The Perfect Gift Read online

  Perfect giving.

  The past clung close, shadowed and silent like the great old house. Bodies taut, blood racing, they took and gave, fought and tumbled, learning all the secrets that lovers share. Her sigh echoed his soft groan as skin moved to sheathe heated skin.

  He looked at their locked hands—and felt two sets of skin, two sets of bone and sinew. Every place they touched was the same, desire doubled, awareness nearly overwhelming.

  When her eyes beckoned, hot and entreating, Jared opened his hands against hers and followed where she drew him, down where her soul waited, calling to his through a timeless spiral of love. The pain of her touch burned more than any wound, but he wore the torment gladly. He closed his eyes, only to find her image even brighter, flaming in his mind, part of his own nerves and synapses through the magic of his strange gift. She twisted, hot and giving beneath him, and her broken sounds of pleasure frayed the last ends of his control.

  She locked her hands on his neck and pushed against him urgently. “This is what I want, Jared. Not diamonds. Not silver. You—me. Now.”

  She let him touch all her secrets, all her churning pleasure.

  Lost, he thought.

  And didn’t care. All his careful plans and strategies vanished like dawn mist off the great loch below his old home. Only the night mattered. Only the radiance of Maggie’s passion and the heat that shivered between them.

  When he felt the shudder that swept her, he gripped her hips and pushed until there was no deeper to go. Her sleek skin parted to hold him, hot and tight, their bodies linked.

  “Jared, I’m dying.”

  Death. The word held no sting, he found, while her body moved beneath him. He almost laughed with the shock of it. He would thank her. For whatever hours he had left, he would stir her joy and make the days ring with her laughter. “I am too, my heart. But I’ll the inside you.”

  Hot and sweet, she held him.

  Hot and sweet, her mind reached out, out, part of a link that had waited here at the abbey for centuries until their return. Gwynna or Maggie, she was the sun of his world. As a warrior he would protect her. As a man, he would honor her with his name.

  And as a lover, he would answer joy with joy while the abbey held them in its restless magic.

  She gave a broken sigh of pleasure as he pinned her to the bed and filled her with his whole straining length. Breath to breath, their spirits met, battled, fused. Too long denied, skin parted, claimed, clung. Then her legs tightened, and the pleasure of her silken response drove him beyond control.

  She arched, surprise in her cry as he took her up again, and then once more while the white damask bedspread whispered and shifted beneath their stormy need.

  Her name was on his lips when the hot, rich seed of his warrior line spilled deep inside her and Jared found the shifting pleasure that had so long eluded him.

  And there beyond the mists of forgetting, she stood waiting. Somehow he had always known she would.

  All I ever dreamed, she thought.

  And Jared heard, smiling even in the ragged fury of his final pleasure just before they toppled together into wordless worlds of silver.

  The bedspread lay twisted on the floor. The sheets were in a tangle somewhere near the pillows.

  “Absolute devastation.”

  Maggie stretched, expectant and replete. Moonlight lit her tousled hair, and her smile was radiance itself.

  “Not quite,” he said. “That was just a test, Kincade.”

  Her hand rose, nuzzling his jaw. “Promises, promises.”

  He moved, hard again, meeting her heat with a need only grown more fierce in its knowledge.

  “You’re joking.” Her eyes widened. “Aren’t you?”

  “There’s one other thing about MacNeill men. Something I didn’t tell you.”

  Movement, deep and sure.

  Hands, locked and straining.

  “That’s not possible.” She gasped as desire rippled, built.

  “I was thinking about this when you were driving me crazy with your hands, trying to free Max. I was wishing you were right here, trapped against the linen sheets.” His eyes were sin itself.

  Just as his hands were heaven.

  Maggie sighed. So was I.

  She heard his low curse in answer. Then pleasure hit her, hot and sweet, and her response slammed back to Jared.

  “That was adequate,” he said, possessing her with hard, sure strokes. “But this, my beautiful Maggie, this will be spectacular.”

  Why don’t you prove it? she thought. Her laughter broke into a gasp as joy spun up and passion claimed them yet again.

