by Donna Grant
She was seized, held. Captured. All by the look of need in his golden eyes. When she dragged in a ragged breath, Ronnie could feel her body melting toward him.
Arran was like a force field pulling her, tugging her. She knew she should turn away, or at the very least pretend she hadn’t seen his reaction. But she couldn’t. It was as if the world stopped for a few seconds, and it was only the two of them.
He was the first to look away, and Ronnie didn’t want to evaluate how upset she was at that.
With the fortitude that had gotten her through life, she shrugged out of her jacket and slung it over the chair to dry. She then turned her back to Arran and wiped strands of wet hair from her face. At least her bun had held.
“Thank you for the help,” she said when she was able to find her voice.
“I did what anyone would’ve.”
“If they’d been there,” she said, and looked over her shoulder at him.
He stood to the side, his gaze on something outside through the opening in her tent as he lifted the flap a few inches to peer through it.
Ronnie thought she’d pegged Arran as soon as she saw him, but even in the little time she’d spent with him, she realized she had been woefully wrong.
With his attention diverted, Ronnie peeled off her wet button-down and tank before hastily pulling on one of her old Stanford sweatshirts.
* * *
Arran kept his gaze focused outside, but inside the tent he was aware of Ronnie’s every move. From the sound of the wet material leaving her body to her quick inhale as the cool air hit her bare skin. Somehow he managed to keep from looking at her while she changed shirts, which had been a feat in itself.
He’d gotten a glimpse of her breasts as her shirt clung to them. They weren’t small or large. They were a perfect handful.
And how he yearned to see them bared, to watch while her nipples grew rigid as he teased and suckled them.
Arran knew he was attracted to Ronnie, he just hadn’t realized how great that attraction was until he’d held her.
Felt her.
Touched her.
He knew the sensation of her body against him now. He’d embraced her, knew her softness, and longed for more. So very much more. How close he’d been to kissing her. She’d wanted it, would have accepted it.
For his part, he couldn’t remember feeling such need to kiss a woman before. It had surprised him enough that it made him pause. Now he regretted that hesitation.
Ronnie wanted to keep him at a safe distance, because of her own desires that she obviously didn’t trust. He’d been there less than an hour, and already his cock ached to be buried inside her, to feel her wet clingy heat as he filled her.
Arran clenched his teeth. What the hell was wrong with him? Ever since he’d arrived at the dig site and the magic touched him, he’d been on edge, a strange sensation running through him that he hadn’t felt before.
It wasn’t drough magic. That he knew.
He’d spent the last year in constant company with Druids, so why would the magic be affecting him now? The only explanation was that it was ancient magic he was feeling.
Whatever it was, he needed to get a hold of himself. Hastily. Ronnie had already told him she didn’t want him fooling around, and since all he wanted to do was toss her onto the cot and cover her body with his, it was getting damned problematic.
Now he wished he’d brought another Warrior with him. This was supposed to be a simple mission. Arran should have known it would be anything but.
“Why don’t you tell me why you’re really here?”
Ronnie’s voice, cool and to the point, tugged his head around to her. Whatever desire had been in her hazel eyes before was banked. “What are you talking about?”
“My foster father was a detective in our local police department. I know that alert look you have, the one that says you notice everything and everyone. Now, stop jerking me around and tell me what you’re really doing here.”
Arran liked her forthright attitude. He studied her for a moment, noticing the faded lettering on her sweatshirt and the way locks of hair fell from the bun to hang alongside her face. He wondered how long her hair was, and if it was as silky as it appeared.
He imagined it falling around him as she leaned over him, slowly lowering herself on him. His hand fisted as he thought of sliding his hands through her hair and winding it around his fingers.
“I’m here to help with the dig. I’m interested in it, and that’s the truth. Aye, I notice things. It’s what I do. It’s part of me and no’ something I can change.”
“Men like you don’t just show up for no reason.”
“That’s the second time today you’ve said ‘men like me.’ Do I frighten you, lass?”
She lifted her chin and stuffed her fingers in the front pockets of her jeans. “There isn’t much in this life I can’t handle.”
“That I believe.” He couldn’t stop the grin that followed.
Ronnie had spunk. It was obvious by the way she kept referring to men that something had happened in her past. Did it have something to do with her father? A past lover? Possibly a husband?
Arran didn’t know, but he wanted to find out. He didn’t like being compared to others, especially when no one else could rival a Warrior.
He glanced at the gold chain that fell hidden beneath her sweatshirt. “Where did you get the pendant?”
“On a dig three years ago in Northern Scotland.” She pulled out the pendant and ran her fingers along the knot work. “It’s exquisite, isn’t it? I find it amazing that they could create such works of art so long ago that our craftsmen today can barely replicate.”
“The Celts were an amazing people.”
“I’ve always been fascinated with them,” she said with a small grin, her gaze still on the pendant.
“What did your American studies tell you about my ancestors?”
Her eyes lifted to his then. “Not nearly as much as I know is out there. I’ve done my fair share of research, and I always come away feeling as if a huge chunk of the Celts’ history has been left out.”
