Sinfully Supernatural

by Multiple

She poured two fingers of scotch and downed it in one fast swallow.

  “Don’t take me for a fool. I know when a man’s mind isn’t on me.”

  “You’re making this out to be more than it is. I’m merely distracted today.”

  “Callum.” She waited until he made eye contact. There was no anger, no recriminations burning in her gaze. He almost wished there was. That would be easier to swallow than her sadness. “You were ready for a fast, hard shag. I could tell when you called. You get here and you can’t—something that has never happened before.”

  “I’ve had some issues with the family.” Which was true—to a point.

  “Callum—”

  “Bloody hell, Calista, leave it alone.”

  Her eyes widened at his temper. It was something he tried to hide from everyone, even his family, and he was pretty sure she’d never seen him angry. He shrugged into his suit jacket and then his coat. He approached her and brushed his lips against her cheek. She smelled of lilies, as she always did. “I’ll give you a ring next week.”

  She pulled back and studied him, then said, “I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t want me to call you?”

  “I’d love it.” She shook her head. “But I don’t think I’ll hear from you.”

  Too uncomfortable with her words—and the idea they may be true—Callum left without another word. He stepped into the lift, pushed the button, and let out an aggravated sigh the moment the doors shut.

  He’d called Calista when he’d escaped to Edinburgh. After five days with Phoebe in his office, he’d been happy for the break. With Phoebe occupied for a few hours at the library with her research, he’d assumed he could take the edge off with Calista and a bit of bed sport. Since Calista was Phoebe’s direct opposite in personality and looks, he’d hoped she would clear his head of the good doctor.

  Instead, it had the direct opposite effect. He had Calista gasping, begging for release, and he couldn’t do it. In his mind, he knew he wanted—needed—the relief, wanted to give her satisfaction, but every fiber rejected it. There was no doubt he could return and finish it up right now. All it would take was a bit of cajoling, and he could have Calista back in bed. He could use her, and knowing her like he did, she wouldn’t object. But he just couldn’t order his finger to press the button to her floor. He didn’t want the sleek, athletic body. No, when he closed his eyes, his soul craved a different woman. One with curves, a tumble of blond curls, and mermaid eyes.

  The lift’s doors slid open silently, and Callum stepped off, his temper still brewing, his libido still humming. Just what the hell was he going to do? The woman was in his head, and he couldn’t push her out, even when touching another woman.

  Callum was sure pretty words and promises were something Phoebe Chilton would expect. With one marriage behind her, he got the feeling that she would want another—not to mention children. She just seemed the type of woman who would thrive in a marriage. He could never offer her that, even if he wanted to. It annoyed him every time she brought up her late husband. Her passing reference to her honeymoon on Wednesday had him forcing back a growl of frustration. Why did it bother him if she had gone to the Highlands with another man? And why did the need to be the one to show her his homeland almost suffocate him? It didn’t help that Angus sensed his irritation and brought up her husband on a regular basis.

  Bloody curse! He just had to keep his hands off Phoebe and all would be well. If he didn’t, Callum knew any liaison with her would fuck things up—especially in his head. The future of the Lennon clan was on the line, and as Angus had said a few days ago, this might be their last chance. If there was even the smallest of possibilities that the diary held the secrets to end their suffering, he couldn’t chance it. On top of that, he didn’t trust anyone outside of the family, and especially not an Englishwoman. Everyone had agreed it was best that she work in his office. Even Anice, who still wanted to believe the best of Phoebe, admitted that it would be prudent to keep the book safely locked up. And if the bloody doctor didn’t finish her damned research soon, he was going to go out of his bleeding mind. Or fuck her on his desk.

