Ian’s cool smile didn’t waver.
Blast the man and blast the giggling female who couldn’t stop staring at him. Jamee explored higher, her fingers gently nuzzling suddenly rigid muscle.
Then she froze. The full male power of him pressed against her palm, barely restrained by wool flannel. Her pulse hammered as she felt his heat beneath her fingers.
Ian’s head turned. His eyes gleamed, hard and smoky, promising sweet, sweet revenge.
“By the way, what do you Scotsmen wear beneath your kilts?” Tania asked throatily.
“Nothing, of course.”
Jamee blinked, mesmerized by the heat in Ian’s eyes. The tumid muscle grew harder beneath her hand. She moistened her dry lips and flushed, suddenly aware that she was playing with fire.
Silently, Ian caught her wrist beneath the table, then moved her hand onto her own thigh. His fingers opened, tracing the soft skin through her skirt. Jamee sat frozen, unable to move. Her left hand tightened on her water glass as Ian dipped beneath her skirt and found the curve of her inner thigh. Slowly, he traced the sensitive skin above her stockings.
With every movement, heat poured through her in delicious waves.
“Enough of this talk about kilts,” Duncan said tensely. “What about you, Miss Night? You’ve traveled all over the world, I understand. Perhaps you’ll share some of your wilder tales. Nicholas Draycott assures me you have quite a few.”
Jamee swallowed hard. Her wildest experience was taking place right now. She shivered as Ian’s relentless fingers moved up her inner thigh. She wanted him to stop, even as she prayed he would continue. She was in control, after all. That was what she had to prove to both of them. “Er, that must have been Bali. In the jungle. It was—hot. Very hot.” Ian’s hand eased slowly upward. “They were burning silkworm cocoons in the fields. An absolute waste. I said I would take everything they could give me.”
“Everything?” Ian murmured silkily. As he spoke, his hand glided higher.
Jamee nodded, feeling electricity hum where Ian’s fingers continued their hot, stroking climb.
“I understand that the chief was interested in marrying you,” Duncan said.
Ian’s fingers tensed.
“Actually, it was the chief’s son,” Jamee couldn’t keep the breathlessness from her voice. “I would have been wife number fourteen. Das offered to pay six knives and a cow for me.”
“Das?” Ian muttered.
“We—got to be fairly close. His offer was some kind of record, I was told.”
Ian brushed her sensitive flesh, his eyes narrowed. “And what did you say to the chief’s proposal?” As he spoke, his fingers splayed open, only inches from the warm delta at the juncture of her thighs.
Her sanity shredding fast, Jamee raised her chin and smiled sweetly. “I told the chief I never mix business with pleasure, of course.” If her laugh sounded shaky, no one seemed to notice in the general laughter that followed.
Only Ian sat unmoving without the hint of a smile. His focus was savage in its intensity. “No?” he murmured.
And then his hand curved, palming the sleek folds covered by the sheerest barrier of silk.
Jamee drew a ragged breath. Desire rippled through her, spurred by each knowing movement of Ian’s fingers. His exploration was slow and sweet, and Jamee felt her traitorous body yield to his touch even as her mind struggled to remain aloof.
The conversation ebbed and flowed around them, but Ian’s dark eyes never left her. It was obvious that he felt every detail of Jamee’s response. “Never?” he murmured, finding the lacy edge of silk and inching past.
Jamee cleared her throat. “N-never.”
The conversation shifted again. Somebody laughed at one of Hidoshi’s jokes and then chairs scraped against marble.
Jamee barely noticed, trapped by the hunger in Ian’s eyes. His face was hard, his jaw tense as he eased deeper, parting her silken skin. He made a low sound, then sheathed himself inside her.
Jamee sat frozen. She couldn’t wriggle free. Moving was impossible. The table was empty except for the two of them now and she was drowning in his eyes, feeling everything unravel inside her. With each slow brush of his callused fingers, pleasure surged through her body and her heart slammed in aching anticipation.
She bit her lip, unable to stop thinking about what he was doing.
Unable to stop wanting him to do more.