“Maybe because they didna want others to know?”
She snorted. “They were a proud people. You know that. Can you imagine them not wanting to tell the world who they were?”
Arran shrugged and folded his arms over his chest. “What if I told you I could answer all your questions about the Celts?”
He didn’t know why he offered. He couldn’t tell her. It would be dangerous for anyone other than a Druid or a Warrior to know of a Warrior’s existence. And the Celts were linked with Warriors.
“Sure,” she said, and made a sound in the back of her throat. “I’ve had that same offer before and was told some nonsense about magic and Rome and warriors.”
Arran jerked, his full attention on the woman before him. His arms fell to his side and he took a step toward Ronnie. “Who told you this?”
“A volunteer on the dig three years ago. He was an elderly man that made sure everyone had something to drink and eat. When I found the pendant, he asked me if I wanted to know the story of the Celts. Having no idea I was going to be given a line of bullshit, I said yes.”
Arran took a deep breath to keep calm. “What is the man’s name? Where is he?”
“What does it matter?” she asked, her voice lowering with suspicion. “It was just a story.”
“Ronnie, I need to know who this man is.”
She searched his gaze for a moment before she said, “He died a month later at the site. He fell and hit his head on a rock. He was dead instantly.”
The story of the Druids, of Rome and the Warriors’ creation wasn’t one that anyone other than a Druid or a Warrior would know. Who was this man who had told Ronnie the story?
“What was the man’s name?” Arran asked.
Ronnie’s brow rose. “What does it matter? He’s dead.”
“Please, Ronnie.”
“Tell me why.”
&nb
sp; “Damn, you’re a stubborn one,” Arran said in exasperation as he glanced away and tried to find a plausible reason he could give her.
She merely smiled and shrugged. “As anyone who knows me will attest. Now, tell me why it’s so important. Why are the ramblings of an old man of interest?…” Her voice died as realization fell over her face. “Unless his story was true,” she finished.
Arran had to think quickly. Ronnie’s mind was sharp, but he wasn’t sure how much she knew, nor how much the old man had gotten right.
“We Scots are a wee protective of the stories bandied around. Magic has long been associated with this land. Some believe in it and will seek to do whatever they can to find it.”
“For what purpose?” she asked.
“To destroy it. Or worse, to use it to their advantage.”
Her head cocked to the side. “Do you believe in magic?”
“If you’d seen the things I’ve seen, Dr. Reid, you wouldna be asking me that.”
She laughed, the sound so musical and beautiful that it caused him to smile in return. “That was a good response, but not an answer.”
“It was most certainly an answer. You just have to know how to decipher a Scot’s words.”
“You like toying with me, don’t you?”
“I like this banter,” he replied honestly. He also liked watching the emotions flash through her lovely hazel eyes. “Most of my friends are married, and while we do spar verbally on occasion, it’s nice to be able to do it with someone as intelligent and fetching as you.”
“Oh, and now a compliment,” she said as she looked at the ground. “I don’t get much of those. Thank you.”
“I doona say things I doona mean. Remember that. The man’s name?”
“I’ll give it when you tell me why it’s so important.”
“I did, lass.”
She rolled her eyes. “You gave me a line of shit. I deal in truths, Arran. Remember that.”
The conversation was halted as Arran’s cell phone rang, and then Andy came into the tent.
“Until tomorrow,” Arran said, and ducked out into the rain before he changed his mind and ignored the call from Fallon.
Ronnie stared at the opening long after Arran had departed. Andy was speaking, but she didn’t register anything he was saying.
In her mind, she was replaying her and Arran’s entire conversation. He was witty and charming. A rogue of the first order. And one she should keep away from.
But she knew she wouldn’t.
It had been so long since her body had ruled her, and it felt good—right, even. Being in Arran’s arms made her remember what it was like to feel breathless need racing through her.
Except with Arran, that breathless need was magnified tenfold. It frightened her, this all-consuming need she felt to be in his arms, to know the sexual promise she saw in his gaze.
To give herself to a man such as him.
If it was just attraction she might be able to fight that, but the pull went deeper, as if an invisible bond kept dragging her toward Arran.
As if their destinies were intertwined.
The thought chilled her.
A future that involved anyone but herself would only end in tragedy. She had to keep herself apart if she wanted to find the relic she searched for.
It was too important to forget. Too important for her to dally, even with a man as charming and sexy as Arran MacCarrick.
CHAPTER
FOUR
Arran answered his phone with a terse, “Aye?”
“I gather you’re there?” Fallon asked.
Arran sighed and quickly ducked into his tent. He was drenched, but his blood was on fire because of one woman—Ronnie Reid.
“Aye,” he answered.
“What’s going on? I hear something in your voice.”
Arran wiped the water from his eyes as he stood in the middle of the tent. “Nothing I can no’ handle, Fallon.”
“This mission is important. If I need to send another Warrior—”
“It’s a damned woman, all right,” he replied tightly. “That’s all that’s wrong with me. No need to send anyone.”
There was silence for a heartbeat before Fallon laughed. “You had me worried. Who is this woman?”
