“Unless you’re seventy-five years old or sporting a diamond-studded grill, I think you wasted your money.” Jada shook her head sadly.
“I looked into horse-drawn carriages,” Kate said as she pulled the car onto the freeway. “But the maintenance is a bitch.”
She was only half joking. If she thought for a minute she could get away with a footman in full dress and a rackety brougham, she’d be the only homeowner on her block to convert her garage back into a carriage house.
She pulled the car up to the first location listed in the painstaking hand of Lady Anne, the JARRS secretary and Lady Lovelace’s daughter. It was a city park situated a few blocks off the freeway, popular among street artists and people who didn’t clean up after their dogs. One look at the rusty, ominously swinging play set, and Kate didn’t even need to get out of the car.
“No way.” She shook her head. “I don’t care if the city will let us use it for free.”
The second location was perfect. A popular wedding venue, it was nestled in the rolling five acres of a privately owned mansion-for-hire. The lawn sloped in perfect waves of greenery, and a pavilion stood in the middle of the grounds, flanked by fountains and marble statues. She could practically see the dinner tents pitched along the edge of the lawn, lanterns hung in all the white lattice work in an exact emulation of the real Vauxhall Gardens.
“Five thousand a day, and it’s available for the weekend,” the proprietor offered proudly.
Kate almost had to pick up her eyes from the ground. Ten thousand dollars for two days? She had one-fifth that amount of money to plan the whole thing, and that was with a generous infusion of her own savings—which, as a bookstore manager, she couldn’t really afford.
“We’ll get back to you,” Jada promised, steering Kate back toward the car. “Don’t look back, Katy-did. A flock of honest-to-God doves just landed on the lawn. It’ll break your heart.”
She looked anyway. The doves looked back, a perfect array of white and gray feathers set against the green lawn, their beady eyes mocking.
“I suppose ‘there will be little rubs and disappointments everywhere,’” Kate said with a sigh, quoting Jane Austen and ignoring Jada’s look of intense warning. Her friend hated when she did that—said it made her sound stuffy. “What’s next on the list?”
“Some state park called Cornwall. It’s down by the river.”
“That sounds promising. But it’s probably going to have to be the last one for today.”
“Good call,” Jada agreed. “Especially since we’ll need to stop by your house before we go out for drinks. Honestly, did you even do your hair this morning?”
Kate’s hand shot to her head. She’d done little more than wash her face and run her fingers through her longish dirty-blonde hair before heading out the door that morning. It didn’t take a professional stylist to realize the only thing saving her from a state of complete offensiveness were a few lingering curls from the hasty updo she’d managed for last night’s ball.
“It’s not my fault,” she protested. “I had to go into work very early to get caught up on inventory.”
“You look like my granny’s crazy neighbor—you know, the one who escaped from that religious compound twenty years ago? The one who has eleventy billion cats and thinks pants on women are the devil’s work? Honestly, I get the historic clothes you wear for your Regency ladies, but you really need to update this…” She waved her hand in Kate’s direction and sighed. “Forget it. What you need is a man.”
Kate reached for the crystal pendulum that hung from her rearview mirror and swung it in Jada’s direction. It missed, but that didn’t stop her hand from following in its wake and smacking her friend on the arm.
“Jada, I didn’t invite you so you could lecture me on my attire and love life. I’ve already told you, I’m perfectly happy with the state of both of them.”
Okay, so that wasn’t entirely true. Her style was a trifle outdated, and there were times when the pearls she’d come to wear as a standard part of her wardrobe felt more like a noose than a piece of elegant jewelry. But she liked the way the flowing twenties-style dress she was wearing made her feel—like she was one chiffon shift away from reaching a state of bliss.
And the love-life issue—well, best not to think too hard about it. She didn’t ask for a lot out of the men she dated. A little chivalry. A touch of elegance. And if he happened to have the last name of Darcy or Knightly or Wentworth, then so much the better.