  One by one the stars rose above the moat.

  One by one the candles guttered and went out.

  JARED DRIFTED SLOWLY, MOUNTAINS BEFORE HIM AND soft heather beneath his feet. Everywhere there was mist and cool wind, rich with the scent of peat fires. His body shifted, searching for something he could not name.

  Something warm.

  Something radiant.

  Suddenly there were visions of smoky blue eyes. Hair that filled his hands like warm honey. Stretching lazily, he reached out.

  And met warm fingers. Pale dawn light on silken skin.

  She was even more beautiful when she slept. Her skin glowed with a fine blush, and he saw the delicate tracery of blue veins where her hand lay outstretched beside him.

  A storm of emotions filled him, and greatest among them was love, something the Scotsman had been so sure he’d never find or possibly deserve. Smiling, he remembered the places she had taken him in the stillness of midnight. The feelings she had taught him as they’d tumbled over those crisp white sheets.

  Every image had his blood rushing, his body hardening.

  Again. Now, while she sleeps.

  The desire snapped and growled through him like a wild beast. Somehow Jared caged it, savoring her stillness and the gentle colors of her mind beneath his fingers. She was dreaming of silver and hammered platinum. Bezel-set citrines and Siberian diamonds. He sensed the perfection of form before her, always beckoning, always eluding.

  His hands cupped her wrist with infinite tenderness.

  Never had he expected that loving someone could be so simple. All he had to do was breathe and the emotion was there, trapping him tight and filling him like sunlight in every cold corner and empty space. Never had he expected that sliding down into someone’s mind could be so painless—or so brutally addictive.

  Almost without thinking he brought his palm up the creamy ridge of her inner thigh, then groaned as her pleasure flowed back to him, caught in waves of gold and pink. A voice whispered that it was dangerous to linger, to want so much and fall into another’s soul so completely.

  If so, Jared would consider the price well paid.

  Bending down, he skimmed her shoulder, nuzzled her chin, then fit his mouth to hers. Unerring, his fingers moved to coax and tease the hollows that left her dry-mouthed and restless.

  To hell with dangerous, he thought as he trapped her breathy sigh of waking just before it slid into a moan of dark pleasure. I will have her and hold her, enthrall and entice her.

  For as much time as I have left.

  “Jared?” Her hands covered his neck, pulling him closer. “You’re not wearing anything. You’re—”

  “I know.” He eased between her soft thighs. “Convenient, isn’t it?”

  “Is this going to be a habit with you?” Her smile was sleepy and entirely radiant as he fit his body to hers, already drawing her up into a wave of pleasure. “If it isn’t, I don’t want to know.”

  Someone was breaking bricks on his head.

  Or maybe it was on his chest.

  With a low oath, Jared struggled up from linen sheets and sated sleep. There were aches in his arms, nail marks on his back, and the tiny print of Maggie’s teeth on one shoulder.

  All made him feel infinitely smug.

  She didn’t stir as he smoothed a strand of tousled hair from her cheek. “Maggi
e,” he whispered. “I’ve got to go”

  “Hmmmm.”

  He traced her cheek, loath to wake her, loath to leave the sunlit joy of her.

  “It’s morning.” He frowned at the bedside clock. “Actually, it’s almost afternoon.”

  She twisted, dragging the pillow around her head. “More silver. Melted. Hot.” Her lips curved in sleepy oblivion. “Incredible lines and texture.”

  Jared was pleased to sense that he had more than a little to do with the graphic dream she was having. Smiling, he smoothed the tangled linen from her shoulder. “I’ll bring you breakfast. Strawberries and chocolate. Fresh scones with cream. Maybe even some champagne nicked from the abbey’s cellar.”

  Her nose crinkled. She rolled to her side. “Not the jade. Diamonds. Hot and white. Two more facets to go.” With an irritable sigh, she dragged the pillow onto her chest. “Need more solder.”

  Jared realized it was all the soft, intimate farewell he would have from her.

  Ten minutes later he stood in the doorway to Marston’s kitchen, savoring the smells drifting from the old Aga oven.

