The Dark Highlander Read online

  “Will you be coming back to Manhattan?” she asked in a small voice.

  “Nay.”

  “Never?”

  “Never.”

  A soft sigh escaped her. She fidgeted with a curly strand of hair, spiraling it around a finger. “What kind of curse?”

  “Would you try to aid me if I was?” He looked up again and she felt a tension in him she couldn’t fathom. As if her reply was somehow critical.

  “Yes,” she admitted, “I probably would.” And it was true. Though she didn’t approve of Dageus MacKeltar’s methods, though there was much about him she didn’t understand, were he suffering, she wouldn’t be able to refuse him.

  “Despite what I’ve done to you?”

  She shrugged. “You haven’t exactly hurt me.” And he’d given her a skean dhu. Would he really let her keep it?

  She was about to ask him that when, with a swift flick of his wrist, he tossed the envelope from the travel agency at her. “Then come with me.”

  Chloe caught the envelope by one end, her heart skipping a beat. “Wh-what?” She blinked at him, thinking she must have heard him wrong.

  He nodded. “Open it.”

  Frowning, Chloe opened the envelope. She smoothed the papers wonderingly. Tickets to Scotland, for Dageus MacKeltar . . . and Chloe Zanders! Just seeing her name printed on the ticket gave her a little chill. Departing tomorrow night at seven o’clock from JFK. Arriving in London for a short layover, then on to Inverness. Within less than forty-eight hours she could be in Scotland!

  If she dared.

  She opened and closed her mouth several times.

  Finally, “Oh, what are you?” she breathed disbelievingly. “The devil himself, come to tempt me?”

  “Do I, lass? Do I tempt you?”

  On just about every freaking level, she thought, but refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing that.

  “I can’t just up and travel to Scotland with some . . . some—” She broke off, sputtering.

  “Thief?” he supplied lazily.

  She snorted. “Okay, so you returned those things. So what? I hardly even know you!”

  “Do you wish to? I’m leaving on the morrow. ’Tis now or never, lass.” He waited, watching her. “Some chances come but once, Chloe, and swift are gone.”

  Chloe stared at him in silence, feeling utterly divided. Part of her was resolutely digging in her heels, ticking off on her fingers a thousand reasons why she absolutely could not do such a crazy, impulsive thing. Another part—a part that both horrified and intrigued her—was jumping up and down, shouting, “Say yes!” She had the sudden, strange desire to get up and go look at herself in the mirror, to see if she was changing outside as well as in.

  Dare she do something so patently outrageous? Take such a chance? Put everything on the line and see what came of it?

  On the other hand, dare she go back to her life the way it was? Go back to living in her tiny one-room plus bathroom-the-size-of-a-matchbox efficiency, making her solitary way to work each day, gaining solace only from playing with artifacts that would never be hers?

  She’d tasted more, and—damn the man—now she wanted it.

  What was the worst that could happen? If he had any intention of physically harming her, he could have done so long before now. The only real threat he posed was one she controlled: whether she would let him seduce her. Whether she would risk falling for a man who was, without question, an inveterate lone wolf and bad boy. A man who made no apologies and offered no comforting lies.

  If she didn’t fall for him, if she was a smart girl and kept her wits about her, pretty much the worst that could happen was that he might leave her stranded in Scotland. And that didn’t strike her as completely unpalatable. If he did, she was confident that, with her waitressing experience in college, she could get a job in a pub over there. She could stay awhile, see her grandda’s homeland, her trip over paid for. She would survive. She would more than survive. She might finally live.

  What did she have here? Her job at The Cloisters. No social life to speak of. No family. She’d been alone for years now, ever since Grandda had died. In fact, more lonely than she’d cared to admit. A little lost and rootless, which she suspected accounted for her determination to visit Grandda’s village, in hopes that she might find some remnants of roots there.

  Here was her golden opportunity, coupled with the promise of an adventure she’d never forget, at the side of a man she already knew she’d never be able to forget.