Her hand tightened around her wineglass. Beneath the table, her dewy skin parted layer by layer beneath his fingers. She felt desire shimmer through her, pulsing and hot like a mirage that faded endlessly into the horizon.
“Ian, I—”
“They’re gone, Jamee. We’re alone here. At last, dammit. God, how I’ve wanted to feel you.” His voice was thick, smoky with desire. “Let me touch you now.”
“I can’t—I don’t—”
Colors Jamee had only experienced in dreams teased her eyes. A low sound caught on her lips and she barely managed to bite it down as a rush of blinding pleasure slammed through her.
The world blurred. Sound faded. She shuddered, falling deep, delight like a summer wind that kissed her very soul. Tremors seized her legs, her arms, and she tightened her hands as he slid a fraction deeper, a fraction faster. A shudder tore through her as she felt Ian’s lips brush her face, her eyelids. Patterns of joy danced through her being, driving her toward a peak that had no end. Then she was over, gasping. Flying. Lost in blind sensation.
Ian whispered her name hoarsely as his hand stilled. His forehead was dotted with sweat and his jaw was clenched. “Sweet God,” he said raggedly, easing away from her slick heat. “I must be mad.”
Too late. Waves crested. Color flashed anew, worked in the magic of his retreating touch. She shattered, dizzy and lost, entranced by the only man who had unlocked the secrets of her heart.
Ian cursed softly and bent closer. “Dammit, Jamee, I want you.” He took a hard breath. “It’s the last thing I should be thinking about, and yet I want you now.”
Hunger blazed in his eyes. His hand lay on the table, rigid. His face was pale.
No, he wasn’t immune, Jamee realized. He wanted her just as much as she wanted him.
Her body shivered in the aftermath of his knowing touch.
“Say the word, Jamee,” he whispered. “Say the word and to hell with everything else. Maybe it’s time we made this masquerade real.”
Her hand settled over his cheek and she felt the rigid line of the muscle beneath.
He was a man of honor. If they went upstairs now, he would hate himself for betraying his duty. He would always believe he had endangered her by a lapse of control he could never forgive.
“You don’t really mean that,” Jamee said softly. “Besides, I don’t want your mind wandering when I finally get you into bed, Lord Glenlyle. I’m picky that way.” She gave a crooked smile. “You see, I want all the time in the world.”
Ian’s eyes closed. “I’ll give you what I have when this is over. Then we can both think clearly.”
“I mean to hold you to that promise, Scotsman. Otherwise I’ll send my brothers after you, fearsome in all their wrath.”
“They’ve never fought a Scotsman before,” Ian said gruffly.
“True, but you’ve never fought a Night before, either.”
THE WALLS OF Dunraven Castle were quiet. No voices drifted from the ballroom. No giggling strangers huddled around the great smoke-stained fireplace. In the Great Hall, the Christmas tree glittered beneath layers of tinsel and silver bows.
As the silence lengthened, light seemed to gather and spin along the tree’s highest branches. Flecks of gold and pink clung to the polished face of a ceramic angel with silver wings out-spread. Brightness shimmered over the figure’s damask skirts and haloed the nearby branches, where three white bells hung from a bright tartan ribbon.
As the light clung, spiraling out in sparks of silver and gold, a faint chiming rose like fairy bells and drifted through Dunraven�
�s silent corridors.
There was no one in the Great Hall to hear the high, crystal peals. No one felt the giant tree sway slightly, sighing as if touched by a phantom wind.
And no one saw the proud gray cat ghost through the shadows and curl up at the tree’s foot.
HE DIDN’T LIKE IT. In fact, his phantom blood was boiling.
Adrian Draycott stalked across the abbey’s darkened roof, kicking at bits of gravel and scowling. Nothing had gone right since Gideon had left. Not one wretched thing.
“I miss him, dammit. There’s the beginning and end to it.” He propped his arms on the edge of the parapet, surveying the patchwork of forest and fields. The long years of comradeship with Gideon had left their imprint on him. Nothing felt right, suddenly.
“Adrian?” Light shimmered over the roof, touching the granite stones. “We both miss him, my love.” A woman with luminous eyes took form beside him, draped in a dress of gold.