At first glance, Cornwall Park was a plot of land undeserving of its title, not much more than an expanse of tall weeds marking a gravel parking lot. As she stepped out of the car, Kate could see nothing even remotely appealing about it. There were no trails, no children’s play areas, not even a patch of grass for an impromptu picnic.
“Oh, Kate, this is the best park ever,” Jada murmured.
Kate turned and followed the path of Jada’s gaze, which was riveted on a pair of figures in the distance.
Two massive, hulking figures.
Two massive, hulking figures about to—
“Jada, watch out!” Kate cried. She ducked behind her friend, using the taller woman’s size as a shield against a giant sledgehammer that was suddenly whistling through the air, metal and wood flying in a perfect arc of attack.
They were going to be killed. In the middle of the park. On a beautiful, sunny day.
Except the weapon whirled in a few complete rotations before landing a hundred feet away from them, and there was a span of about thirty seconds in which a more intelligent woman might have taken an opportunity to flee. But Jada hadn’t flinched—not even to bat an eyelash.
Kate stood up, looking around with quick, furtive glances that made her think of the way her cat, Gretna, reacted after a particularly spectacular fall.
“Did you use me as a human shield?” Jada cried.
Kate had always imagined she was the type of person who would be a survivor, the one person to get out of a burning building in time or find something to eat in all the post-apocalypse debris. She’d just never realized cowardice was going to be her path there. She laughed. “You’re so much taller than me, Jada. I can’t help it. I look to you for protection.”
“Protection, my a—wait. Never mind.” Jada cut herself off and nudged Kate with her hip, indicating their would-be assailants. “Two of the finest specimens of manhood I’ve ever seen are heading this way. Why the hell didn’t we fix your hair before we got out of the car?”
Kate ignored the remark and narrowed her eyes as the figures approached them. Jada was right—this pair could only be described with a word like “manhood”, though the term might be more appropriate when combined with adjectives of a pulsating nature. They walked with slow, confident steps and all the latent masculinity of farmhands of a bygone era. One of the men still held a sledgehammer, which he’d tossed casually over his shoulder as Jada might her long black hair. The other one looked bowlegged, a misplaced cowboy in the Inland Northwest.
“What are they doing?”
Jada straightened and stuck out her chest, her breasts a beacon for the men to follow in case they got lost along the way. “Who cares?”
Kate opened her mouth to retort, but as the figure with the sledgehammer drew closer, she found herself echoing the sentiment.
They were standing before sex come to life. The man in front of them was contained within a solid mass of muscles so tight and so taut, he looked like he might break out of his skin at any moment, his body molded as though he’d stepped off the covers of a romance novel only to spring to six foot, throbbing life.
Except this man left any number of barrel-chested cover models in his dust. Short, dark hair, dark eyes, a rich skin tone that hinted at an Asian heritage—it was a powerful combination even without the muscle definition. His face was full of smooth lines and perfect symmetry, the high slopes of his cheekbones set off by a close-cropped head that only accentuated his features. He had a rough patch of stubbl
e all along his jaw and chin—a testament to the masculinity that pounded through every part of his body.
He wore a pair of black athletic pants and a fitted gray T-shirt that skimmed plane after plane of muscular flesh. From where she stood, Kate could see he sported a tattoo of black stripes extending across his biceps and up into the sleeve of his shirt, an alternating series of zigzag lines and dots.
And those forearms.
Kate almost swooned. There was something about a solid pair of forearms, muscles intertwined with ropy veins, flexing and twisting with each twitch of the fingers, that made her want to rub herself all over a man.
“Well, hello,” Jada cooed, her own thoughts obviously taking a similar course. “We’re so sorry—we didn’t mean to interrupt you.”
“This area is clearly marked,” the man said, dropping the hammer to the ground with a heavy thud. He pointed to a perimeter set up with rope and a few stakes. It was hardly the stuff of high-security enforcement, but Kate got the message. The man with the hammer makes the rules.