  Oh, God, Zanders, she thought, marveling, you’re talking yourself into this!

  What if he was leaving tomorrow and hadn’t asked you to go with him? a tiny inner voice pressed. What if he’d made it absolutely clear that he was leaving, and you would never see him again? What would you have done with this last night with him?

  Chloe inhaled sharply, shocked at herself.

  Under those hypothetical circumstances, hypothetically, of course, she might have taken her one incredible shot at a man like him, and let him take her to bed. Learned what he had to teach her, eagerly allowed herself to become the focus of all that smoldering promise of sensual knowledge in his exotic eyes.

  Looked at that way, going to Scotland with him didn’t seem quite so crazy.

  He’d been watching her intently, and when she lifted her wide-eyed gaze to his, he rose abruptly from the couch opposite her and moved to stand before her. Impatiently, he pushed the coffee table aside and slipped to his knees at her feet, wrapping his hands around her calves. She felt the heat of his strong hands through her jeans. His mere touch made her shiver.

  “Come with me, lass.” His voice was low and urgent. “Think of your Scots blood. Doona you wish to stand on the soil of your ancestors? Doona you wish to see the heathery fields and moors? The mountains and the lochs? I’m no’ a man who oft makes promises, but I promise you this”—he broke off, laughing softly as if at some private joke—“I can show you a Scotland no other man could ever show you.”

  “But my job—”

  “To hell with your job. You speak the old languages. Two of us can translate faster than one. I’ll pay you to help me.”

  “Really? How much?” Chloe blurted, then flushed, appalled by how quickly she’d asked.

  He laughed again. And she knew that he knew he just about had her.

  “Select a piece—any piece—from my collection.”

  Her fingers curled covetously. He was the very devil; he had to be! He knew her price.

  His voice dropped to an intimate purr. “Then choose two more. For one month of your time.”

  Her jaw dropped. Three artifacts, plus a trip to Scotland, for one month of her time? Was he kidding? She could sell any one of the artifacts upon her return to Manhattan (she made a mental note to choose one with which she could bear to part), go back to school, get her Ph.D. and work in any darned museum she wanted to! She could afford to take fabulous vacations, see the world. She—Chloe Zanders—could lead a glamorous, exciting life!

  And all the devil ever wants in exchange, a small voice inside her purred caustically, is a soul.

  She ignored it.

  “Plus the skean dhu?” she clarified hastily.

  “Aye.”

  “Why Inverness?” she asked breathlessly.

  A shadow flitted across his gorgeous face. “’Tis where my brother Drustan, and his wife live.” He hesitated a moment, then added, “He collects texts as well.”

  And if she’d been wavering before, that clinched it for her. His brother and his wife; they would be seeing his family. How dangerous could a man be if he was taking her to his family? It wasn’t as if they’d be alone together all the time. They’d be with his family. If she was clever, she’d be able to insulate herself from his seduction. And to spend a month with him! To get to know him, learn what made such a man tick. Who knew what might happen in a month? And the prince fell in love with the peasant girl . . .

  Her heart was hammering.

 
“Say aye, lass. You want to, I see it in your eyes. Choose your pieces. We’ll drop them off at your place before we leave.”

  “They’d never be safe in my apartment!” Even she knew how feeble that protest was.

  “Then in one of those boxes. . . . One of those . . .” He glanced askance.

  “Safety deposit boxes at a bank, you mean?”

  “Aye, that’s it, lass.”

  “And I get the key?” she pounced.

  He nodded, the light of victory glittering in his predatory gaze. In a movie, the devil would wear just such a look before he said, “Sign here.”

  “Why are you doing this?” she breathed.

  “I told you. I want you.”

  She shivered again. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “Mayhap ’tis soul-alchemy. I doona ken. I doona care.”

  “I won’t sleep with you, MacKeltar,” she said suddenly. She didn’t want him expecting that, needed it spelled out very carefully. If, at some point, she decided it was something she was willing to risk, that was one thing. But he needed to understand that it was not part of their bargain. Such things couldn’t be bargained for. “Your artifacts purchase only my company as a translator. Not sex. That’s not part of our deal.”

