The Perfect Gift Read online

  For now, he was the only one available.

  A half-eaten grapefruit lay next to an untouched scone on Maggie’s plate. She stared at both, not really seeing either.

  She had no appetite, and she probably looked like the walking dead. Not surprising, given her restless sleep and upsetting encounter with Jared. She had woken twice, startled by the creaking of wood and the cry of the wind while her heart pounded.

  Dreams, she told herself. Images caused by high stress and an artist’s overactive imagination. Staring out at the moat, blanketed with sunlight, she almost believed it. When she finished her tea, she rose briskly, determined not to wait for Jared. He had made it clear that he wasn’t interested in her help with whatever problem was bothering him, and his refusal hurt her.

  Forget it, she thought. He probably already has.

  Sunlight played over the tiny leaded panes. Rainbows cascaded from the acres of crystal displayed along the great hunt table. The sight reminded Maggie that she was inside one of the most famous houses in England. Chessa or Faith would be unflappable, absolutely at ease and confident. So why couldn’t she do the same?

  Footsteps echoed behind her. She spun around, one hand to her chest. “Marston, you frightened me.”

  The abbey butler was immaculate in black worsted waistcoat and jacket. Only the electric blue running shoes left Maggie blinking.

  “I am sorry if I disturbed you. I did knock, but you seemed rather…absorbed.”

  “I was thinking about this house. It must take a whole battalion of people to wash the crystal after a party, and I don’t even want to think about the windows.”

  The butler smiled faintly. “Entertaining does pose certain challenges, but nothing that has proved insurmountable. Of course, the days of weekend shooting parties for two hundred are over. Some would say just as well.”

  “Two hundred?” Maggie shook her head. “Sounds like unfair odds against the poor pheasants, if you ask me.”

  Marston refilled her teacup, his expression unreadable. “I suppose the world was a different place then. In my grandfather’s time it was nothing to bag a hundred deer and half as many pheasants. I believe that two of your presidents enjoyed doing just that.”

  “Touché.”

  “Certainly no offense was meant,” Marston said calmly.

  “And none was taken. It’s just that…this house is so overwhelming. Every corner hides an Old Master painting or what I’m certain are priceless Chinese porcelains. I keep expecting to pass a Van Gogh or two.”

  “That would be the small canvas in the Long Gallery,” Marston murmured.

  “A real, honest-to-goodness Van Gogh?” Maggie gave a shaky laugh. “This isn’t the kind of place where I feel comfortable.”

  Marston’s brow climbed slightly. “I would expect that you fit in superbly in any company or any environment. I would venture to say that it is one of your many skills. If you will forgive the familiarity.”

  Maggie saw the faint smile he wasn’t trying to hide. “That’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me, Marston. And if this is your way of being familiar, the thought of your formal treatment terrifies me.”

  “Absolutely killing,” he agreed. “Or so I’m told.”

  “You probably tyrannize the viscount and his wife shamelessly.”

  “I?” Again the brow rose. “That would be most improper. I hope I am never improper in any of my duties, although an occasional bit of guidance is in order.”

  Maggie chuckled. “So you don’t deny it.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” Deftly, Marston arranged a handful of freshly cut roses in a silver vase. “Will Commander MacNeill be taking you to tour the abbey today?”

  Abruptly Maggie’s smile faded. “I have no idea. Why did you call him commander?”

  “Once a Royal Marine, always a Royal Marine. He was one of the most decorated in his company, I believe.”

  Maggie digested this bit of information, frowning. “Why did he leave active duty?”

  The butler paid intense attention to the placement of his last rose. “I do not believe I have an answer to that, miss.”

  “Something happened, I know it. Sometimes when he looks at me, I get the strangest sense that he can—”

  “In that case, you’d better ask me that question.” Jared stood on the threshold, clad in well-worn flannels and a perfectly cut charcoal turtleneck. On him, they looked elegant, informal, beautifully tailored in their simplicity.

