Duncan's Rose

by Safi, Suzannah

  She looked so innocent with her angelic delicate crests of eyebrows, her long lashes, chiseled nose, and ripe, pink lips. A groan escaped him, despite himself. He traced the soft line of her full lips. It had been a long time since he kissed a woman, and he had never thought he would miss kissing until he saw Miranda. All Madam Gabriela’s women provided a release, filled a need, but there was no kissing. He never allowed it.

  He shook his head to thrust the thought out of his brain, but his body screamed.

  “Miranda, wake up. You’re safe now,” he whispered into her ear, being careful not to startle her as she woke from her faint. Could this vicious vision attack be his doing? Did he, unknowingly, trigger this vision when he called her Rose? Damn, she could have been sleeping peacefully if it wasn’t for my slip.

  Her head moved left and right weakly as she mumbled and opened her almond-shaped eyes to reveal vibrant, rainforest green irises that pierced his soul.

  “Where…am I?” Her voice faint and shaky, she searched his face, still confused. “Oh, I’ve killed…I’ve killed you. Please, Duncan, I didn’t mean it! I loved you. I tried to protect you. If I could do it over again, my love... Oh, Duncan, please forgive me.”

  Her vision must have been the one where Duncan was burned alive. Mac could still feel the fire; he had suffered from the same visions, feeling Duncan executed.

  Miranda’s hands slipped around his neck and she pulled him closer to her. The intimate touch took him by surprise. She was still between wakefulness and the confusion of reality, but he obliged and leaned closer to her.

  “Sorry, so sorry…you trusted me,” she whispered into his ear, her warm breath brushing his earlobe. He trembled and held the sheets with clenched fists. Blood raced in his veins to parts in his body he wanted to ignore at that moment. He held his breath.

  Miranda snuggled her face in heated desire against his neck. The soft, silken flesh tormented his senses in sweet agony.

  His lips skimmed hers, back and forth, in a slow, tantalizing caress that made her quiver under his touch. Then he claimed her ripe lips with hungry kisses. Her lips parted, giving him access to her sweet tongue; he caught her wet, soft tongue and suckled on it. He weakened under the potency of her allure; he absorbed her essence into his very being. When he deepened his kiss to long, drugging kisses, they went to his head. Mac stroked her neck seductively; she gave a faint moan and arched her back to touch his body, which made him melt even more. Her eyes drifted closed, every inch on her body, nutrified the beguiling desire that dwelt within him.

  Pulling back slightly to breathe, he whispered, “Oh, love, you are luscious.” He claimed her mouth again with heated urgency, inhaling her sweet, warm, womanly smell mingled with a faint, flowery perfume. He wrapped his arms around her tighter, feeling her naked body through the covers. What would he feel if his body touched her inflamed flesh? Oh, the torture, the devastating feelings he suffered!

  Mac hesitantly trailed his fingertip down her throat to the center of her neckline; his heartbeat matched the throbs of her heart. Her chest heaved under his deft, sporting touch. His hand slipped down under the cover, cupping her bare breast. She gasped with delight against his hungry mouth as his thumb teased her nipple. His mind raced with unbelievable thoughts of those pink, pointing buds of hers; he wanted to suck on them and twirl his tongue around the tight, peaking tips.

  Miranda’s hand slipped under his half-open shirt, reaching his chest. Her touch stoked the flames that leapt along his nerve endings with every stroke from her hands and each kiss from her plump lips. A part of his body swelled to larger proportions.

  He couldn’t handle the anguish any more. If they didn’t stop, he would explode or take her, right there. She was ready for him.

  Mac drew a deep breath, inhaling her sweet fervor. “Miranda, Miranda…” She opened her eyes, a smile on her flushed face, and reached with her hand to touch his mask. She caressed it with the tips of her fingers. “Let me see you, all of you.”

  He held her hand and placed it down in a gentle push. “No, it will scare you.”

  “I want to know you,” she whispered.

  He knew better. She was in a state of emotions she might regret in the morning, and that, he wouldn’t be able to handle.

  “Sleep. We will talk in the morning,” he said in a shaking voice.