  “I doona wish it to be part of our ‘deal.’”

  “You think you can seduce me,” she accused.

  He caught his bottom lip with his teeth, released it slowly, and smiled. It was such an obvious thing, that gesture, Chloe thought irritably, deliberately designed to focus her attention on his lips. She saw through it, she did—but that didn’t stop it from working every darned time he did it. From making her self-consciously moisten her own. Damn and double-damn, she thought, the man was good.

  You’re already seduced, Chloe-lass, Dageus thought, watching her, ’tis but a matter of accepting, a mere matter of time now. She wanted him. ’Twas no one-sided heat. Theirs was a dangerous attraction that defied logic or reason. She was as helplessly fascinated by him as he was by her. Each knew they should walk away from the other: he, because he had no right to corrupt her; she, because on some level she sensed that something was wrong with him. But neither was able to resist the pull. Devil and Angel: he, seduced by her lightness; she, tempted by his darkness. Each drawn to what they lacked.

  “Well, you won’t succeed,” she said stiffly, piqued by his smug masculinity.

  “I trust you’ll forgive a man for tryin’, lass. A kiss to seal it?”

  “I mean it,” she pushed. “I’m not going to be just another one of your women.”

  “I doona see any other women around here, lass,” he said coolly. “Do you?”

  Chloe rolled her eyes.

  “Have I asked anyone else to go to Scotland?”

  “I said okay, all right? I’m just making sure you understand the terms.”

  “Och, I understand the terms,” he said in a dangerously soft voice.

  She thrust out her hand. “Then shake.”

  When he raised it to his lips and kissed it, Chloe felt suddenly light-headed.

  The moment felt, well . . . positively momentous. As if she’d just made a decision that would forever alter her life, in ways she couldn’t even begin to imagine. The Greeks had a word for such a moment. They called it Kairos—a moment of destiny.

  Giddy with excitement, she rose and, with a connoisseur’s eye and no mercy for the devil’s wallet, began selecting her treasures.

  8

  The man had never really tried to seduce her, Chloe decided the next morning when she raced down the steps and ran smack into him as he was stepping out of the first floor bathroom at the base of the stairs.

  Seduction was this: one look at him in nothing but a towel.

  Towering, two hundred pounds-plus of glistening golden skin poured over solid muscle, a sinfully small towel about his hips. Sculpted torso, rippling abs. A small cut marring his muscled chest, from their skirmish yesterday. A dark silky trail of hair disappearing beneath the soft white fabric.

  Wet. Little beads of water shimmering on his skin. Thick black hair slicked back from his face, falling in a wet tangle to his waist.

  And she knew that if she said the word, he would stretch that incredible body full-length on top of her and—

  Chloe made a little puffing noise, as if the air had been knocked out of her. “G’morning,” she managed.

  “Madainn mhath, lass,” he purred his reply in Gaelic, steadying her by the elbows. “I trust you slept well without the bonds?”

  He may not have tied her, but he’d slept outside her door. She’d heard him out there, moving about. “Yes,” she said a bit breathlessly.

  The man was just too beautiful for any woman’s peace of mind.

  He stared down at her a long moment. “We’ve much to do before we leave,” he said, releasing her arms. “I’ll be but a few moments getting dressed.”

  He skirted around her and went up the stairs. She turned, bemused, watching him with wide eyes. He hadn’t even tried to kiss her, she thought, irritated with him that he hadn’t, and irritated with herself for being irritated that he hadn’t. Heavens, the man filled her with impossible duality. She was determined not to be seduced, yet she relished his seduction. It made her feel utterly feminine and alive.

  Holy cow, she thought, watching him. With each step he ascended, the muscles in his legs flexed. Perfect calves, hard-as-rock thighs. Tight butt. Trim waist flaring to muscular shoulders. Absolutely ripped with muscle, he was powerful-looking in a lean, hungry way. Time seemed to spin out dreamily while she watched him.