  Heat jackknifed all the way to Maggie’s toes. He didn’t look like a soldier. In fact, he could have been in movies. He had the unflinching calm that pumped-up male stars strained to achieve and generally failed.

  Maggie decided to tell him that one day. She was certain it would annoy him. But first she wanted answers. “You were in the Royal Marines?”

  “I was.”

  “And you left?”

  “I did.”

  “Why?”

  “For several reasons.”

  She tried to read his eyes and failed. “Gee, don’t overwhelm me with answers here, MacNeill. Just give one or two for starters.”

  “I needed to spend more time at home.”

  “Where’s home?” Maggie zeroed in on the opening.

  “To the north.”

  “That’s a huge help. North where? North of London? North of Manchester? North of—”

  “Edinburgh. Near Skye.” He said the words slowly, and Maggie realized how little he was in the habit of talking about personal things.

  “That’s an island off the coast of Scotland, isn’t it?”

  “It was the last time I checked.”

  Behind them Marston swept the last cut stems into a bundle of waxed paper, then cleared his throat. “Would you care for luncheon now, Commander?”

  “None for me. Ms. Kincade has eaten?”

  “Rather too lightly, in my opinion.”

  “I’ll see what I can do about it if you’ll part with some of those strawberries you grow out in the conservatory.”

  Marston tapped his jaw. “Along with clotted cream and perhaps some chocolate shavings?”

  Jared grinned. “Be still my beating heart.”

  Marston murmured something that sounded like “scoundrel” and disappeared.

  “I think I can speak for myself,” Maggie said stiffly. “And I’m completely full.”

  He studied her face. Yet again Maggie had the uncomfortable feeling that he was sifting through her secrets. “Bad night?” he said softly.

  Maggie wasn’t going to discuss her disturbing dreams. “You still owe me answers, remember?”

  He filled a fragile cup with Darjeeling tea and studied her over the rim. The lines at his mouth gave Maggie the idea that his night had been almost as bad as hers.

  “What kind of answers?”

  “If your home is near Skye, why don’t you have one of those incomprehensible accents? You know, like Mel Gibson in Braveheart.”

  “Ach, the puir lad had na half the sound of the Isles in his voice. Na fine coaching will bring the Gaelic where it is na born to blood and bone.” The words rolled rich and smooth off Jared’s tongue. “’Tis this sound ye were wishing, lass?”

  Maggie couldn’t suppress a laugh. “Round one to you. How can you make it come and go like that?”

  Jared frowned down at the half-filled teacup. “We moved often when I was young. My father was in the Royal Navy and his postings took us one year to the south of France, one year to New Guinea and Australia. I suppose I learned how to blend in as self-preservation.”

  Maggie gnawed at her lip, considering her next question.

  “Don’t,” Jared said softly.

  “Don’t what?”

  “Do that.” His eyes locked on her mouth.

  “You mean this?” Maggie rolled her lip against her teeth.

  “God.” The word was both curse and plea. “Stop,” Jared said roughly.

  Maggie stared, not comprehending. Then she felt a
slow, hot wave of color sweep her face. “You mean…” Her eyes flickered along his chest and grazed his thighs. “It makes you—”

  “Precisely.” His voice was very dry.

  “But I’m not trying to—you know.” She broke off with an embarrassed cough.

  “No, I can see that.”

  Maggie shrugged. “I have a mirror, and I have a perfectly good memory. If I were the kind of leggy blond that men follow with their eyes, then I might believe you. But no. I’m far too old for fairy tales.”

  He stared at her, cup in hand, then muttered a soft curse. “Who’s been at you, Maggie Kincade? Give me the bastard’s name.”

  “No one,” she snapped. “Or maybe everyone. And this conversation is over, since you keep lobbing all the questions back to me.” She stood up and tossed down her napkin, wondering why it was suddenly so hard to breathe. Maybe it was his face, half in sun and half in shadows. Or maybe it was the way his eyes tracked her slightest movement. “Stop staring at me. And while you’re at it, stop doing that other sneaky thing you do.”

