Draycott Eternal: What Dreams May ComeSeason of Wishes Read online

  “I have,” she said. “All except for the last part.” She shrugged. “But you know all about that. Why I haven’t.”

  She wasn’t doing a damned thing to help his control. “What if I couldn’t stop? What if I took this farther than you wanted to go?”

  “How far do I want to go?” she asked, toying with the hair at his neck.

  “Dammit, Jamee, you’re not helping here.”

  “No, I don’t think I am.” Her eyes darkened to azure. Ian saw flecks of firelight reflected in their depths. “Not a bit.”

  Against all conscious thought, he covered her warm breasts and traced the dark, silken centers that had tormented him for an eternity. Small but perfect, she filled his fingers, her response immediate.

  “Ian,” she whispered. Her breath caught on a gasp as he eased the sensitive crests beneath his fingers. “That. What you’re doing.” Another gasp.

  “This?” He slipped his hands beneath the sheer silk and met the eager thrust of her naked skin. “God,” he whispered hoarsely. She was too beautiful, too responsive. When had she skated and laughed her way past all his barriers?

  She arched her back and rasped his name. Hunger exploded through Ian like a caged animal suddenly freed.

  Her gasp became a sigh. Became a husky moan as his hands tightened. She blinked, her eyes luminous with passion. “If you happen to think—Well, to want to—”

  “I can’t help wanting to.” Ian tried to ignore the small, restless movements she made against his thighs and the way her fingers kneaded his shoulders. Her breasts were heavy in his hands, pebbled and tight.

  Yes, he wanted. His blood was screaming to have her. She was life and color and warmth when Ian had resigned himself to shadows.

  The thought brought him crashing back to reality. He closed himself to the waves of slashing hunger, shut his eyes to Jamee’s firelit beauty. He thought about the thousand reasons this pleasure could never be taken.

  Not honorably.

  Not with Jamee.

  Slowly, he slid away from her and rose to his feet. “We’ve got to stop,” he grated. “This can never happen again.”

  Jamee gave a throaty laugh. “Never is a long time, McCall. I like the sound of ‘tonight’ or ‘ten minutes’ a whole lot better than ‘never.’”

  Ian clenched his jaw and said nothing.

  She hugged her knees to her chest. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.

  Everything, Ian thought, cursing the fact that he had ever accepted this bloody job. Wishing he could have met this woman under different circumstances.

  She gave a wobbly smile. “You’re not going to tell me you have a social disease, I hope.”

  He didn’t smile back. “No.”

  Jamee stared at his obviously aroused body. “I…see.”

  Ian felt the strain at his zipper grow and knew what she must be seeing, what she must have felt while she was curled against him.

  “I hate to tell you this, but the excuse of a tragic war wound just isn’t going to carry much weight right now.”

  Ian cursed silently. No, that lie wouldn’t work. If so, he might have tried it.

  Other equally weak excuses came to mind, but he knew that lies simply weren’t an option. Not now. Jamee Night deserved a whole lot better than that. Lies were degrading to teller and listener and they were generally useless in the end.

  Ian frowned, remembering the light he had seen earlier. Even now, someone watched them in the darkness. Jamee deserved to know that, in spite of his promise to her brother. She deserved the rest of the truth, too.

  Ian held her gaze. “Not because of that,” he said tersely.

  “Then why?” Her face was pale, too pale.

  Ian forced himself to watch her eyes as he spoke, waiting for her anger and shock. “Because I’m a bodyguard, Jamee. I’m not a casual traveler who was caught in the fog. I was hired two weeks ago by your brother Adam to protect you.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  “HIRED?” JAMEE BLINKED HARD. “You’re a bodyguard?”

  “That’s one word for it.”

  She clutched her legs tightly. Something hot filled her throat and made it impossible to breathe. “Adam—my brother hired you?”

  “I’m afraid so, Jamee.”

  She couldn’t seem to stop shivering. “But you said you were—”

  “I know exactly what I said,” Ian growled. “Glenlyle is the name of my estate. That much is true. Duncan MacKinnon knows that I’ve been following you, keeping you in sight to protect you.”