Adrian felt his heart leap as it always did when he saw the woman he loved. He gave her a crooked smile and tried to hide his restlessness. “I’m sure Gideon is perfectly happy at Dunraven. Probably a dozen people are fawning over him, feeding him salmon in a little silver bowl. In fact,” Adrian said darkly, “the spoiled creature has probably forgotten all about us. No doubt he finds those damned misty glens far more interesting than my drab abbey grounds. I expect I’ll have trouble fetching him home for Christmas.” There was a hint of pain in his voice as he spoke.
The woman linked her fingers with his. “Gideon, forget you? You name the impossible, my lord. Besides, ’twas you who sent him to Dunraven, as I recall.”
“Don’t remind me,” Adrian growled. At his words wind hissed over the roof and dead leaves skittered across his boots.
“He is needed at Dunraven, is he not?”
“I fear so. The danger is real and grows as Christmas draws near.”
“The woman named Jamesina?”
“I fear so.”
“Then you were right to send him. We will blunder along here in our fashion.”
Adrian gave a long sigh. “But there’s so much to do. The old year has to be rung out with proper ritual and all our spells cleared. After that, there’s a tree to be selected from the high woods.”
“I suppose Nicholas and his family may be trusted to do some things right,” his lady said with the faintest touch of irony.
“Bah! Left to his mortal devices, he will surely bungle everything.”
“In that case,” the woman in gold said quietly, “you and I had better get to work, had we not? As it happens, I have had my eyes on a particular fir tree at the top of the clearing near Lyon’s Leap.” Her beautiful eyes glittered. “It happens to be the same tree where we spent quite a few happy hours together in the spring.”
Adrian’s lips curved. “That fir?”
“None other.”
“You mean, the one where we—”
“Exactly.” Her voice was purest silk.
Adrian cleared his throat. “It was a most remarkable afternoon, as I recall. That tree provided a most delicious shade while we…” He cleared his throat a second time, chuckling. “Very well, the choice is made. We shall bumble along without Gideon somehow.” He studied the figure shimmering beside him. “I’m afraid I, too, have a business matter up north that I must tend to. I shan’t be away long. But the most enjoyable of my tasks begins here.”
“Here?”
Adrian’s hands eased over her creamy shoulders and circled her waist. “There is joy to be spun, beauty that will encircle all of my abbey’s walls.” He moved closer. Though it was the dead of winter, the scent of roses suddenly filled the air, mixed with lavender and honeysuckle. The old granite stones shone with light as the fragrance grew.
Petite Lisette, Gloire Des Mousseux, and Fantin Latour. The flower names were as rich as the rose fragrance they bore. Each was Adrian’s pride and joy.
As the two figures met, light swirled to dancing sparks and cascaded over the weathered walls. Love flowed through casement and capstone, past mortar and oaken beam. Faint yet tenacious, their fragile molecules trembled, then melded in a longing beyond time, beyond mortal limits.
Perhaps even beyond understanding.
And in that moment, a faint high peal of bells rang out over the dark, barren fields. Twelve times and then once more.
FAR AWAY TO THE NORTH where a proud Scottish domain rose above raging seas, a great cat raised his head at the sound of phantom bells. There was sorrow in his eyes for a moment, longing in his tensed gray body. He gave a low meow.
Then he sank back beneath the great pine tree.
There he stayed, eyes alert, waiting for the danger that was to come.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE EVENING that followed was a time of pure magic talked about for years afterward at Dunraven. Soon after dinner, it began to snow, great soft flakes that dusted the cheeks and the eyes. Kara scrambled to the window, giggling like a girl of ten and Jamee was nearly as excited. When the models ran outside and made snowballs, Hidoshi followed and crouched in the snow, his shutter clicking.
“Let’s take the little train and see the Wise Men,” Duncan said to his wife as he led her outside.
Standing by the window, Ian hid a smile. He hadn’t seen his friend look so happy in ages. Jamee was bouncing from foot to foot in her eagerness.
“Come on, McCall,” she challenged. “I’ve got a snowball that has your name on it.”
Ian wanted to say yes and join her in the lighthearted frolic, but it was out of the question. In the dark, with visibility further reduced by the snow, she would be a perfect target.