“Ronnie Reid.”
“The archeologist running the dig?”
“The verra one.”
“You’re buggered, mate.”
“And I know it.” Arran decided to turn the subject away from him. “There’s magic here. I felt it as soon as I drove up.”
“Do you think it’s the spell?”
Arran peered out the tent’s entrance. The rain had sent everyone scurrying away. It would be a perfect time for him to have a look around. “It could be, or it could just be the remainder of the magical artifacts sent from Edinburgh. Ronnie has a necklace that’s ancient Celt. That could be part of the source.”
“There’s something else.”
“It’s probably nothing.”
“Arran,” Fallon said, his voice low. “I can be there in a blink. Doona lie to me.”
He squeezed his eyes closed because he hadn’t wanted to share the next part yet, at least not until he knew for sure. “There’s a Druid here. And before you get all excited, I’ve no’ found them yet. This entire area hums with magic. I’m having difficulty with the sheer amount of it.”
“But you felt something?”
“Aye. And it wasna drough magic.”
Arran could hear Fallon tapping his finger on the table through the phone. He waited as Fallon thought through everything.
And even though Arran’s gaze should be on the dig site, he found it going to Ronnie’s tent. The light was on, and he was able to see her and Pete’s silhouettes in the darkening night.
“Tread carefully,” Fallon said.
Arran knew he was talking about the mission, but Arran was thinking of Ronnie. “That was decided before I left.”
“Aye, but we didna know what to expect. I think you’ll learn more there on your own, but I willna jeopardize anything. At the first hint of trouble, I’m sending in Charon or Malcolm.”
“It willna come to that,” Arran said, and ended the conversation.
He stuffed the phone into his bag and stepped into the rain once more. It was a dousing rain, a storm that would last for several hours.
Though Arran wouldn’t chance lifting any of the tarps to peer inside, he could scout the area to know where the best places for him to sneak in or out would be.
The area was larger than Arran first realized. There was much that had been sectioned off that apparently Ronnie wanted to dig, but they hadn’t even broken ground there.
He looked to the newest section of earth that had been dug. That seemed to be the place she was most interested in. Still, Arran made a mental note of where the others were.
The clouds of the storm had darkened the sky, but it was light enough that he could be seen, so Arran walked to his SUV to make it appear as if he’d forgotten something.
After digging in the back for a moment, he shut the hatch and then leaned against the vehicle. The rain had never bothered him. He always found it odd that people in this modern world he now found himself in scurried out of it as if the rain would harm them in some way.
In his eyes, the rain washed away the filth that littered the world. And the world needed more rain.
He made two rounds of the entire dig site, making sure no one saw him. With the storm, it was easy, since everyone stayed in their tents or caravans.
With his patrol over, Arran slowly headed back to his tent. He couldn’t help but glance over at Ronnie’s. She was alone now, and for a second, Arran thought about going back to her to see if he could get the name of the old man.
Or a kiss.
But Ronnie would want to know why he needed the name. Arran couldn’t exactly tell her the truth, though she’d nearly pieced it all together.
It was necessary for him to stay at t
he dig, and if she delved into the old man’s story and discovered Arran was a Warrior, he doubted she’d allow him to remain at the site.
Arran kept walking until he was in his own tent. He straightened and shook his head vigorously to rid himself of the water.
“I think I should’ve stayed outside. I’d be drier.”
Arran jerked his gaze up to find Pete sitting on his cot and covered in droplets of water. “Apologies. I didna know you’d returned.”
“I’d thought to have dinner with Ronnie, but her mind is elsewhere.”
Arran removed his shirt and dug into his bag for a fresh pair of jeans. Once he’d changed and laid out his sodden clothes and boots to dry, he sank onto his bed and bent a knee to put his bare foot on the cot.
He let an arm rest across his knee as he studied Pete, who was busy flipping through a book by the light of the lantern on the table between them. His male vanity was glad to hear his near kiss with Ronnie had addled her as it had him.
“Ronnie is a determined woman,” Pete said into the silence. He looked up from his book, his eyes pinning Arran.
“I’ve noticed.”
“This is her life, and she doesn’t let anything interfere with it. If you have any ideas of seducing her—”
“That’s no’ why I’m here,” Arran interrupted him before Pete could continue. “I’m here for the dig, no’ to find a woman.”
Pete grunted and flipped a few more pages. “Just keep what I said in mind. Ronnie is capable of taking care of herself.”
“Yet you feel the need to protect her.”
“Yes. Ronnie is … special,” Pete said. He closed the book and set it beside him as he turned to sit on the side of the cot. Then he rested his forearms on his legs and clasped his hands together. “I like you, Arran, and I saw the way you looked at her before you knew who she was.”
“She’s a verra beautiful woman. I’m a man who appreciates such beauty.”
Pete smiled and looked out of the tent. “She has no idea of her attractiveness, which is part of her allure. Men mistake her noninterest as being coy.”
Arran wasn’t sure why Pete was telling him all this. To warn him off, yes, but there was something else there as well.