  From the moment she’d lost herself in the research the first day, he’d been in a state of arousal. Their discussion a couple of days ago hadn’t helped, or the way she’d stared at him while he’d been on the phone. Just watching her skin flush with excitement, the way her breathing had hitched and the wary arousal had blossomed in her eyes, almost had him vaulting over his desk to reach her. His body had been screaming for the relief he knew he could find buried deep within her body. Hell, his hands had shook with need, and he’d almost acted on it, had almost taken her. And he could have. He’d sensed her arousal. It was plain on her face. The fact that she wouldn’t object added another level to his lust. Every primal instinct urged him to mount and conquer. Thankfully, Alastair had pulled him back from the brink with just a quick comment, and he’d turned away before he’d made an ass of himself.

  He blamed the woman. Every time she found something new or discerned a clue, she gasped and sighed. It wasn’t even sexual, but his cock didn’t seem to care. Just seeing the look of rapt study as she read the diary left him hard, and after she retired at the end of the day, her scent lingered. He needed this break, a quick shag, and then he would be fine. But he knew now that wouldn’t happen.

  A strong gust of wind hit him, pulling him out of his irritating memories. He tugged up the collar on his coat and stepped off the curb to cross the street. Anice had asked if he would pick up a watch she’d had repaired, and while he usually hated doing errands like this, he’d latched onto the idea of spending more time away from Phoebe. It only took a few minutes to finish his task, and he was heading for the door. As he pulled it open to exit, the object of his thoughts tumbled in right into his arms.

  Chapter Four

  The instant Callum touched Phoebe, his body reacted. His pulse jumped as most of the blood in his brain headed south. The cold air that rushed in behind her did little to cool him. He tried to right her, but she slipped and laughed. The sound of it sent a rush of heat racing down his spine. When she finally stood up and tossed her hair out of her face, her eyes widened, her lips parted, and a flush of heat filled her cheeks with a delightful blush. She looked like a woman who had just had a good tumble. Since he hadn’t seen her in a few hours, perhaps she had. After the debacle at Calista’s, the thought that she had succeeded in a liaison when he could not both provoked and disturbed him.

  “Oh, my.” Her breathy voice held a note of worry and something that sounded like arousal. It slipped beneath his skin, danced along his nerve endings. “I didn’t think to find you here.”

  He still hadn’t let go of her arms—and didn’t want to. They stood there blocking the doorway as he fought the urge to pull her closer.

  “Were you looking for me?”

  She shook her head as confusion puckered her brow. “No. I came in to look for a trinket.”

  Someone stepped up behind her, and he finally grabbed a few brain cells and pulled the two of them inside, out of the doorway. It forced them closer, his chest brushing against her breasts, the scent of her invading his senses.

  “Trinket?”

  She nodded. “My mother’s birthday is coming up.”

  “Oh.”

  She trembled, brushing up against him again. Bloody hell, he wanted her. Her lips were wet, and she pulled the bottom one through her teeth. He wanted to taste her. That one thought dominated his mind, and he bent his head to satisfy his need.

  “Mr. Lennon, do you mind letting me go?”

  She whispered the request. Her voice had deepened, stroking his arousal. Dammit! He tightened his fingers, unwilling to comply. He craved her with an almost consuming passion that was embarrassing for a man his age.

  “Mr. Lennon?”

  When he realized her voice had gone sharp and several of the store’s patrons were staring at them, he jerked back and
relinquished his hold. Drawing in a deep breath, he took a moment to compose himself before looking at her again. She wasn’t looking at him but rather straightening her clothes and her hair.

  “What did you say you were doing here?” he asked.

  Her head shot up, her eyes narrowing, and he realized accusation laced his tone.

  “Not that it is any business of yours, but as I told you, my mother’s birthday is approaching. I thought to shop for a trinket to send her.”

  Maybe…but wasn’t it just a bit odd that she ended up in the very shop he was in? Edinburgh wasn’t a massive city like London, but it wasn’t small. There were shops aplenty on the way to and from the library that sold the same kind of nonsense. Not that he had any idea what she would gain from following him.

  “Where’s Belvidore?”

  She took a step back from him, all warmth fading from her expression, and he hated it. Though it was for the best, the usual distance between them irritated him. He wanted to see her blush again, feel her body flush against his. Not a good idea.

