The Perfect Gift Read online

  Fear rocked her in cold, swift waves. “It can’t be.”

  “What is it, Maggie?”

  “The room. Everything’s wrong. He must have been here, too.”

  JARED MEASURED THE ROOM QUICKLY, EXPERTLY, AS IF assessing a threat. As he did, he stepped in front of Maggie.

  To protect me, she thought. Using his own body as a shield. Dear God, what had she gotten into?

  “Why do you say everything’s wrong?”

  “Someone’s been here.” Maggie swallowed hard. “In my closet. In my clothes.”

  He pulled her against his shoulder, and Maggie was glad for the reassuring warmth of his body, even for the sleeping presence of Max.

  “Are you certain?” He stared at the small room. “Nothing looks out of place to me.”

  Maggie closed her hands together. “Recognizing patterns is my profession, remember? I happen to have something the experts call spatial memory.”

  “Which means?”

  “When I see an arrangement of objects, I remember them in perfect detail. Trust me, someone’s been here.”

  “Is anything missing?” Jared asked grimly.

  “I’ll have to check.”

  He moved silently in front of her. “Let me have a look at the bathroom first.”

  This time Maggie didn’t protest his interference.

  He emerged moments later, shaking his head. “No sign of anyone there. What about your clothes?”

  A quick check of the warped oak veneer dresser revealed that her stockings were neatly folded, but not in the order she had left them. Anyone else wouldn’t have noticed. She ran a hand over her lingerie and frowned. The lacy camisole had been moved, along with a matching slip.

  For a moment she couldn’t speak, swept with panic. She felt trapped, violated by the hands of a stranger. “He—he’s been in here, too.”

  “I’ll help you pack,” Jared said grimly. “We’re leaving right now.”

  Maggie didn’t bother to argue. Suddenly it didn’t matter where she went as long as it was away from this place.

  “What about your tools and jewelry materials? You must have some valuable things with you.”

  She drew a shaky breath. “Not here. I—I didn’t like the look of the clerk on duty.”

  “Who, Don Juan with the greasy tie?”

  She managed a shaky laugh. “That’s the one. I have a small work case here, but I took all my stones to a local bank and rented a short-term box. I only kept my wire and a few tools.”

  “Good. We’ll collect the rest tomorrow.” He pulled a suitcase from the closet and began slipping clothes from their hangers, while she opened a drawer and tossed a stack of lacy underclothes into the open suitcase.

  On top of the stack went Maggie’s last three pair of stockings. “Chessa will murder me if I ruin all her work.”

  “Chessa?” He was nearly done with the closet.

  “My cousin. You met her in New York. Fashion image expert extraordinaire.” Her lips curved in a rueful smile. “Whether I like it or not.”

  “I wouldn’t think you’d need any assistance with your image.” There was a rough note in his voice. Maggie turned to find him staring at her.

  Like a man having hungry thoughts.

  She cleared her throat. “A compliment? Don’t shake your reputation now. I might faint.” She tried to laugh—and failed.

  “I never pretended not to be interested, Maggie. I’m not that good of an actor.”

  Heat curled into her face. In spite of her exhaustion, in spite of the night’s pursuit and her recent intruder, she felt a melting sensation somewhere in the pit of her stomach. “Just what are you trying to say?”

  He closed the suitcase with a snap. “I’m simply stating the obvious.” There was a harsh edge to his voice.

  “It wasn’t obvious to me.”

  “So now you know. Does it bother you?”

  “I’ll tell you after I’ve slept for twenty-four hours and I have at least a few brain cells firing again.”

  “Sometimes thinking doesn’t help,” Jared said. He put something into her hand. “Here, you dropped this.”

  It was one of Chessa’s creations, a long wisp of lace and crepe in a gray-blue shade that matched Maggie’s eyes. Jared studied the fragile fabric. “I’d be seriously appreciative if you wore that for me sometime.”

