Only With a Highlander

by Janet Chapman

  “I noticed there’s both a lounge and restaurant at the resort,” Matt said. “You want formal dining or comfortable eats tonight?”

  She had a good mind not to go at all.

  Matt reached over and took hold of Snowball’s reins. “Don’t even think of refusing, Winter,” he said softly. “It’s going to take someone bigger than your cousin to scare me off.”

  Winter smiled at him even as a shiver of awareness tightened her stomach. “How about an entire family of large men?” she asked. “I have a whole army of uncles and male cousins, and not one of them is under six feet tall.”

  Matt let go of Snowball’s reins and started Goose walking again, towing Butterball in his wake. “They wouldn’t be the first army I’ve taken on, nor likely my last.”

  “What exactly is it you do for a living?” Winter asked, urging Snowball to catch up.

  Matt looked over once she was beside him again. “Have dinner with me tonight and I’ll tell you,” he said, his challenging gaze reflecting the colors of the deepening autumn twilight.

  Winter turned off Main Street and took the forest shortcut to TarStone, which caused the world around them to darken to almost night. “Okay,” she finally said. “I’ll meet you at the lounge at eight.”

  “No,” Matt countered with soft authority from behind her. “I’ll come to your house at eight, and we’ll walk over together.”

  Winter sighed and rode the rest of the way home in silence as she kept a close watch on the woods, knowing darn well that Gesader was lurking in the shadows, just like he’d been for their entire trip to Bear Mountain and back.

  Just what she needed—one more overly protective male making sure she died a virgin.

  Chapter Eight

  Matt stood on the drawbridge of Gù Brath and listened to the rushing water below as he contemplated the large, solid oak, windowless door in front of him. Damn if his little artist didn’t live in a castle. He felt like a knight trying to court a princess; he had the wealth and social standing, all he lacked was a suit of armor.

  That, and a kingdom to carry her off to.

  But then, Bear Mountain might fill that requirement, though he wished it wasn’t located quite so close to Winter’s army of tall uncles and male cousins. Robbie MacBain looked more like a warrior than a husband and father of four young children, and carried himself in a way that said he was prepared to back up his not-so-subtle warning this afternoon.

  But then, Matt never could resist a challenge.

  And Winter MacKeage was definitely a challenge. When he’d first seen Winter in her gallery, he couldn’t believe some starry-eyed young man hadn’t already snatched her up. But having spent the afternoon with her, Matt was beginning to think that a suit of armor might really be necessary to get within kissing distance of the aloof little wood sprite.

  Winter was an exciting paradox of beauty, intelligence, and prickly independence. And like her cousin MacBain, she also had a protective streak a mile wide. She was determined to protect the old hermit and was also quite protective of her sister. All in all, Matt suspected Winter could be just as formidable as her warrior cousin, albeit employing different means to back up her bluster.

  With a smile of anticipation for the evening to come, Matt finally reached out and firmly pounded the iron knocker on the door. His smile went even broader when the door suddenly swung open before he could even pull his hand away.

  He lifted one brow. “You’re punctual as well,” he drawled.

  “You said eight.”

  “But it’s been my experience that women like being late, so they don’t appear too eager.”

  She simply stared at him, nonplussed. “I’m hungry,” she finally said.

  Matt gave a slight bow and held out his hand to her, just to see if she would take it. “Then I guess I better feed you.” He patted his lapel with his other hand. “I brought my platinum card to pay the enormous bill you’re going to run up.”

  Just as he suspected, his goading lifted her chin and she all but slapped her hand in his. Matt folded his fingers around her delicate hand, reached in and pulled the door closed, and led her across the drawbridge. And he didn’t let go of her once they were on firm ground, despite her subtle attempts to wiggle free.

  “You surprise me,” he said the moment she settled down to walk beside him, apparently resigned to her hand-holding fate.

  “Surprise you how?”

  “You don’t dress like the artist who painted those pictures.” Matt kept his grin to himself as he became aware of her frowning at the moonlit path ahead of them. “Except for your hair,” he clarified, lifting his hand holding hers just enough to touch the waterfall of loose curls draping down to her waist.