  “Oh!” she gasped suddenly, going rigid with shock.

  Had he really done that?

  God! How would she ever get that vision of him out of her mind?

  At the top of the stairs the blasted man had dropped his towel!

  As he was taking that last step. Legs slightly parted. Giving her the briefest glimpse of . . . oh!

  She was still trying to breathe and not succeeding very well, when she heard a soft, husky and very smug laugh.

  Shameless womanizer!

  Dageus left when Chloe got in the shower. It was either leave, or join her, and she was not yet ready to permit what he needed. Wiser not to imagine stepping into the shower behind her, taking her slippery, wet body in his arms, getting his hands on those magnificent bare breasts. He’d have her in Scotland anon, and there in his beloved land, he would claim her completely.

  She would have let him kiss her, he’d seen it in the dilation of her eyes, in the softening of that lush petal-soft mouth.

  But there was much to do before they left, and a skilled lover knew there were times when heightening a woman’s anticipation was far more seductive than satisfying it. So, with a provocative bit of aloofness, he’d resisted the kisses he might have claimed and shown her instead what she was denying herself. What she could have if she but said the word. All of him, his insatiable desire, his need, his stamina, his determination to pleasure her as no other man could. Slave to her every carnal wish. He knew she’d seen the heavy weight of his testicles betwixt his legs and the thick head of his shaft below them as he’d taken the last step.

  Best she get acquainted with his body now, in slow degrees.

  He smiled, as the cab came to a dead stop in bumper-to-bumper traffic, recalling her soft, shocked little gasp. The knowledge that she had never been touched by another man inflamed him. He swallowed, his mouth dry with anticipation.

  She’d given him a list of things she needed, and had told him her passport was in her jewelry box. She’d said aye. She’d agreed to come with him. He’d not liked the thought of having to coerce her.

  He may not have yet seduced her into his bed, but he’d succeeded in seducing her into his life in countless other ways, each an invisible, silken knot, binding her to him as he lured her deeper into his world.

  He was obsessed with her, as he’d never been with any other woman. He wanted to tell her more of his story. He’d been testing th
e waters last eve, feeling her out, trying to determine how much she might be able to take. He’d never once considered telling a woman aught about himself—particularly not one he hadn’t yet bedded—but the possibility of a woman such as Chloe knowing what he was and choosing to be his woman anyway made the blood burn like fire in his veins. A part of him wanted to cram his reality down her throat, forcing her to accept him, with no excuses offered. A wiser part of him, the man he’d used to be, warned against such ruthlessness.

  Slowly. He need employ utmost care and caution if he hoped to achieve his aim.

  Late last eve, while watching her dither over which artifacts to choose, he’d realized with startling clarity, that it wasn’t merely her body he wanted in his bed, he wanted all of her, given without reservation. He wanted it nigh as much as he wanted to be free of the evil within him, as if the two were somehow intertwined. And the animal in him sensed her killing weakness: Chloe was a lass who could be trapped by the man who won her heart. Netted and kept for life. His strategy was no longer simple seduction; he was vying for the core of her, her very lifeblood.

  A woman such as she—entrust you with her heart? his honor mocked. Have you lost your mind as well as your soul?

  “Haud yer wheesht,” he growled softly.

  The cab driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “Eh, what?”

  “I wasn’t talking to you.”

  And if you somehow manage to win her, what, then, will you do with her? his honor taunted. Promise her a future?

  “Doona be trying to steal my now,” Dageus gritted. “’Tis all I own.” And since her advent into his life, the now held more interest for him than it had in a long time. He was a man who’d succeeded at living since the eve he’d turned dark, only by doing it hour to hour.

  Shrugging at the cabbie who was now watching him with blatant unease, he reached in his pocket, double-checking to be certain the list and her key were there.

  The key wasn’t. Thinking back, he realized he’d left it on the kitchen counter.