  “Don’t want to talk…touch me. I have found you at last,” she said in a hushed voice.

  He pulled gently away from her as she drifted off to sleep, mumbling, a smile on her face.

  Mac closed the door behind him and didn’t lock it this time. God only knew he wanted to be under the covers with her, feeding on her silky body, embedding his swollen flesh where she most ached for fulfillment. Honor, however, demanded he retreat—even as his heart called out to him to forgive.

  Chapter Seven

  Miranda stretched her body and rose to a sitting position, smiling; the soft, silken sheets brushed against her as the cover fell to her waist. A tingly feeling of happiness filled her thoughts. At first, she didn’t know why her body vibrated with such a delicious sensation. A cool breeze brushed her chest and, as she glanced at her naked body, she gasped and pulled up the cover, self-consciously covering her breasts. I was stripped of my cotton nightdress!

  She remembered kissing Duncan…no…the mask…he was Mac.

  Miranda froze.

  Blinking a couple of times, her mind registered the previous night’s events. It hit her like a fist in the gut as she recalled that she’d had a vision, the details of which she recollected very well now. Mac waking her up, the shower, and the kisses. She swallowed hard as heated waves washed into her head. She bit her lower lip. She had encouraged him.

  Miranda slid off the bed and scuffled toward the bathroom to shower. Determination filled her; she’d confront him about what happened. If she didn’t mention the kiss, it was likely he would put it down to her being confused and under the influence of the vision. But she would talk about what he said last night, about Rose and her relationship with Miranda.

  Miranda held still under the showerhead as the warm water splashed and slid across her heated skin, soothing her throbbing nerves. She had stood in the same spot, as she hung on to Mac’s body when she thought he was Duncan.

  The familiarity of his body, the closeness, the intimacy, and the warmth had been strong and forceful. When she’d nuzzled and breathed in his ear, she somehow knew he would melt. She knew how to touch him, how to make him surrender to her kisses—and he had. The way he knew how to touch that throbbing nerve on the back of her neck, one of her weak spots, to make her muscles loosen up…Miranda’s hand slid to her breast and squeezed, and her body echoed the tingle she felt when he touched her. The feelings of the night came rushing back.

  How am I going to face him again? How am I tied to Rose? And how did he know about it? She tossed the damp towel from her body into the laundry hamper.

  All her questions swirled in her confused head as she pulled on a simple blue dress. Miranda headed to Mac’s office, which was at the end of the long corridor. His door was open, so she strolled in; her gaze skimmed the room, disappointment settling like a heavy weight around her shoulders as she realized he wasn’t there. When footsteps sounded behind her, she turned, expecting Mac, but William stepped into the office holding books in his hands.

  “Good morning,” Miranda said.

  “Miss Blair, good morning,” William said in a surprised tone. “Can I help you with something?”

  “I was looking for Mr. Wardlaw…the door was open, so I came in,” she explained.

  “He’s attending to a business matter.” William walked to the desk, placed the books on the table, and continued. “Mr. Wardlaw informed me that you desire to visit the village today.” He turned to look at her with a guarded expression in his eyes. “The driver will be ready in ten minutes. Would you like to have breakfast first?”

  “No, thank you. I’ll be in the living room downstairs. Although I
would appreciate if I could use the phone. My cell phone doesn’t work on the island.”

  “Of course, you can use the phone in the living room. It’s on the middle table.” He cleared his throat. “Are there any bags you would like me to carry?”

  It struck her that Mac must have told William she might leave. “No,” Miranda said.

  Miranda strolled downstairs, furious at Mac’s disappearance. He knew her curiosity about Rose would bring her back from the village; there was no doubt now that she would stay. Maybe he was waiting to see what she’d decide, and had left poor William to give him the news about whether she was coming back. Her investigation about Marcas could have continued from the village, but now he had guaranteed her return to his mansion. The sneak.

  Entering the living room, which was located on the first floor, she spotted the phone on a round white marble table. She passed a beige sofa on her left. An unlit fireplace dominated the center of the room, and colors of beige, brown, and white formed the decorating theme. Together, it was a well-designed room.