  “As opposed to what?” she asked guilelessly. “How would the artist who painted my pictures dress?”

  Matt waved his free hand at the air. “Like a drama queen trying to personify her paintings—colorful, mysterious, otherworldly. You look lovely tonight, Winter. I especially like that you’re not wearing four-inch heels in an attempt to level the playing field. That tells me you’re very comfortable not only with yourself, but with me. And you’re wearing pants, not a skirt, which also says you’re secure in your femininity.”

  Matt saw her look down at herself, and then she suddenly stopped walking and looked up at him, her moon-bathed expression once again nonplussed. “Do you always analyze your dates?”

  “Only when I’m trying to distract them.”

  “You’re trying to distract me? From what?”

  He smiled. “From realizing that I have every intention of kissing you tonight. Want to get it over with now, or would you like to spend the evening savoring the prospect?”

  Her mouth opened and closed, but not a sound emerged as she blinked up at him. Though Matt was quite pleased to see two flags of color darkening her cheeks.

  He’d intended to wait, and he would have followed through with his plan, but the tiny wood sprite nervously licked her lips. Matt let go of her hand and carefully cupped her exquisitely fine face. “Now, I think,” he whispered, bending down and gently pressing his lips to hers.

  Small, strong hands immediately wrapped around his wrists, but they didn’t push him away or pull back; Winter instead went utterly still, as if testing his—or her own—intentions.

  She tasted of mint, her hair surrounding him with the smell of roses as he deepened the contact by tilting her head and parting his lips. Matt drank in her fresh and wonderful flavor, and was soon rewarded—and delighted—by her response.

  She was hesitant at first, maybe even shy. But then he felt Winter’s grip on his wrists relax and her neck muscles soften as she moved ever so slightly toward him and parted her own lips.

  And that was when he got his first taste of that energy he’d seen in her paintings; it hummed through his body with the force of intoxicating passion.

  Yes, he was definitely tasting the sweet promise of Winter’s magic.

  Winter thought she was going to explode. Talk about unpredictable chemistry. If she didn’t faint from the currents of electricity coursing through her, she was going to burst into flames. Matheson Gregor kissed like a man who had no intention of stopping until he had her complete surrender. He wasn’t being demanding or aggressive; he was being…overwhelmingly gentle.

  And that, Winter quickly realized, was where the danger lay.

  She could easily forget she needed to exercise caution when dealing with Matt; that blindly giving herself over to him could quickly lead somewhere she wasn’t prepared to go.

  Oh, but he tasted so fine. His heat simmered around her with a strength that beckoned Winter to lean in just a little bit closer, and open herself just a little bit more to the sensations churning inside her.

  As if of their own accord, her hands left his wrists and slowly wrapped themselves inside his open jacket to around his waist, moving her deeper into his embrace. He answered her action by letting go of her head, carefully wrapping his arms
around her shoulders, and pulling her more possessively against him as he moved his mouth over hers.

  And even though she had initiated their further intimacy, Winter felt the first flush of panic. He was much too much for her. She had kissed her share of boys, but they suddenly seemed like toads when compared to this prince of a man. Her body might be willing, and curses, even her heart was galloping in pleasure, but her mind…some still-functioning corner of her mind told Winter she’d better get herself out of this mess before it was too late.

  She finally broke the kiss, but instead of pulling away she buried her face in his shirt, finding it impossible to look at him—at least until her cheeks cooled and her heart quit racing.

  Matt’s chest expanded on a deep breath, and he cupped her head to him with a gentle rumble of amusement. “I am definitely glad I didn’t wait.” His finger came under her chin and lifted her face to look at him. “You’re lovely, Winter. Please don’t go all shy on me. I’m attracted to you, and it’s only reasonable to expect that attraction to lead to kissing.”

  She couldn’t respond to save her soul. Matt gave another soft laugh and kissed her on the forehead, then let her go, took hold of her hand again, and started them walking down the moon-shadowed path toward the hotel.