  “Enjoy the sight of your smile? Savor the way sunlight touches your hair?”

  Her flush deepened. “You know exactly what I mean. I’m talking about how you watch me. How you slip down into my head and—well, see things.” Her hands tightened to fists. “Go ahead and deny it.”

  “Do you want me to deny it?”

  “All I want is the truth.”

  He pushed slowly to his feet. “The truth could be more complicated than you or I like, Maggie. It might even carry a certain amount of danger. Are you prepared for that?”

  He was deadly serious, she realized. “Why?” she said, from suddenly dry lips.

  “Because answers always cost. Haven’t you learned that by now? You shape beauty in silver and platinum. You ask questions until the outlines come, and then you chase the dreams and pay the price afterward when your shoulders ache and your fingers are cut until they bleed.”

  How could he know these things? How could he see what she had always hidden so well? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t you?” His hand opened on her cheek. She felt the slow brush of his skin. She closed her eyes as longing rose in her, keen and sweet.

  There had been other men. There had been other moments of wanting.

  But none like this.

  Never with all her nerves in a melting rush and her hands shaking. “You didn’t answer my question,” she rasped.

  “You didn’t answer mine.”

  Maggie managed a shrug. “Sometimes I pay. Sometimes my fingers hurt. It’s no more than I expect.”

  His hand opened, tracing her cheek. “If I looked, I could find the scars. One from a soldering iron. One from a wire cutter that snapped.” His eyes narrowed. “And right now your neck hurts.” His palm slid beneath her hair, massaging knots of tension that Maggie hadn’t even been aware of until that moment.

  A sigh escaped her lips. “There ought to be a law against you, MacNeill.” His hands moved in silence, and Maggie felt each movement pull her deeper. With a great effort, she managed to hold her body stiff. “Not that a law would change anything. The women of the world would simply ignore it.”

  “I’m not interested in the women of the world.”

  One eye cracked open. “You’re not?”

  “Only in one of them. Someone who argues as easily as she breathes. Someone with hair the color of warm honey.”

  She swallowed hard and fought for levity. “L-lucky girl.”

  “I don’t think she sees it that way.”

  “She probably has her reasons.” She gave up the fight, leaning into his body and sighing with pleasure as he massaged her stiff shoulder. Without quite knowing how, she found her head settled on his shoulder and her hands at his waist while her body fast turned into gelatin. “This woman—this hypothetical woman,” she corrected quickly, “maybe she feels out of her league.”

  His hands framed her spine and worked slowly downward. “There are only two of us here, Maggie. There’s no league and no one is playing referee.”

  “I am. It’s something else I’m good at. It’s destroyed at least two good relationships.”

  “Want to tell me about them?” His voice was deceptively calm, but when Maggie looked into his eyes, she saw their sudden intensity. Was it jealousy or simple curiosity?

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  His hands were pure, potent magic. Maggie knew it was dangerous to let him slip past her guard this way—but she couldn’t quite remember why.

  “Talk, Maggie.”

  She drew a long breath. “There’s really nothing to tell.”

  “Try.” His thumb skimmed the base of her spine and feathered upward.

  “Aaaaa.” Logic skittered out the window. “The first?”

  “The first,” Jared said grimly.

  “He was smart, funny. Gorgeous. All the things that fascinated me.”

  “How did you meet?”

  “At the sea lion exhibit at the Monterey Aquarium. He was seven and I was five.”

  Jared’s lips curved. “Hot date by the kelp bed?”

  “You’d better believe it. He told me about his pet rock collection and I showed him my favorite quartz geode. It was love at first sight. Real coup de foudre stuff.” She tilted her head, giving him better access to her shoulders. “Then his nanny showed up and it was back to the high-rise in Pacific Heights. Two ships passing in the night.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “I hear he’s got his own computer company in Sausalito and he’s worth about a zillion dollars. I guess he traded in his pet rocks for silicon chips.”

