by Caro LaFever
Lion of Caledonia
International Billionaires VII: The Scots
Caro LaFever
ViVaPub
A caged man looking for escape. A woman in disguise searching for a precious jewel. Two lovers destined to destroy each other or tear apart the bonds of the past.
Jennet Douglas doesn’t do anything other than play it safe. Learning to be passive gained her a foothold in her grandfather’s house and it’s become second nature. But the burning, passionate nature she refuses to acknowledge has finally met its match. A match that lights a fire inside her she can’t deny.
Cameron Steward lives for adventure. Getting stuck in the wilds of Scotland, with an angry son who hates him, wasn’t part of his plan. But a crazy, dead wife and a demanding, dead mother had other ideas and now, here he is—desperate to find something to alight his interest once more.
With Jennet tied to a family demand to steal and Cameron bound by long held beliefs, both are caught in a maze of past hurts and future fears. Only the flash of a match made in heaven can light the flame of love in their souls.
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I see her in the dewy flowers,
I see her sweet and fair:
I hear her in the tunefu' birds,
I hear her charm the air:
Robbie Burns
Chapter 1
She needed this job.
Jennet Fellowes stared across the imposing desk to the empty leather chair. Behind the chair stood a series of soaring shelves, stuffed haphazardly with hundreds of books. Leather-lined classics competed with tattered paperbacks for space. At any other time, she’d have been delighted to spend hours combing through the collection and finding new treasures.
This is not the time to get distracted, Jen.
No. It wasn’t, was it? She needed to concentrate on getting the job. Not on a bunch of books.
“You must,” her grandfather whispered in her memory. “You’re the only one who can.”
She hadn’t argued with him.
She never argued with anyone.
And, in this case, he was right.
There was no use arguing there was anybody else to do this. The rest of the cousins were too important and well known. Her grandfather had tried his best, but failed. More importantly, none of them had the talent essential for getting this particular job.
Getting the job meant getting access to this outrageous mansion stuck in the-middle-of-nowhere Scotland. Getting access meant gaining time. Time to find what she’d come for.
The ring.
Her grandfather’s most desired possession. A possession he’d lost years ago. She needed to find the ring. Then her grandfather would die in peace. And finally, at last, she would have paid him back.
So she needed to get this job.
The door behind her slammed open. Jen stiffened her spine and forced herself to take a deep breath in and out. She couldn’t afford to lose her composure, much less slide into one of her attacks.
“Ms. Douglas.”
A jolt ran through her at the name. The name she’d left behind.
The impact of his voice from behind slid inside her head and jolted her once more. She hadn’t expected a voice like his. Not rich and sibilant. From the extensive research she’d done on this man, she’d expected loud and bombastic. Arriving at this travesty of a house hadn’t changed her opinion. Only a monstrous ego would want such a place.
Another breath in. Another out.
His voice might surprise, but she’d done her homework. She’d read about Cameron Steward’s various exploits and every one of his reviews. She’d scanned the photographs of this man on the web—thousands of them. The dashing war reporter, ladies’ man, and lion of literature had drawn press attention for years. His voice may not meet her expectations, but she’d girded herself for the physical punch of him for one whole week.
The urge to swing around and stare became almost overwhelming.
But he moved before she slipped into temptation. He walked past her, moving toward the desk.
She stifled a gasp.
He was far bigger than she’d surmised from the web images. The black wool sweater he wore did nothing to disguise the broadness of his shoulders. The black jeans didn’t diminish the strength of his thighs; rather, they highlighted their power as he prowled around the massive oak desk.
Jen didn’t like big anything. Big houses. Big families. Big drama.
And she especially didn’t like big men.
He turned and she nearly gasped again.
The photos portrayed him all wrong. The articles and interviews missed the true story. They’d shown him smiling and laughing. They’d portrayed a man who lived for the thrill and did everything on a lark.
The man standing behind the desk had the eyes of a predator.
Those eyes narrowed. “Ye are Ms. Douglas, correct?”
With a start, she realized she’d been sitting there like a mute idiot. “Yes, yes,” she blurted, inwardly cringing at how desperate she sounded.
His tawny brows rose as if confirming her idiot status. The color of his brows matched the rough shadow of whiskers on his hard jaw, but they were a sharp deviation from the light amber hair falling past his ears in a messy jumble. “You’re sure?”
The tease in his voice was impossible to miss. The contrast to his predator eyes made her even more confused. Jen wasn’t good with teasing and not good with men. Her confusion only made the situation worse. The combination of the three flustered her to the point her breath stuck in her throat.
Not good. Not good at all.
She was already botching this interview. Suffering an attack would ruin any chance she had.
“Hmm.” His hand shifted across the clutter of papers on his grand desk while his steady gaze never left her face.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
The long years of practice rescued her.
“I’m sure,” she said, pitching her voice low so she saved on air. “I’m Jennet Douglas and I’m here for the job of being your transcriber.”