His friend, a scruffy blond whose neck was the same width as his head, came up behind him and interrupted with an easy smile. “Don’t you mind Julian here. I just killed him in the hammer throw, and it always makes him pissy when he loses.”
As if to punctuate his statement, he slapped a meaty hand on his friend’s back.
Although the blow could have felled a tree, the man named Julian didn’t even sway, his gaze unwavering from where Kate stood. She cursed inwardly. Why hadn’t they done something with her hair?
“Is there something we can help you with?” Julian asked.
“We don’t normally get a lot of visitors,” the blond man offered, his exuberance almost palpable. He offered them a wink. “And you’re not dressed for normal park activities—you know, running, jumping jacks, yoga…”
“Throwing giant weapons through the air?” Jada interjected, her head tilted.
“It’s the hammer throw,” the blond explained. He puffed up as he spoke, his chest filling with air and adding a visible swell to a body already heaped with them. “Next to the caber toss, it’s my strongest competition. I promise you’ve never seen a real man in action until you’ve seen him hurl a tree across an open field using nothing but the strength God gave him.”
“God and a few well-placed anabolic steroids, you mean,” Jada teased, perfectly at ease with herself even in the face of such a behemoth of a man. Kate had yet to even find her tongue. Or air.
“Not at all,” Julian said firmly. “The SHS is strictly regulated—our guys don’t use any performance enhancers. We just work hard.”
“I’ll bet you do,” Jada said. Julian looked at her with a quizzical expression, as if he didn’t quite understand the degree to which she was turning on the charm.
“So what does SHS stand for, anyway?” Jada added. “Slow, handsome savages? Super-human strength?”
“Scottish Highland Society,” Julian offered, his smile forced.
“The hammer throw,” Kate said aloud, realization dawning. She’d seen the Scottish Games on television before. All those men in plaid skirts, flexing muscles and showing more leg than she would on a third date—it was an incredible sight.
Jada laughed out loud. “You’re kidding me, right? You’re the least Scottish-looking man I’ve ever seen.”
With his features and tribal tattoo, Kate was inclined to agree, but she kept her mouth shut. The way he stared indicated it wasn’t a topic he took lightly.
“There’s more to it than an accent and red hair,” the man’s friend offered in a warm tone, calling their attention back to him. “Now, since no one intends to do any introducing around here, allow me. The name’s Michael. Michael O’Leary. I’m not a Scot, either, so if that’s a problem, we can go ahead and settle it the old-fashioned way.”
“The old-fashioned way? I sure would love to hear more about that.” Jada moved forward like her body was propelled by a series of coils.
“Well, now, that’s top secret,” Michael confided, leaning forward until his eyes were almost parallel with Jada’s chest. “But I can tell you it involves a pile of hay, a fifth of whisky and a willing woman.”
“A willing woman?”
“A Scottish staple. As vice president of the local SHS, I assure you the women must always be willing. And they usually are.”
“I’ll bet. My name’s Jada, by the way.” She nodded at Kate. “My friend, Kate. We’re here to take a survey of the park.”
Oh, right. The park. Kate had completely forgotten their errand. “Do you guys practice here very often?” She gestured over the fields. “It’s not very…scenic.”
Julian followed her arm, taking in the scrub brushes and weeds without blinking. “We’re pretty much the only ones who ever use it.” He shrugged. “But if you’re worried about a few weeds, there’s an open grassland out by the bluff.”
“Maybe you should show her the bluff,” Jada suggested. Kate kicked a rock at her. “What? You’re always saying how much you love dangling precipices. Kate loves things that dangle.”
The man didn’t even bother to register Jada’s remark. “There’s a second parking lot through that way that connects to the bluff,” he said, pointing back the way they’d come in. He looked Kate over, taking in her appearance from top to bottom, lingering on the soft-soled satin flats she’d pulled on before leaving the house that morning. “You may want to drive.”