  Her gaze skimmed the room again. No pictures? Actually, she hadn’t seen a single picture in Mac’s office, either. Although the colors of this room were warm and it was well-decorated, the room gave Miranda a cold feeling. What is missing in all the decorations? Ah, a woman’s touch. But not finding a single picture of Mac as a child, or his family, was strange.

  She dialed her mother’s number and waited a couple of rings before her mother answered. Miranda could hear the relief in her voice. After the worried speech her mother gave her and the lectures on how and what to eat, Miranda hung up the phone and smiled. No matter how old I am, my mother will still treat me like a baby.

  “Your ride is ready,” she heard William say.

  Handbag in hand, she turned toward him. The tapping of small feet on the marble floor sounded behind him. When the two dark heads appeared by William’s side, she smiled again: Snarl and Growl, Mac’s dogs, watched her patiently. She eyed the tags that hung from their necks; when she’d first seen them, she’d snorted at the choice of names. Mac was a strange man. Did he hear them bark and choose the first name that came to his mind? The two animals did make different sounds when they barked.

  “The boys here are not coming with me,” she said, shooting William a questioning look.

  “As per Mr. Wardlaw, they are.” William’s eyebrow rose.

  Jeez. Great, just great.

  The black limo and two black suited guards awaited her as well. She couldn’t believe her eyes. They approached the car with the two dogs strolling behind her and two guards flanking her, wondering how many he was sending with her to the village.

  One of the guards opened the back door of the limo and greeted her with a smile. “Good morning, Miss Blair. Ready for your visit?”

  “Yes, thank you. And your name is…?” Miranda held her handbag tightly, hoping for a friendlier response this time from the sleek-haired man.

  “I’m Mathew,” he said. He pointed at the guard who stood at the other side of the car, an expressionless mask on his face, and said, “and that’s Jack.”

  She greeted them and entered the limo; the dogs climbed in after her. She relaxed as silence enveloped her for the whole ride. She needed to talk to Dr. Bradford; he was the leading man in her investigation. Miranda crossed her fingers in silence, hoping she would find him.

  * * * *

  It took just twenty minutes to drive to the village. The mansion was on the other side of the island. The view of red brick houses, all gathered beside one another, reminded her of her visit to Italy and it’s people, who lived close and connected as neighbors.

  The village was located on a hill near the beach. When they reached a narrow street, the car stopped. Mathew opened the door and let her out; the cool breeze fiddled with her loose hair.

  “I’ll be back in few hours,” she informed the guards as she walked toward the narrow road, the two dogs trotting after her. One of the guards took a few steps after her and grasped her elbow; she swung her head to glance at Jack with his scowling eyebrows.

  “Miss Blair, be wary of strangers. Do not talk about the Wardlaw family. You are a guest.” His eyebrows entwined in warning. Snarl and Growl growled and stood beside her, ready to attack him, Jack backed a few steps and glared at them. Mathew stepped up.

  “Leave her, Jack, Mr. Wardlaw specifically said to be nice to her.” Mathew squeezed his eyes to slits as he stared at the other man. The two men seemed to work for two different teams, and she couldn’t understand what was going on. She patted the dogs on the head to show her appreciation for their protectiveness. Then Mathew turned to her and smiled. “Go on, Miss Blair, enjoy your tour.”

  “Thank you,” she said, picking up the leashes and strolling away from the men. “Come on, boys,” she said to the dogs.

  She inched her way down the dense warren of old, narrow streets. Even with their stepped construction, the streets proved treacherous. She wished she had brought her umbrella to use as a walking stick or to protect her from the sun, which was getting fierce as it hung over the high hill’s peak. Women and children stared as she strolled through the market street. She admired the small shops on both sides of the street that displayed souvenirs from the island: colorful shawls, flowers, and many painted pictures of nature. She smiled at the people around her. Some were tourists; she could tell from their clothes, khaki shorts, large, colorful hats, and the cameras hanging around their necks.