“Hmm.” His hand kept sweeping back and forth, those eyes of his piercing into her. The energy he exuded, his masculine vitality, filled the large library, making her feel as if she experienced tunnel vision and the only thing she could focus on was him.
A flutter of instinct swished through her. Her heart pounded in her chest.
Lethal. He was lethal.
Her breath, her instinct, her heart all yelled at her.
Leave.
But she couldn’t. The ring and her obligation stood in her way. And more than anything, her grandfather. She couldn’t walk away from this man and this monstrous mansion. Her predicament made the air in her throat knot and then gasp in a clear sign of distress.
He stiffened, and the tawny brows dropped into a ferocious frown. “What’s wrong?”
This interview was going horribly wrong and she needed to get herself refocused.
“You must, Jennet,” her grandfather whispered in her memories once more. “The ring means everything to me.”
“Nothing, sir.” Knotting her fingers in her lap, she forced herself to meet his gaze. His eyes were a mix of dark colors she couldn’t define. Certainly not black, but not brown either.
“Nothing?” He jerked the stately leather chair out from behind the desk and slammed his body into it, as if compelling himself to continue with this odd exchange. “Do ye have a problem with your breathing?”
The question surprised her. Not the words themselves; questions about her breathing weren’t uncommon
. The surprise came from the sliver of compassion running through them. She wasn’t used to compassion. “No, sir. Not at all.”
“Stop calling me sir.” His frown deepened. “There’ll be none of that around here.”
“Yes, s…” She slithered to a stop.
A glimmer of humor lit in his odd eyes. The frown eased. “Call me Cam.”
She didn’t want to speak his first name. Just as she didn’t want him to speak hers. First names smacked of potential friendship. She wanted none of that. She was here to get the job and do a job. The last thing she wanted was to feel any guilt about what she planned to take from this man. “I think it would be better to keep things businesslike.”
“Do ye?” One brow rose again. “Why?”
“It’s more professional.”
“Professional.” The word hung in the air. He edged it with wry whimsy, rolling the vowels in his rich voice as if he testing it for clarity.
“Yes.” Jen’s hands tightened until her nails cut into her skin. She was no good at this kind of thing: talking, chatting, interviewing. The desperate need to jump up and run out the door swept through her again. The only thing she wanted to do was run and run and run back to her place. The placid and peaceful place her grandfather’s summons had yanked her from one week ago.
“Hmm.” His hand pawed through the mound of papers once more and much to her relief, his gaze dropped from her face. Silence, the wretched silence she couldn’t ever seem to fill with easy chatter or witty words, lay like a heavy woolen blanket between them.
“Ye come highly recommended.” His abrupt pronouncement split through the room.
Jen jumped in her seat and swallowed a squeak, like a mouse in front of a big, growling cat.
His lips tightened. “Are ye a nervous woman?”
“No, sir.” As soon as the title came out of her mouth, she winced.
“If not nervous, then perhaps unwilling to take concise directions.” His tone went sharp, all humor gone.
Two years ago, this would have been the end. The old Jennet would have given up, fled in defeat, and disappointed every member of her family. For two years, though, she’d been nurturing herself, growing confidence, finding her own way.
The new and fragile confidence shot down her spine, making her straighten in the hard antique chair. “I can take directions.”
Cameron Steward stared at her across the vast expanse of his desk. The quiet tick-tock of the ancient grandfather clock standing beside the enormous pit of a marbled fireplace was the only sound filling the silence. Until another one replaced it.
“Hmm.”
The sound was apparently a signature for him and she couldn’t help but think it resembled the deep purr of a giant cat. There was something silky and seductive to it, while underneath rolled the potential of a quick strike.
He coiled out of his chair, a slinky glide that startled her. Even though the movement was smooth and subtle, the heft of his big body and the intensity of his presence shot through her.
Lethal.
The man stalked over to another bookcase, this one filled with an assortment of scary African masks and other memorabilia. His hands swung around, clasping behind his back. “The work is usually in the morning.”
Her forehead creased. Transcription could be done at any time of day and she worked best at night. Daytime meant being outside. Why did he insist on what time the work was done if all that mattered was that it got completed?
You need this job, Jen.
“That’s fine.” Her knotted hands loosened. When she transcribed didn’t matter. She’d only be here for as long as it took to find the ring. If she got lucky, that would amount to only a few days.
Mr. Steward kept looking at his memorabilia. “I believe it was made clear the position requires ye to live here.”
Here was where she needed to be. “Yes. That’s fine, too.”
“There isn’t a lot of social activity in the area.” His wide shoulders curved into his neck and then relaxed as if he’d shaken off any hesitancy about the subject.
“I have no problem with that.” Her non-interest in the social scene had been a huge issue with her family. Yet now, they could only be relieved Jennet fit into this role in so many ways. “I prefer it, actually.”
“Really?” The shoulders moved again, this time indicating disbelief. The man used his body like a fine-tuned communication device.