  “I’ve no idea. He said he would retrieve me around two in the afternoon.” She glanced behind her as the store bell rang. “I did everything I could at the library, so I slipped in here to shop.”

  He continued to study her, trying to decide if she was telling the truth. The library was a good four blocks from the store. Still, his suspicion was a waste of time and stupid because she’d come in the shop instead of waiting outside. Phoebe Chilton wasn’t stupid.

  “I’ll leave you to it then.”

  He nodded as he stepped past her. He needed time to think, to get his head straightened out. She wasn’t there just to shop. She kept looking at every person who came into the shop as if searching for someone. Each time the bell jangled, she jumped, looking back over her shoulder to see who was coming in the door. With a shake of his head, he walked to the door, mulling reasons she would go so far out of her way to see someone. Was she meeting a reporter? He’d checked out her story about the altercation with the reporter, and it turned out to be true. But that still didn’t mean she wouldn’t sell information. Not that she’d had time to figure out the mystery of their family’s past, but there was always a chance she had contacted a reporter just the same.

  He reached the entrance and looked back to find her looking over a collection of music boxes. She opened one. The familiar tune played, and her face softened slightly, her eyes going misty. Lust curled in his belly and his cock hardened. Tightening his hand on the knob, he sucked in a deep breath and ordered himself to leave.

  The cold north wind blasted him the moment he stepped onto the sidewalk, but it did little to help his libido. The fact that it wasn’t mere lust worried him. If it had been, relieving himself with Calista would’ve been easy. Instead, he’d felt disgusted being in the bed with another woman, and now that he’d touched Phoebe, he wanted more. With each step away from the shop, the tension eased, but he was still edgy. Three blocks away, he slowed down.

  The woman was trouble. He glanced down. For the love of Christ, he couldn’t very well function walking around half-aroused most of the day. Normally he’d just find another woman, but he’d proven that to be useless today with Calista. Instead of relieved, he felt disgusted, and he was more agitated than he had been before. He hadn’t felt this compelled to take a particular woman since he’d been a youth.

  He turned down the street where he’d parked and narrowed his eyes as he recognized Kenneth McWalton. Bloody hell, this day was going downhill fast. Instead of avoiding Callum like he normally did, McWalton crossed the street, directly in his path. He didn’t have time to tangle with the pain in the arse.

  Laird McWalton looked much older than his thirty-five years. His skin was sallow, his hairline receding, and his general disposition was that of a jackass.

  “Hello, Callum. Hard at work, I see.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice.

  The Lennons had been despised by all of the McWalton lairds, but Kenneth had taken it to a new level. From the time he’d gained his position as head of the clan, Kenneth had been gunning for Callum.

  Kenneth was a bully. He’d been extreme in his hatred, taunting them all, stalking Callum. The threat of exposing their secret had surfaced more than once. He’d even made the mistake of picking fights with Callum, and one or two with Fletcher. At least Callum had had the honor of beating the wanker senseless.

  Part of it, Callum knew, was Kenneth’s ex-fiancée, Fiona. As McWalton’s attacks escalated, Callum and his cousins had no problems or worries about being hurt, at least fatally. But fending off McWalton and his batch of idiots had gotten to be more trouble than it was worth. Fiona’s seduction had been easy, easier than most. She’d been beautiful and cold, and he hadn’t regretted that one night—ever. The woman had as many scruples as a politician, a taste for pain, and a soul as black as coal. The one thing that chapped Callum was that he’d probably done Kenneth a favor of ridding him of the damned shrew.

  “McWalton.” He nodded, not wanting to say more than was necessary. He was still agitated from the run-in with Phoebe, and while he wouldn’t like anything better than to beat the bloody hell out of Kenneth, he really didn’t want to draw attention to himself or his feud with the man.

  “Taking a day of leisure? Oh, sorry. I know that it’s hard not to have anything other than a house.” His beady black eyes danced with mirth.