  Maggie wasn’t used to men who were so direct. The men she knew would have hinted and alluded. Not that approach or technique would have made any difference. She simply wasn’t in search of a relationship, Maggie told herself.

  But when she looked into Jared MacNeill’s eyes, something stirred inside her, making her pulse jolt. Maybe what she felt were dreams, newly roused after long, empty years.

  They walked outside in silence, Jared gripping her suitcase. A chill wind slashed down the street while the moon came and went behind pale, boiling clouds.

  Jared turned up Maggie’s collar, then studied the sky. “Do you believe in magic?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  She hunched her shoulders against the cutting wind. “On whether there’s a full moon and whether the air is filled with the scent of roses.”

  “Yes on both accounts. The last roses of summer are in bloom in the abbey conservatory. They’re said to be the most beautiful of all.”

  “In that case, the answer is yes.”

  She thought he would chuckle or sneer. Instead, his eyes narrowed. Something flared in those twilight depths. “That makes two of us. And since we’re being honest…” Slowly, his hands opened on her shoulders, protective and something more. “I want you, Maggie. I didn’t expect it and I don’t know where it will take us, but you need to know.”

  She swallowed, fire in her face, fire in her blood. She was suddenly conscious of every move of his body. “Jared, I—”

  “Don’t answer. I don’t need an answer.” His hand smoothed her cheek, feathered her hair. “At least not yet, I don’t.”

  Jared drove fast and well, while Max lay dead to the world at Maggie’s feet.

  “Rather a tight fit?” Her pulse skipped as her thigh brushed his beside the gearshift.

  “No one’s ever complained about it before,” Jared said calmly.

  No, Maggie figured they wouldn’t. Not a woman anyway. It was too intense to ride low with the motor throbbing and the dark miles sliding past. “No one?” She couldn’t resist the challenge.

  “Actually there was one. She complained about the lack of maneuvering space, as I recall. The gearshift cramped her style, she said.”

  Maggie had a sharp image of restless hands and heated limbs. Both left the quick flare of jealousy. “Is that so?” she said sweetly. “I’m sure you managed handily in spite of all obstacles.”

  He chuckled softly. “Jealous?”

  “Not a chance, MacNeill.”

  “I do like that steel in your voice, Maggie.”

  “Sure you do. But you didn’t answer my question. Did you…score? I believe that’s the word you men use?”

  His hand curved down over hers. “I don’t. And the answer to your question is no. I didn’t. We didn’t. Sometimes trying to get someplace can be a lot more fun than actually arriving.”

  Heat arrowed through her chest. More images swept into her mind, sharp and tormenting. Getting someplace with this man would be more than she could handle, Maggie sensed. He was too smart. Too calm. Too damned self-controlled.

  She seemed to be just the opposite.

  The challenge slipped from her lips before she knew it. “Wanna see if you’ve lost your touch?” She listened to her husky voice, hearing it almost as a stranger’s. Even that realization didn’t make her stop.

  He slowed, then pulled into a grassy curve bordered by a high hedgerow. Between them the motor purred. “I’m not clear about the question,” he said roughly. “What exactly are you offering?”

  Maggie knew. She wanted to see him restless, confused. Hungry…for her. S
he decided she was entitled, considering he had already made her feel all those things.

  She clicked her tongue. “Bad response, MacNeill. You know what they say—if you have to ask, you can’t afford it.”

  Moonlight touched the hard angle of his jaw. He anchored her chin and then slowly traced the curve of her lower lip.

  Maggie realized that she was trembling and her silly challenge had just become something dangerous.

  “You’re trembling.” Jared’s voice was husky.

  “So?” There was little hope of hiding the fact while his hand anchored her face and his thumb explored her lips. “Does it matter?”

  “I’m not sure.” His fingers slid into her hair. “Do you tremble like this often?”

  “Maybe.”

  He tilted her head until moonlight poured like liquid over the curve of her cheek. “Lying isn’t your style, Maggie,” he whispered.