  At the corner of the market, some men sat on chairs outside a restaurant chatting. They eyed her with curiosity. A dark-haired man, dressed in a fashionable gray coat, had a heavy cane propped against his seat. The others appeared old and wizened. She found the other main street by following the flow of people. Her presence created a small spectacle; maybe some had seen her when she crash-landed on the island. The street led to a coffee shop. Water trickled out of the mouth of a sculpted wolf’s head that had been set in a small wall built flush with the hill’s rock. Miranda strolled to the coffee shop; beside the door, she fastened the dogs’ leashes on the lamppost. “Stay, boys. I’ll be right back,” she said.

  Inside, an atmosphere of calm beach colors, with pictures of fishermen and boats decorated the walls on both sides. She located a free table and sat on the cushioned chair, resting her elbows on the wooden table as she admired the place. One of the waitresses approached her, dressed in a black skirt and white shirt.

  “Hi, anything for breakfast?” the young woman asked in a soft voice. Her name tag said, “Caroline.”

  “Yes, Caroline, coffee please.”

  “Sure, anything else?”

  “Yes, I was wondering where I might find Dr. Bradford?”

  “Oh, his clinic is next door, in his own home. Just turn left from the east corner of the café and you will find it.”

  Miranda thanked the young lady, quickly drank her coffee, and left.

  The two dogs leaped to their feet as she appeared. She untied them. “Let’s go, boys.”

  Miranda turned the corner and faced a red brick house. A large sign on the door read, “Clinic,” with the smaller words underneath: Dr. Elroy Bradford.

  She knocked on the door. In a few seconds, a lady in white dress opened the door, a smile spreading across her face. “Hi.” She eyed the two dogs. “Oh my, big dogs you have here.”

  “Please come in.” She gestured for Miranda to enter. “I’m Katherine. Let me take care of your dogs.”

  “Hello, and thank you.” Miranda handed the leashes to Katherine.

  “Go with her, you’ll be fine,” she told the dogs.

  Katherine led the animals to the hallway and tightened one end of each leash around a sofa leg.

  “I’m Miranda. Sorry, I don’t have an appointment, but I was hoping to see Dr. Elroy Bradford.”

  The hall led to a simple, furnished living room with a black leather sofa in the middle, a desk and chair for the receptionist, and a few pictures of the island on the wall. The room w
as simple, but warm.

  “That’s okay. Dr. Bradford isn’t busy today. Please fill out the form.” She handed a clipboard to Miranda.

  Miranda hadn’t really planned to get a checkup, but she wanted to disguise the purpose of her visit, so she sat on the sofa to fill out the New Patient form. When she was done, Miranda handed the form to Katherine, who disappeared into another room, maybe the doctor’s office. The clinic, which the waitress said was also the doctor’s home, looked spacious. Miranda noticed the kitchen, which was fully equipped with teakettle, pans, and a fridge. After a few minutes passed, Katherine came back. “The doctor is ready to see you.”

  Miranda found Dr. Bradford reading her form. He looked up at her over the rim of his reading glasses. “Miss Blair, please have a seat.” He indicated a chair in front of his desk and removed his glasses.

  “Thank you, Doctor,” she said, and took her place on the seat.

  His eyes narrowed and his head briefly tilted. He’d changed a great deal; twenty years added white hair and a good amount of wrinkles. He had been a handsome young man on the news video clip she’d seen in the library. Still, he was a charmer for his age.

  “So, what brings you to my clinic?” His voice had a tone of soft concern.

  “Well, I wasn’t feeling well…the weather, and all,” she said vaguely. She had never claimed sickness before and found it was not easy to pretend—not to her, anyhow. The doctor rose from his chair, walked around his desk, and sat on the chair opposite hers. He held a thermometer. “Open your mouth, please.”

  She did.

  “Close yer mouth for two minutes,” he drawled in a soft Scottish accent.

  His eyes narrowed again, studying Miranda’s face intently.

  “Miss Blair, are you a guest here on the island?”

  Why do doctors ask questions while the thermometer is in their patient’s mouth? She’d had that experience with all the doctors she visited, and she’d always wanted to ask that question. She took the thing out her mouth briefly. “Yes, I am Mr. Wardlaw’s guest.”