  “Get it said, McWalton. I’ve things to do more important than standing on the street with you.”

  “I just wondered how everything was at Lennon Manor?”

  None of them called it that, but McWalton always did. And, always in that sneering tone.

  “Fine.”

  “You know what astonishes me? That you can walk around without a care in the world, as if you and all of your family shouldn’t be damned to hell for what you did.”

  Callum said nothing, just stared. Anger bristled, and the need to hit Kenneth almost overwhelmed him. Several people had slowed down to watch, and Callum didn’t want to fuck with the damned police.

  “Nothing to say?” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his trousers and rocked back on his heels. “How do you celebrate it?”

  “Celebrate what?”

  “The day your grandfather sold his best friend to the highest bidder.”

  Rage surged, twisting through his blood. With nothing but breaking the wanker’s nose on his mind, Callum stepped forward. He’d broken it twice before, and it had been damned gratifying.

  A satisfied smile curved McWalton’s lips. “Nothing changes, does it? Your family always attacks before thinking, always hurts anyone in your way. My grandfather learned that the hard way.”

  “Your dear old granddad was a flaming bastard.”

  “He was an honorable man who was killed in cold blood.”

  “Your grandfather was a sadistic fuck who liked to hurt women. His death wasn’t mourned by a damned person outside your family.”

  “Someone should pay for his murder.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Really? I heard that not even the highest ranks of the police force gave a fuck.”

  Fury mottled McWalton’s face. “Not one person could prove the allegations. All the Lennon women are the same—liars and sluts. Your cousin is no different. She’s spread her legs for more men than a common whore.”

  Callum didn’t think then. Fury clouded every thought as he stepped forward, grabbed McWalton by the collar, and shoved him up against the brick building behind him.

  “I’d think twice about disparaging my cousin, McWalton. You attack one Lennon, you attack us all. Your grandfather learned that lesson well.”

  Any color McWalton had in his face drained, his eyes bugging out. Callum lifted him off the ground. It would be so easy. Just a little pressure to his neck and the bastard would be dead. He deserved to die, for past actions and those he was contemplating. Callum’s fingers twitched with the need to complete the deed.
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  “Is there a problem here, gentlemen?”

  Callum looked back over his shoulder, ready to tell whoever it was to bugger off, until he realized a local policeman stood less than five feet away from them. Damn. It took every bit of his control, but he pulled himself back and released McWalton. He slid down the wall, almost falling on his arse, but caught himself. With a smile plastered on his face, Callum turned to the constable.

  “No problem here, officer. Just a little disagreement on the last football match.”

  The young officer studied him for a moment, and then his attention turned to McWalton.

  “Is that correct, Laird?”

  Bloody hell. He didn’t need this complication. Callum didn’t turn to face him. Fury and fear twisted his gut. One little altercation and they would be found out. If he were arrested, the others would have to flee—they would have no choice. It would be the first time they were truly separated in years.

  Callum waited, his worry and agitation rising with each second that ticked by. He was damned sure the wanker would turn him in to the police.

  “Yes, officer. Pretty heated discussion, to say the least.” Forced levity and his hoarse voice belied his agreement, but the officer said nothing more.

  Callum showed no surprise when McWalton agreed with him, but a sliver of unease slid down his spine. McWalton would normally have Callum hauled in, but he acted as if he didn’t want to cause a scene. It was completely out of character for Kenneth—which meant he was up to something else.

  “Would you like to press charges?”

  There was a beat of silence, and then Kenneth said, “No. Just need a moment for cooler heads to prevail.”

  The officer looked at Callum again, his gaze measuring his size and strength, he was sure. The young man probably knew Callum could have killed McWalton easily.

  “If you’re sure, Laird.” With a nod, the constable ambled away, but stopped just down the street to watch them. Smart lad. If Callum had a moment alone with McWalton, there was a good chance he’d kill him for what he’d said about Anice.