  “What makes you think—”

  “Because you’re bad at it. Because you freeze up when a man like the Don Juan in your hotel gives you a suggestive glance. You’re interested, and that frightens you because you’re not used to being interested.”

  Maggie swallowed hard. How did he read her this way? In twenty-five years no one had ever seen through her defenses half so well. They were still practically strangers, for heaven’s sake.

  “Do you do card tricks along with your mind-reading act, Maestro?”

  “You might be surprised.” There was an odd tension in his voice as he twined his fingers around a strand of her hair.

  She waited for him to pull her closer. To tilt her head back and plant a pulse-wrenching kiss on her mouth. Her heart foundered as she felt the hard flex of his thighs slanting against hers.

  He did neither, simply watching her.

  “It might be damned interesting to find out just how big this car is. How it handles under…close quarters. With the right person, the performance statistics might be awesome.”

  Maggie stiffened. “But I’m not the right person, is that it?” She felt a stab of pain. Until that instant she hadn’t realized how everything had blown out of proportion, which only showed what a fool she was. She shoved his hand away with jerky fingers. “Well excuse the hell out of me. So sorry if I don’t fit your statistics for the perfect partner.”

  “You’re not listening, Maggie.” He caught her arm. “There are two of us here, remember? I’m as wrong for you as any man alive. Even if I weren’t, there would still be the question of timing, which is definitely bad.”

  She glared at his shadowed face, trying to decide if this was solid gold diplomacy or something he actually believed.

  “Instead of arguing, why don’t you try trusting me instead?”

  “Stop doing that.”

  “What?”

  “Reaching out. Probing my mind. Pulling out things I haven’t said.”

  “You think I’m a mind reader?” he asked gravely.

  “I think you’re something. I just don’t have a name for it yet.”

  “I hope it will be mentionable in mixed company.”

  Don’t count on it, Maggie thought, turning to stare out at trees lit by restless moonlight. How could she have let herself become so involved after a few hours? Was she completely losing her mind?

  “Get some rest.”

  As if she could sleep with his thigh brushing hers every few seconds.

  As if she could ignore her erratic pulse every time a curve brought her body against his. There was no way she could relax with his shoulder jammed against her in the narrow seat.

  Maggie stifled a yawn. Her eyes closed. While the motor purred in her ears, she sank down into sleep, dimly aware that Jared was saying something in Gaelic. Low tones, rolling and rich. Sounds that might have led men into war or counseled mothers on their loss of a braw son.

  For no reason she could name, they sounded familiar….

  They rode through the night and far into gray morning. She was past noticing time or location, cramped before her captor in a tight, uncomfortable ball. When the horses finally slowed, hard hands pulled her down onto the ground.

  She swayed to her knees, but shoved away those who tried to help her. “Remove this cloth from my eyes. Or are you too much cowards to let a woman see your faces?”

  She heard the pace of restless feet and low muttering. Something brushed her cheek and she flinched.

  “‘Tis no weapon I hold. Drink, my lady. We’ve but a brief rest, then we’re back to the road.

  Pride warred with common sense—and pride lost. She swallowed, choking on the raw spirits that burned down her throat. “Do you think to turn my wits to mush with your vile drinks?”

  “No hope of that, though it might be better for us all. You may pace freely now and ease your legs until we remount.

  “Where do you take me, to some enemy of my father’s? Have they promised you gold for me?”

  There was no answer save the sigh of the wind.

  “There will be no gold, you fool. My father will trade not a ha ’penny for my release,” she said with weary bitterness. ’Twas a son her father had prayed for, not a lone sniveling daughter, and he had made those feelings clear every day since her birth.

  What fools these men, to expect gold coins or treasures in trade for her freedom. Her father might even offer a prayer of thanks to be relieved of the daughter he had never wanted.

  A stubborn, ill-graced daughter at that, one who would rather study the shaping of gold than the art of needlework, as any normal female ought.

  Thinking of her father hardened her resolve. “Have you no tongue?”