  Jamee clutched at the arm of the chair, wanting stability. Wanting solidity. Wanting Ian’s arms around her.

  But not because he was hired.

  “Go on and yell,” he said. “You’re entitled.”

  She wanted to deck him first, then do the same to her interfering brothers. But Jamee saw the pain in his eyes. The tension in his locked shoulders. The betrayal had hurt him almost as much as it hurt her, she realized. He wasn’t the sort of man to take lying lightly.

  A man of honor.

  More than decking Ian, she wanted to touch his face and soothe the anger that burned in his eyes. The intensity of that wish shocked her. “If I screamed, would it make you feel better?”

  “It would be a start. I lied to you, Jamee. Your own brother lied to you. This whole business was a world-class act.”

  Jamee clenched her fingers to keep from touching the frown cut into Ian’s forehead. “You must be very good. Adam only chooses the best.”

  “Oh, I’m good.” The acknowledgment was bitter. “At least I used to be.”

  “Used to be?”

  He shrugged. “Until I met you. Then every sane thought seemed to fly out of my brain.”

  Jamee reached out a hand, then let it fall. “It’s not your fault. The wealth my parents left will always make me a target.”

  “That’s true,” he said gravely. “You need to take precautions—real precautions—for your safety. Not just for a day or two, Jamee. This is forever.”

  Something blurred her vision. “Are you signing on, Lord Glenlyle? Forever?”

  “Forever’s not an option for me, Jamee.”

  “The story of my life.”

  “Jamee, I—”

  “Don’t bother, Ian.” She looked away, frowning as the cat nudged her ankle. “I’m not stupid. I don’t take wild risks or court danger. I just want to have some semblance of a life without bars and a cage. But I don’t want anyone hurt because of me.” Her fingers trembled against the cat’s sleek fur. “Especially not you.”

  “So you’re asking me to resign?”

  Jamee frowned at her hands. “I think I am.”

  “Because you don’t trust me?”

  “No.”

  Ian caught her trembling hands. “Because I frighten you?”

  “No. Not that.”

  Ian’s face grew more grim. “Then why, Jamee?”

  “Because…one day I might look up and see you taking a bullet meant for me. If that happened—” She looked down at their cradled fingers, at his hands rigid against her own. Her voice broke. “No.” She turned away, her knees pulled rigidly to her chest.

  With a meow the cat jumped onto her lap. Jamee welcomed the brush of warm fur and the keen, unblinking eyes. Somehow they helped her bear the shock of Ian’s revelation and the sudden certainty that he was going to be harmed.

  “Nothing’s going to happen to me, Jamee.” Ian moved behind her, bracing her back, his voice doing breathless, dizzy things to her blood.

  Jamee didn’t turn. She had her pride, at least. She wouldn’t let him see the fear in her face.

  His breath touched her hair. “I won’t let you be hurt, either. I always keep my promises.”

  Jamee glanced at him over her shoulder. There was a harsh set to his jaw. “Adam sent you,” she whispered. “Something’s going to happen, isn’t it? There’s going to be another…attack.”

  “Jamee, I can’t predict what—”

 
“How close are they this time?”

  The cat watched her intently, ears pricked forward. Almost as if he understood, Jamee thought. “Tell me, Ian.”

  “Dammit, we don’t know. There’s still not enough information.”

  “Adam knows,” Jamee said quietly. “He can feel things. He always has. Like the night my mother and father…” Memories glittered, cold and swift. Jamee straightened her shoulders. “Adam was the first to know, even before we got the call from the hospital. It was the same when the news came about my brother Terence. Don’t ask me how he does it, but he’s not wrong. Not ever.”

  She looked down at the cat curled against her chest and swore she wouldn’t fall apart. And she wouldn’t reach out for Ian. She had to be reasonable, to send him away as soon as this cursed fog lifted. If she gave in, he would never leave.

  A man of honor.

  All the more reason she couldn’t let him be hurt.

  Suddenly, Ian wrapped his arms around her and hauled her against his chest, sending the cat to the floor. “They won’t get to you, Jamee.” His voice was gravelly. “It won’t be like before.”

  Jamee stiffened. “You know about the last time? Adam told you? Even about…my dreams?”