He shook his head.
“Chicken, are you?” She raised her fist and lightly tapped his chest, dancing like a boxer. “I didn’t grow up with four brothers without tucking a few tricks under my belt.”
Kara pulled Duncan down into the snow, both reveling in the general giddiness as the first snowfall of the year swirled around them.
“No, Jamee.” Ian moved closer. “I’m afraid we can’t.”
“But why—” Realization filled her eyes. In a heartbeat she went from joy to sadness. “Oh. You think they might be…” She didn’t finish.
“I’m sorry, Jamee. Genuinely sorry.”
She turned and looked wistfully out at the lawn, where Kara was rubbing snow all over her husband’s face while Hidoshi pelted his assistant with snowballs. Ian ached to change the situation.
And he knew it was impossible.
A golden bell moved in the wind where it hung from the hand of a marble Cupid, brought back from the Grand Tour by some MacKinnon ancestor. One of Kara’s snowballs hissed through the air and set the bell chiming madly. With each high peal Ian felt the light, electric brush of movement along his spine.
What Jamee asked for was so little, surely. “Oh, hell, come on,” he muttered, grabbing her hand.
“Are you sure?”
“Maybe I’ve got a snowball that has your name on it.”
Snow dusted their faces as they charged outside. Jamee instantly scooped up a handful of snow and hurled it at Ian, striking him in the chest.
“Not fair! I wasn’t ready,” he growled.
“Lame, McCall. Very lame. My brother could have found a better excuse when he was five.” As Jamee spoke, she hurled another well-packed missile.
This time Ian ducked, and the snowball struck the gold bell.
Jamee halted midlaugh as a pure ringing filled the air. “Do you feel that, Ian? It’s like a kiss. Like all the Christmas wishes wrapped up into one.”
Ian wanted to bundle her into his arms and kiss her. Standing in the snow and watching her smile, he felt the magic and wild enchantment that he had put away so long ago as a lonely child. He hadn’t realized until that moment how much he had lost in the process.
The bell chimed again.
Light shimmered off Jamee’s hair, flecked with snowflakes. Ian grabbed her braid and held her still, while he
sprinkled snow down the back of her blouse.
She shrieked and whipped around, pummeling his neck. “Cheat! Hair-holding is a foul.”
“No rules, lass. We play snowball the hard way here in the Highlands.”
“Is that so, Braveheart?” Jamee scooped up a handful of powder and reached beneath his jacket and his shirt, then spread the cold flakes all over his naked chest. “And that’s what we do to big bullies like you.” Before Ian could move, she caught his foot and sent him flying facedown into the snow.
Duncan exploded with laughter. “Aye, a McCall is a hard man to topple, but when he falls, he falls hard.”
Ian pushed to his feet, fire in his eyes. He stalked toward Jamee, who immediately sent a volley of snow at his face and shoulders.
But Ian was not about to be distracted.
Jamee held her ground. This was a game she seldom lost, even against four rowdy brothers. Her aim was perfect and her pacing even better.
Down the hill the little steam engine began to chug. Someone blew a whistle, but neither Ian nor Jamee paid any attention. “Fight to the death,” Ian muttered, shaping a huge ball of white between his hands.
“Fight to the death,” Jamee agreed, her eyes riveted on the hard-packed mass.
“Winner takes all,” Ian said, his eyes unreadable.
“Agreed,” Jamee said cockily.
She ducked as the giant ball sailed past and struck a pine tree. Powder dusted her face. While Ian bent to scoop up another handful of snow, Jamee attacked and struck him squarely on the forehead.
He never wavered. He just kept coming, his eyes unrelenting.
“Give up, McCall. You’re outclassed. Face it, that snowball you’re making will never touch me.” She took a dancing step back with each word.
He just kept coming.
Jamee hurled off another handful of snow, striking his neck. Snow trickled beneath his collar and soaked the front of his shirt. “You can’t possibly hope to win. I’ve been beating my brothers at this game for twenty years.”
He still kept coming.
She stopped, put her hands on her hips. “Is this some kind of man thing?”
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