  “Aye, a tongue I have. And also the wit to know when best to keep that tongue between my teeth. He’ll have my skin for a saddle if aught of harm comes to you. ’Tis time to remount,” the man added flatly.

  He? The question rang through Gwynna’s head as she fought the hands that trapped her shoulders. Then she was shoved back onto the weary horse, and there was no hope of escape.

  Who commanded these men? Who had laid down the conditions for her capture?

  She was glad for the rag that hid her bitter tears as they took to the muddy road once more.

  Headed north where steep hills lay veiled in heather.

  Maggie sat up slowly. Somewhere a motor sputtered to silence while her heart pumped. “Don’t tell me I almost put my fist through the windshield again?”

  “Close.”

  She looked down. Her fingers were buried in the folds of his old tartan. Jared must have placed it over her. Just a worn piece of cloth, but again she had the sensation of another world. Another set of hopes and dreams.

  She swallowed. “It was just another…dream.” She shoved the tartan behind her. Jared hiked Max against his chest. “Do you make a habit of fighting in your sleep?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Silence hung. “Did…your partners never tell you?”

  There had been few enough of them, Maggie thought, and discussing her dreams hadn’t been part of the late-night conversations.

  She looked away. Remembering left her too hollow inside. “Not that I recall.” She wasn’t about to discuss her sexual history with anyone, even with Jared.

  Especially with Jared.

  “Can we go on now?”

  He didn’t move.

  “Or is this interrogation part of your official duties as my keeper?”

  “I’m not your keeper, Maggie.”

  “No? You could have fooled me.” A fragment of memory surfaced from her dreams, making her shiver.

  Jared studied her face. “If you ever want to talk—”

  “I won’t.”

  “—then I’ll be here to listen,” he finished.

  He was cool, detached, and she hated him for it. She didn’t want to lay her dreams and sorrows bare for him or anyone else to see. “I’ll remember that. Now can we go, if you are quite finished?”

  “I’m finished,” he said softly. “For now.”

 
He settled Max back on the floor at Maggie’s feet. The motor coughed, then fell into a low purr, and Maggie felt a wave of relief when they began to move.

  She closed her eyes, refusing to think about her strange dreams. Fighting a yawn, she snuggled back down in the seat and tried not to remember.

  Or to dream.

  “Maggie, wake up.”

  A hand shook her knee.

  “Go ‘way. Not asleep,” she mumbled, jerking awake to darkness. She peered outside, seeing nothing. “Where are we?”

  “Almost at the abbey.” Jared’s voice was grim.

  “That’s good, isn’t it?”

  “It would be if there weren’t a car parked just in front of the drive.”

  She made out the unbroken sweep of trees. “I don’t see anyone.”

  “His lights are off.”

  “Then how did you see him?”

  “Just an instinct.” And a decade of experience in the world’s worst places, Jared thought. He knew that stabbing pull at his neck well, since it had saved his skin more than once. It was far more than vague instinct that had brought him to a halt just before reaching the abbey. Just as certainly, he couldn’t tell Maggie that.

  Even now he could sense her mind at work sorting possibilities, snapping puzzle pieces into place. It was fascinating to touch that restless intelligence, and Jared knew he had already been drawn in far deeper than he intended.

  “You think that’s…him? The man from London?”

  Her voice was steady, but he could feel her fear. And he refused to lie to her. “It might be. I’m taking no chances.”

  She gnawed at her lip. Calculating again. “Is there any other way in?”

  “Nothing I could manage without four-wheel drive. Definitely not at night.”

  “So what happens now?”

  “A little check.”

  “But—”

  “Hold Max.” The night was cool and silent around them as Jared got out of the car.

  “I’m definitely going to bring combat boots the next time I go anywhere with you,” Maggie grumbled.

  “There’s no need for boots. Right here is where you stay, Princess.”

  “I’m no princess.”

  He touched her chin slowly. “Maybe that’s for the prince to decide.”