  Ian cupped her neck gently. “All of it.”

  “My brother can be too damned thorough sometimes.” Jamee closed her eyes, fighting the warmth of Ian’s hands. Just for a moment, she let Ian anchor her against his chest. Then she would send him away. She couldn’t let this proud man with the weary eyes be harmed, no matter how much it hurt to make him go. “I’m glad it was you Adam sent.”

  Ian said something low and hoarse in Gaelic. His arms tightened, bringing her back against him.

  Jamee shivered as she felt the unmistakable force of his desire. “Ian?”

  “What?”

  “No war wounds?” she whispered raggedly.

  “It would make things a whole lot easier if I had,” he muttered.

  Her head rose. “Now, that would be an incredible waste.”

  Ian’s jaw clenched. “One of us is going to stay very sane right now, Jamee. I wish I could be certain it was me.”

  “Don’t look at me, Hercules.”

  “Freckles.” He traced the line of her cheek, her lip, her nose. “I never noticed them before. They’re small and faint, just the color of a chunk of Russian amber my father always prized.”

  “Not only on my face,” she whispered. “On my arms. And on other…places.”

  Ian’s eyes darkened. “Don’t, Jamee.”

  “Why not? You can’t understand how wonderful this feels. All these years I’ve been blocked, afraid. Wondering how it would feel to want a man’s touch. Now I know.”

  He cupped her face. “What you’re feeling has a name and a clinical explanation. It’s predictable, explainable and it never lasts.”

  She stabbed at Ian’s chest, chilled by the flat certainty in his voice. “Don’t spout medical text at me, Ian McCall. I know what I’m feeling and it’s real.”

  He didn’t release her. “It feels real, Jamee. And in six months you won’t even remember my name.”

  Jamee shook her head, shoving at his hands. “I won’t forget you.”

  “You have to, Jamee.” Ian pulled her palms to his chest. “It’s part of the healing. When you forget, that’s good, because it means you’ve gotten on with your life.”

  “Not for me,” she said mutinously. “And how can you be so sure?”

  “I’m the expert, remember?” There was an edge of bitterness in Ian’s voice. “I’m the one who helped document all the statistics in those medical texts.” Suddenly he frowned. “Something’s wrong.” Ian turned, scanning the room. “Do you smell something?”

  Jamee looked down. The cat was bumping at her ankle, meowing shrilly. “What kind of smell?” She pushed to her feet.

  “Acrid. Oily.” Ian stepped around the cat.

  A dark tendril of smoke drifted over the floor. “Fire,” Jamee whispered in horror.

  “Dammit.” A cinder dropped from the thatched roof, singeing Ian’s cheek.

  “It must be the roof. We’ve got to get out before everything burns through.” Jamee started toward the front door. Even as she spoke, there was a clatter of falling metal from somewhere at the front of the cottage.

  Ian stepped in front of her. “Not that way.”

  “Why?”

  His eyes were icy.

  “Oh, God, they’re outside, aren’t they?” Cold terror crawled up Jamee’s spine. “They’re waiting for me. This—this fire was no accident.”

  “That sound was one of the trip wires I scattered over the front slope. That leaves one chance for us.”

  As Jamee watched, he became a different man, all steel and cold deliberation as he yanked on his jacket, checking each pocket with swift efficiency. Gone was the gentleness in his hands. No flecks of humor brightened his emerald eyes now. In a second, he had changed, all fighter, a cold-blooded strategist determined to keep two paces ahead of his opposition.

  If anyone could save her, this man could.

  Her fingers clenched. “Ian, talk to me. Don’t shut me out of this. I need the truth.”

  “We’re going out the back,” he said harshly. He grabbed a tartan from the sofa and tossed it over to her, along with her clothes and shoes. “Get dressed as fast as you can.”

  Somehow she kept her voice steady. “What happens now?”

  “In a few minutes, smoke is going to overwhelm this room. We won’t have much time, but there’s a single high window that leads to a storage shed at the corner of the cottage. We’re going to use it.”

  Fear pressed at Jamee’s chest. He had been watching from the start, expecting something like this. If it hadn’t been for his planning and thoroughness, she would be trapped her in the smoke while a faceless criminal waited for her to bolt right into his arms.