The day was already hot, the late July sun causing beads of sweat to break out on Kate’s brow, but she might as well have been nearing the center of hell the way every last bit of her body heat came rushing to the surface, embarrassment and full-bodied pleasure coming together as one. She wasn’t used to such a concentrated amount of attention from a man like this one.
“C’mon, Jules, escort the lady,” Michael prodded. His own gaze swept appraisingly over Jada, though his eyes definitely didn’t linger on her feet. “We were about done practicing anyway.”
To Kate’s surprise, Julian nodded and took a few long strides across the field. When she didn’t immediately follow, he turned back and swept her a huge, ironic bow. “Will you allow me to escort you?”
“No, thanks.” She was willing to give Jada a little alone-time with her new friend, but not if that meant inviting mockery and condescension. Even from a man who looked like him.
Julian put an arm out, crooked at the elbow.
Kate looked at it curiously. “What?”
“It’s fine. I’ll take you. There’s a shortcut if you cut through the field, but it’s steep.”
She didn’t move.
“I don’t bite, I promise. Take it.”
She took his arm. It wasn’t her fault—there was such a level of command in his voice she couldn’t help but comply. It was what she did, following orders, falling into line. At least this one came with the full pleasure of the man’s touch. Even as her mind told her it wasn’t a good idea, her body registered the hot, hard surface of his forearm on a purely visceral level. What could it hurt?
“Is your friend always like that?” Julian asked as they walked away, falling easily into conversation. He’d shortened his strides to match hers and held his arm firmly out to the side to provide her with a better support system.
“Who?” she asked, still flustered by such close contact with this domineering yet strangely gentle man. “Jada?”
He looked down at her with both eyebrows raised. Kate fought the urge to inform him she wasn’t normally this inane. She really had been around men before. And she really could talk and walk and think at the same time.
“If you mean inappropriate and obvious, the answer is yes,” she said, trying for a light, teasing tone. She suspected it fell a little short of her goal. Still. It was progress. “When we were in college, she once flashed a pair of priests just to see what their reaction might be.”
“Michael’s often tempted to do the same,” Julian deadpanned.
Kate smiled. She could a
lmost believe it.
“So…what was their reaction?” he asked. “The priests?”
She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. “Well, the young one seemed like he wanted to cry, but he couldn’t look away. The older one smiled and shook his head. But, you know, now that I think about it, I don’t think he looked away, either. You could hardly blame him. Jada is rather mesmerizing.”
Julian gave an abrupt and appreciative laugh, the rumble starting low in his belly and working up through his broad chest. It was all the more powerful because of its suddenness, resonating through her own body and drawing them closer together, a symbiosis of sound and sensation.
“Jada doesn’t mean half the things she says, though,” Kate said, warming to the topic and to the man. It was sometimes difficult to explain her friend to people meeting her for the first time. Jada did take some getting used to—she was a woman who not only embraced life by the horns but rode it, bucking and charging like Lady Godiva through the streets of Coventry. And to someone like this, well, she probably seemed silly. They both probably did.
“Most of it’s for show,” she added.
“It usually is,” Julian said cryptically. He pointed over a small rise to where a collection of trees broke up the severity of the land. “That’s where the park starts to get better. There’s a big, open field the state park workers take pretty good care of and some ruins from an old stone mansion that used to be there. I played in it a lot as a kid.”
He seemed sincere—human, almost. She craned her neck to look up at him, but it was difficult to read anything in his face. If his body was as hard as a rock, his expression was even more so. But she found herself wanting to know more about him. His life. His childhood. It seemed almost surreal he’d had one.
“You grew up here, then?” she asked.
He let go of her arm as they entered the small copse of trees, the only trail leading in too narrow to permit them both side by side. She tried not to notice the way her body shivered the moment he let go, like it had been deprived of an integral source of heat.
Love is a Battlefield: Games of Love, Book 1 Page 2