  “Smart fellow. Now tell me about number two.”

  She stiffened. “Him?”

  “Him.”

  “There’s not much to tell. He was a conceptual artist who specialized in making virtual eco-statements.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Juilliard grad. He wrote experimental music to accompany live footage of polar weather patterns and posted them on the Web. It wasn’t until months later that I realized his music sounded like John Cage’s. Exactly like John Cage’s, in fact. He stole it note for note.”

  “Nasty surprise.”

  “Not half as bad as discovering that he was stealing my platinum wire and hocking it for music equipment.”

  “Ouch.”

  Maggie sighed. “It was definitely a dark day at Red Rock.”

  Jared’s fingers broadened their mesmerizing span. “What happened?”

  “He packed his amplifiers and left. He assured me I had a huge father fixation and no man would ever work out for me. In his case, he was right. Oh, there.” She wriggled with pleasure. “I’ll kill for more of that.”

  Jared suppressed a groan. The sort of possibilities flooding his mind had nothing to do with muscular therapy. They were dark, earthy, and largely involved pinning her to the bed and keeping her there for a century or so. Knowing that they were unforgivable did nothing to stop their heat or their inventiveness.

  He wanted Maggie Kincade, needed her fiercely. He was also picking up enough of her thoughts to register her spiking pulse and elemental female response. But taking advantage of that knowledge was completely out of the question.

  “Who came next?”

  She stiffened against his chest. “Next?”

  “Number three. After the pet rocks and the virtual eco-statements.”

  “No one.”

  She was lying. Even without his senses on overdrive Jared would have recognized the signs.

  “No sophisticated jewelry dealer from Paris?”

  Maggie shook her head.

  “How about an emerald mine owner from Brazil? Someone with deep pockets and perfect moves.”

  “No.”

  “Then maybe—”

  “No. No.” With an angry sound, Maggie pulled away. “There was nobody else who counts, Jared, so forget it.” She put her hand on the win
dowsill and stared stiffly out over the sunny green lawns.

  A thousand miles away, Jared thought. He could sense the weight that had settled over her. She was cold. Uncomfortable. Angry.

  And perhaps a bit frightened.

  “Maggie—”

  “No, Jared. Don’t ask.”

  “I won’t. On one condition.”

  She waited.

  “Remember what you said before to me. If you ever feel like talking, come and find me.”

  He saw the stiffness in the set of her shoulders and the tilt of her head. “I won’t feel like it.” When she turned, her eyes were shadowed with memories and regrets. “But thanks just the same. Now do I get the tour or not?”

  “Patience.” Jared moved toward her, drawn by the pain still shadowing her eyes.

  “I never was very good at patience. And I’m not answering any more questions, I warn you.”

  “No questions.”

  “Then what’s wrong? What’s so important that it can’t wait?”

  “This,” Jared said softly. “Only this.”

  He bent his head, cradled her cheeks, and kissed her.

  A KISS, MAGGIE THOUGHT.

  Two mouths. Four lips. At most a sigh and the brush of restless tongues. Nothing mind-shattering or earth-shaking there.

  Except the heat of it started in her toes and shimmered up through her legs, while fared held her carefully, as if they were both poised on the razor edge of some monumental discovery.

  Maggie swallowed. She wasn’t ready for that sort of discovery. “Jared—”

  He stilled her with the pad of one thumb, then followed with the warm friction of his mouth. Maggie closed her eyes, forgetting her uncertainty. Forgetting her name. As his tongue feathered her lips, she made a lost sound and eased against him, trembling.

  “Maggie?”

  Umm.

  “I think we might be starting something here.” His voice was thick. “Is that what you want?”

  She heard dimly, as if from a great distance. Why was he talking when there was so much pure sensation to explore instead? So much sweet, elemental lust.

  She smiled at that. Maggie Kincade wallowing in hedonism. Reveling in lust with a man she barely knew.

  He gave a soft laugh as he slid his fingers into her hair. “Why are you smiling?”