  “We can make it, Jamee.” As Ian spoke, flames leaped through the dry thatch and angry cinders plummeted down from the ceiling.

  No, don’t think about that. Listen to Ian. Block out all the rest.

  Jamee straightened her shoulders. “Let’s go.”

  “Stay close.” Ian gripped her hand and pulled her through the roiling wall of gray. “From now on, no more talking. Our best defense is going to be surprise.” His jaw hardened. “We can do this, Jamee. I swear it.”

  “I’m getting my bag and the cat.”

  “There’s no time—”

  But Jamee swept up her bag, then caught the big gray animal and tucked him into the front of her suede jacket. “I’m not leaving him behind,” she said fiercely. “Not in this blaze.”

  When Ian pulled her forward into the smoke, the cat did not struggle, almost as if he were aware of the danger hissing around them. Nor did he move when Ian and Jamee worked their way to the back, crouched low beneath the dark air billowing down from the ceiling.

  Jamee’s throat burned as they reached the narrow rear scullery. Peat was stacked in one corner beside a dozen fishing poles slanted against a rickety table.

  Ian tugged a linen towel from an old ceramic basin and pantomimed wrapping the towel around his face. Then he handed another to Jamee. As she pulled the damp linen up over her nose, Ian unlatched the window, opened his knife and worked three nails out of the sill.

  Cold air gushed in, swirling smoke around them. Ian put a finger to his lips and motioned for Jamee to stay low, then climbed onto the table and vanished into the shed.

  The air grew thick and heavy with acrid soot. Jamee waited anxiously, counting the seconds. What if the kidnappers came now? What if they found Ian outside?

  She bit down hard on the damp linen and refused to give way to panic. Smoke swirled around her as she strained to keep from coughing, aware that any sound could betray her location.

  The cat wriggled in her arms and Jamee smoothed the warm gray head. Had she been less concerned with escaping, she might have wondered at the creature’s willingness to remain
in her arms. But her focus was on the darkness outside. She tried not to think of Ian clubbed from behind. Ian bleeding. Ian captured. Ian shot at point-blank range.

  Metal scraped softly. Jamee’s heart lurched as a dark figure appeared below the sooty glass of the open window leading to the shed.

  “It’s me.” Ian’s voice was low and clipped. “We’re clear. Climb through and I’ll help you out. Once we get through the shed, we’ll head up the glen.”

  Jamee rose into the oily layer of smoke. Her eyes burned as she searched blindly for the outline of the window. A hand caught her shoulder and tugged her forward into darkness, but before she could cry out, Ian’s arms were around her, his lips pressed to her ear.

  “They’re busy in front,” he whispered. “We’ll be fine as long as they’re watching the fire.”

  “How many?” Jamee rasped.

  “Two.”

  Two. It could be worse, she told herself. It could also be a whole lot better.

  “Ready?”

  She nodded.

  Arm in arm, they inched through the darkened shed, then scrambled up the stony slope. Behind them the fire cast a sulfurous glow over the ground. Gorse and brush tore at Jamee’s legs and her lungs burned as she struggled to match Ian’s pace. Finally silence closed in around them.

  There were no shouts. No slam of feet.

  No one seemed to notice their escape.

  Through the mist, occasional patches of sky appeared overhead, dotted by stars. Jamee took a deep breath of cool Highland air, sharp with sea salt and pine. She tried not to think about the chaos at the cottage and the unknown men waiting back down the hill.

  She was shivering by the time Ian pulled her behind a granite outcropping and tugged the linen from her face.

  “In a few minutes they’ll realize we’re not coming out. Then they’ll have to decide whether to go in after us,” he explained tightly. “If they’re professionals, they’ll be prepared for that option and it won’t take them long to find out we aren’t there. By then I plan to be well hidden.”

  “Where will we hide out here?” Jamee whispered, her voice hoarse with smoke and fear. “The fog is finally lifting. If they have lights, they’ll see us.”

  “Not where we’re going,” Ian said, pulling her over the gorse, into the unrelenting gloom of the moors.