  The butler slanted one quick glance up from the pastry dough he was kneading on a marble slab. “Good morning, Commander.” His eyes narrowed at Jared’s tartan attire. “Is there some special occasion that I’ve missed?”

  “None that I know of.” Jared ran a hand through his hair. He still wasn’t sure what had prompted him to take out the old kilt. Perhaps it was the rich boyhood memories he’d put away since his return from Thailand.

  Or maybe he’d simply wanted to watch Maggie’s reaction. “Not unless you count the best night of sleep I’ve had in years.”

  Busy sampling a steaming scone, Jared missed the crinkle at Marston’s eyes and his knowing smile. “I’m delighted to hear it. If you would like to eat in the breakfast room, I’ll bring things in directly.”

  Jared stretched lazily, enjoying the feel of the heavy wool pleats and the memories they brought of happiness so thick and heavy he could hold it in his hands.

  Spring afternoons tramping by byrnes that bubbled over peat-black earth. Summer dawns in a loch so cold it swept your breath right back into your chest.

  Why had he been so quick to bury that past? Maybe his boyhood years of traveling with his family had left him a chameleon, far too good at changing to suit whatever environment he was cast into.

  If so, he was tired of changing. It was time to peel off the layers and find out whether he liked what he found.

  “Don’t bother, Marston. I’ll take another scone and have my tea outside. I need to check the electronics on that new gate and run a few tests on the outer security. Then I probably have a dozen messages to sort through.”

  “Very well, Commander, though you leave me with precious little to do.”

  “Then my next request is a bottle of that superb vintage La Trouvaille Nicholas thinks he can hide in the back of the cellar. Also two glasses to go with it and a basket of strawberries. Dipped in chocolate, if that’s manageable.”

  Marston carefully kept any hint of satisfaction from his face. “It will be quite manageable. Shall I be packing for one or for two?”

  Jared’s smile was slow and dark. “Two. Definitely two.”

  The thought made him run through his security checks even faster than usual. With a satisfied smile, he finished examining the last feet of wire he’d laid the day before. All done. Every inch hummed.

  Now he had the whole afternoon before him.

  They did, he corrected, striding toward the conservatory, wondering how much longer he could manage to stay away from Maggie for form’s sake.

  Not that he had the slightest doubt he was keeping any secrets from Marston. The old butler had the eyes of a sharpshooter and the discretion of a priest. He also had the soul of a born matchmaker.

  “Mac?”

  Jared turned, his face creasing in a smile. “Izzy? What are you doing here? What could possibly drag you away from that glossy mainframe you’re married to?”

  The tall man in carelessly worn blue jeans and a gray sweater could have been a football player or an actor. His lean body held no hint of flab anywhere, and every muscle was perfectly conditioned from the recreational kickboxing that was Izzy’s specialty.

  Jared was one of the few people who knew that Ishmael Harris Teague was a crack sniper and a seasoned soldier with electronics skills that continued to make him highly attractive to a dozen branches of the military service.

  “Call it curiosity. I wanted to get a firsthand look at this house you’ve had me checking. Very impressive.”

  Jared’s brow arched. “The architecture, you mean?”

  “No, the ISDN lines.”

  Jared laughed, taking his hand in a solid grip. “Just because Draycott Abbey has a few ghosts and some dusty armor doesn’t mean it can’t be cutting edge.”

  Izzy’s handsome mahogany features eased into a smile. “Ghosts? I’ve never seen an honest-to-God ghost, though I suppose I’d be a ghost if you hadn’t saved my tail on that last op outside Rangoon.”

  “Just doing my job.”

  Izzy slanted a look at Jared’s legs. “I like the skirt.”

  “Don’t start,” Jared muttered. “It’s called a feiladh mor. A kilt, to philistines like you.”

  “Hey, if it walks like a duck and talks like a duck…” Izzy moved nimbly, dodging Jared’s right hook.

  Jared pulled back with a grin. “Come in and have some tea. It’s probably still hot.”

  “Nothing stronger?”