  “So,” he said conversationally, “do you think the meadow would be a good place for me to build my house?”

  Winter was thinking a meadow in China would be even better. “It certainly has everything you’re looking for,” she said, proud that she had found her voice and that it had sounded quite normal. She sensed him looking at her, but she continued staring at the path ahead. “Though I’ve always thought living within a stone’s throw of the water would be as equally appealing as a magnificent view,” she added, trying to ignore the heat of his hand surrounding hers.

  Aye. This was nice, Winter decided. The man kissed like a prince, yet he felt so wonderfully comfortable to be with. Her poor scattered emotions were bouncing from wanting to kiss him again and wanting to simply cuddle into his warm embrace.

  Cursed chemistry.

  It seemed he needed to think about that, until he finally said, “Living on the water does have a certain appeal, but it’s such a narrow perspective. Up in the meadow a person has a sense of…well, of the largeness of the world.”

  “Aye,” Winter agreed, her nerves finally settling down the closer they got to the hotel. “It reminds you how insignificant we really are in the overall scheme of things.”

  Matt gave a laugh, his hand tightening on hers as he lifted it to his mouth and kissed her knuckles without breaking stride. “I prefer to think we have great significance,” he said as they walked under the hotel canopy. “Otherwise, what’s the point of our being here?”

  Winter blinked up at him as he held the lobby door open for her. Matt’s smile was warm and genuine—and rather breathtaking when he was amused. “The point is, we’re supposed to be seeking the point,” she said, finally stepping into the lobby ahead of him. “We’re all on a collective journey,” she continued as his long, easy gait brought him beside her again. “But individually, we’re mere whispers in a very crowded universe.”

  She stopped and waved at the mural she’d painted of TarStone Mountain in wintertime. “That’s why the skiers are nothing more than single dots of paint,” she explained. “And why the resort itself took only a few brushstrokes. Compared to the timeless, massive energy sitting dormant in the granite, soil, and timber of the mountain, people are just like little animals taking advantage of TarStone’s energy.”

  “You talk as if the mountain were alive,” he said softly as he studied the mural. He looked over at her, his eyes dark and enigmatic as he lifted one brow in question. “Is it?”

  “Aye, it’s quite alive,” she said just as softly. “You can lie prone on its granite with your eyes closed and feel the mountain gently breathing.”

  “Stone is inert, Winter,” he argued. “It doesn’t breathe, much less live or die. It’s nothing but matter.”

  She tilted her head. “Did you not feel the powerful weight of Bear Mountain when you sat up on that boulder this afternoon and ate your lunch?” she asked. “Did a sense of peace not come over you? For those few moments of time, did you not feel you were part of something just as alive as you are?”

  “Is that what happens when you sit in your forest and paint? You get this sense of being part of everything, of being one with the animals as well as the rocks and trees?”

  “Yes,” she said simply.

  He took hold of her shoulders, moving closer when a group of people walked by, his darkly intense gaze remaining locked on hers. “Can you teach me that, Winter? Will you take me with you the next time you paint, and let me see if I can feel it, too?”

  Without even thinking, Winter reached up and laid a hand on his chest. “But you can feel it, Matt. There’s nothing special about me; anyone can feel the energy if he only stops long enough to notice.”

  “Tomorrow, then. We’ll head up to my meadow and we’ll sit on a rock and listen together.”

  “Tomorrow I’m meeting Tom at my gallery in the morning,” she told him. “And you’re meeting him in the afternoon.”

  Matt stopped her from lowering her hand by covering it with his own. “Then when?”

  “Tom can show you when you go see your sunset. He’s just as aware of the energy as I am, Matt. You only need to look at the carving he did for Megan to see that.”

  Matt pressed her hand more firmly against his chest. “I don’t want Tom; I want you.”

  There was a loud commotion at the front of the lobby, and Winter turned with a frown—and suddenly gasped. “Father Daar,” she said, as the old priest used his cane to push his way through a group of people congregated by the door.