“Yes, really.” Her hands loosened further and she allowed herself a quick slide down her wool skirt to sweep away any lingering perspiration.
She was gaining ground in this interview. A thrill of accomplishment ran through her.
“The book will be long and once I start, I won’t stop.” The clasp of his hands compressed, making his knuckles white. “I expect it will take at least four months to complete.”
She’d be long gone before then. “Fine.”
Swing around, his movement was fluid with animal grace. “An agreeable little thing, aren’t ye?”
Condescension layered his words, along with the latent humor. Jen didn’t mind the humor, but she did mind the arrogance. Not arguing didn’t mean she couldn’t defend herself. Growing up among the boisterous Felloweses, she’d learned. “I wouldn’t be here if the terms weren’t agreeable to me.”
Her soft voice held a hint of steel.
An acknowledgment of the hint flickered in his eyes. This man was smart. And savvy. She’d figured out the first from her research about him. The second realization hit her now and made her shiver. Her grandfather had been thorough in this setup, making sure nothing would be tied to the Fellowes family, but she still needed to find the ring and escape; all under this man’s keen gaze.
She had no choice, although she now realized how tricky this would be.
“Well.” He paced back to the desk and grabbed one paper and a pen off the mess. “Then we have a deal, Jen—”
He stopped with a dramatic pause, the curl of his mouth telling her this was another tease, another test.
“Again, I’d prefer to keep this professional. Ms. Douglas will be fine.” She didn’t think standing firm in this area would risk her getting the job. The importance of keeping her distance made this worth the slight risk.
His mouth went from a curl to a quirk. “I guess that will work, if ye insist.”
Jen took in a deep breath. “I insist.”
“Hmm.” His eyes sparked with humor, as if her puny attempts at setting some of her own rules amused him. “All right.” Another dramatic pause. “Ms. Douglas it will be.”
A bang of thrilled victory raced around in her stomach, along with trepidation.
She’d got the job. Just like that. She’d expected a long, drawn-out interview. Lots of lengthy questions, maybe even a test of her skills. Apparently, however, this man made his decisions in a flash.
Cameron Steward smiled for the first time. Something like complete terror tumbled right into the mix of triumph and trepidation coursing through her. The smile creased his cheeks into long dimples and lit his dark eyes. His teeth gleamed in white perfection, only adding to the menace of his appeal.
Yes, very, very lethal.
“Sign here.” He moved toward her, pen and paper in hand, and she forced herself to keep still.
The paper landed on the edge of his massive desk and the pen was thrust in her face. This time, she couldn’t help her timid withdrawal.
“Sorry.” The pen, held in his big hand, drew back too. “I thought we had a deal.”
“We do.” Before he retreated farther, she pushed herself to pluck the odd pen away from him.
Leaning over, she tried to make herself read the short paragraph. There was something about time off. Her pay. Her room and board. Yet the details blurred because he stood so near. His heat reached out, warming her one side, making the other side of her feel cold. The smell of him wrapped around her too. A crisp, minty scent with something underneath, a scent that reminded her of deep forests and dark seas.<
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“The terms are the same as I listed with the job agency.” His voice came from above her and she felt as if he encircled her with his heat and scent and sound. “Is there something wrong with any of them?”
“No.” What did the terms matter? She’d be gone before her first pay packet. Scribbling her fake name on the paper, she slid the pen on the desk and edged farther into her seat.
Silence came from behind her chair. Then the man moved again in his unique prowl, walking past her to stand behind his desk once more. His finger punched several buttons on the utilitarian office phone. Nothing happened. An irritated growl rumbled from his throat as he punched more buttons.
The phone beeped and then went silent.
“Baw!” The roar erupted from his mouth, a long, drawn-out cry that thundered through the room. “Mrs. Rivers!”
Before his last vowel rang its peal over the books and memorabilia and Jen, the same woman who’d ushered her into the house not one hour ago, appeared at the open library door. “Mr. Steward?”
She looked completely unfazed at the noise her employer had made, as if this were a daily occurrence.
Was the place filled with nutters?
Finding the ring and getting away from this madhouse couldn’t happen soon enough for Jen’s peace of mind.
“Ye will show Ms. Douglas to her room.” The rumble of disgust at the intransigence of his phone lingered in his voice. “Give her a wee bit of a tour as well. I’ll see ye at eight a.m. sharp, Ms. Douglas.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jen’s words made her new employer frown again. But before he could rebut her use of a title he’d rejected, the other woman intervened with her own assent.
“Yes, Mr. Steward.” The older woman beckoned to her, and with dizzy relief to be out of his presence, she clutched her purse and coat and followed Mrs. Rivers out the door into the vast hall.
“Well, he’s found another one, I see. You’re younger than the others.” The woman wore a serviceable grey jumper matched with a darker-grey skirt. Her silver hair was cut short, highlighting the myriad wrinkles circling her vacant blue eyes. “You can call me Mrs. Rivers.”