  “You don’t know Marston’s tea.” Jared strode into the conservatory, brushing a pile of papers and magazines off the sole table. Bracing one hip, he poured a cup of tea from the thermos Marston had prepared. “Speaking of ducks.”

  “What?”

  “You. Somebody had to keep an eye on you over there. You were so wet behind the ears that you left a trail of water, my friend. The bad guys saw you coming miles away.”

  Izzy smiled broadly, rubbing his neck. “Yeah, you’re right. What I didn’t know could have filled a library. But you can’t say I’m a slow learner.”

  Jared grinned. “Tell that to the men who had to bang your jeep back into shape every week. You’ve got to be the worst driver on four continents.”

  Izzy shrugged good-naturedly. “I’m still God’s gift to anything with wings. You ought to see me jockeying a Night Hawk, Mac.” Izzy used the old nickname that had come out of their days together in Thailand. They still spoke with the sort of shorthand that came from long hours spent sweating together in dangerous places.

  Izzy spread his powerful, dark hands. “Sweet and silent, Mac, my boy. I’ve still got the magic touch.”

  Jared turned away.

  He remembered all too clearly how he had once seen those broad, competent hands stretched out on a rough bamboo wall while a swaggering Thai drug lord prepared to drive a spike through each palm.

  The bastard hadn’t succeeded. Jared had seen to that by sweeping into the courtyard and hosing down the area with an HK-37 that took no hostages.

  Izzy remembered too. There was a little crinkle in his eye that told Jared enough time had passed that he could look back at the event with detached black humor, an attitude that had kept them both alive during their two-year stint in the drug wars of the Golden Triangle.

  “So what gives, Mac? Who is this lady of mystery?”

  “You haven’t guessed? It’s Daniel Kincade’s daughter. Have you come up with anything I can use?”

  “Maybe. Kincade had no real estate holdings of note, but I thought you’d be interested to know that he was involved in a start-up French electronics company located outside Marseille. Their specialty is miniaturization of microwave communications.”

  Jared tried to juggle this new information. “Tell me what you know about microwave technology—anything that might relate to gemstones. I suppose that would include lasers, since most are generated through rubies.”

  “Microwav
e research is the hot new kid on everybody’s block. Every electronic firm with a staff of more than two has an R & D person working in that area and you don’t want to know how many technoids the western nations have slaving over that particular fire.”

  Jared tapped at a bag of potting soil. “So it’s big enough for someone to get killed over?”

  “Godzilla looks like a one-celled organism next to this kind of stuff, Mac.”

  “And Daniel Kincade might have been involved with some new technology that required gem material.” Jared pushed to his feet, frowning. “If so, why hadn’t anyone heard about it?”

  Izzy shrugged. “These guys aren’t your usual computer nerds. The stuff they’re juggling is certifiable national security. Some folks are saying that microwave technology will be the only technology in the next twenty years, and I happen to believe them.”

  Jared gave a silent whistle. “That means Daniel Kincade’s work might just have gotten him killed.”

  Izzy laughed darkly. “The way I see it, if he was working on cutting-edge stuff, the question wouldn’t be if someone killed him but which one of a dozen nations arranged to pull the trigger. That’s how cutthroat this stuff has become.”

  Again Jared felt a kick of surprise. Izzy was no tenderfoot. He was skilled in every branch of electronic technology and an expert at programming. This whole business was turning out to be bigger than Jared had suspected. “Do you still have people guarding Maggie Kincade’s cousins?”

  “Both are in place. Handpicked. Armed, and highly deadly.”

  Jared chuckled at the image. Woe be to any nasty who took on one of Izzy’s people. At least he could stop worrying about Maggie’s cousins for the time being. “Maybe you can find out what that French company was working on when Kincade disappeared.”

  “I’ll have a look.”

  Jared stared out at the abbey lawns, gold and brilliant green in the early afternoon sun. “What else did you turn up on Kincade?”

  “Damned little you don’t know already. For a famous man, he kept a low profile. Comfortable house, quiet family, passable credit. But when I was tracking his career I started picking up things.”

  Jared stopped pacing. “What kind of things?”