  “Winter!” Daar called as he scurried past the desk clerk trying to head him off. “I’m needing to talk to ye!”

  “It’s okay, John. I’ve got him,” Winter told the clerk as she met up with Daar. “Father,” she said calmly, covering his arm holding the cane so he would stop waving it around. “What’s wrong?”

  “Where’s Greylen?” he impatiently asked, his face flushed with worry as his gaze searched the lobby. “I’m needing to speak with your papa,” he said, bringing his frantic eyes back to her.

  “He’s not here, Father,” she said softly, edging them both away from the mainstream of guests. “He and Mama are camping on the mountain tonight.”

  Daar pulled away and thumped his cane on the floor. “I need him now!” he snapped. “I need Greylen. Or Robbie. Where in hell is MacBain? This is a crisis,” he ground out, shaking his head. “I need them now.”

  “Can I be of help, Father?” Matt asked from behind Winter.

  “Who the hell are ye?” Daar growled, glaring past Winter’s shoulder. His eyes suddenly widened, and he pointed his cane at Matt as he looked at Winter. “Is he yer date?” he yelped. He furiously thumped his cane on the floor again. “Ye’re not supposed to date anyone!”

  Winter moved between them and took hold of Daar by both arms. “You need to calm down,” she said softly. “Tell me what’s happened and I’ll try to help you.”

  Even as she held his upper arms, Daar started wringing his hands together, causing his cane to bump her shin. “It’s my tree,” he whispered harshly. “Someone’s killed my tree. I need to speak to Robbie and Greylen. They have to help me.”

  Winter sucked in her breath. She looked over her shoulder at Matt and said, “Will you excuse us a minute, please? Just long enough for me to calm him down?”

  Though he was obviously concerned, Matt nodded and stepped back a few paces. Winter smiled her thanks and looked at Daar. “What do you mean, someone killed your tree? The pine tree?”

  “Aye,” Daar said, vigorously nodding. “It’s been cut clean off about thirty feet up. The entire top is gone.” He reversed their grip and clutched her arms tightly, this time causing his cane to smack her thigh. “And I can’t find the
top. It’s been stolen. I need Robbie to find it!”

  Winter wiggled free and stroked her hands soothingly along his arms. “Robbie will help you, Father. Just as soon as it’s daylight, both Robbie and Papa will start looking for the top of your tree. Let me take you to Gù Brath, and when Robbie gets back from his dinner with Cat, we’ll tell him what happened and he’ll know what to do.”

  “Nay,” Daar growled. “I must go home. I need to be up on the mountain. Ye get Robbie from his dinner and tell him to come to me right now.”

  “You can’t do anything about it tonight,” Winter reasoned. “And I’m not letting you walk home alone,” she added, thinking about the two swordsmen Tom had told her about. “Robbie will be back in a few hours. Until then, I’ll call Papa on his cell phone and tell him what’s happened.”

  “I tried that!” Daar snapped. “I stopped at Gù Brath and used yer phone, but all I got was some foolish woman wanting me to leave a message. She wouldn’t tell me where Greylen is.”

  Winter couldn’t help but smile. “That lady is a recording, Father. Papa likely shut off his phone,” she explained, turning and linking her arm through his to lead him toward the lobby door. “Come on. I’ll make you a nice cup of hot tea, and I’ll give you some cookies while we wait for Robbie.”

  He pulled free. “I want to go home.”

  “Okay, then,” Winter said quietly, still edging him toward the door. “I’ll get my truck and drive you home.”

  “I’ll drive,” Matt said, stepping around them and opening the door so they could walk outside. “We can take my truck. It’s in the parking lot.”

  Winter blinked at Matt. Good heavens, she’d forgotten him. She started to tell him he needn’t bother, but the look in his eyes made her snap her mouth shut without uttering a word.

  Matt smiled. “Wait here while I get the truck.”

  “I want ye to call Robbie,” Daar interjected, first scowling at Matt, then Winter. “I want MacBain.”