Page 23

Three horrific hours later, Cam pulled the counterpane from Claire’s bed, draped it over her as she lay curled in a tight ball, the bear he’d given her clutched to her chest. He settled in the chair across from her, his head in his hands.

’Twas over. The witches had done their utmost, of that he was certain, and here he still was. Sandra Power had looked almost as bereft as he felt and had apologized for holding out hope where there was none to be had. She’d remained after the others had left to offer comfort, but like her hope, he found none. In the end he assured her he was reconciled to his fate and begged her to leave. Fearing Claire would seek him out when he was fit for neither man nor beast, he’d gone down into the basement where he dealt with his demons and fears, grieved yet again for his family and clan, and then put their ghosts to rest. Or so he hoped.

But now what?

Well trained in the art of war, stronger than most, a fine horseman, his skills were worth a king’s ransom to a liege in Scotland but were totally worthless in this place and time. He’d seen the advertisements for soldiers on Claire’s TV. Had stared in awe at this century’s armored vehicles, planes, and ships, what these soldiers took for granted as their weapons of war. He had experience with none of it.

But what if he asked to be a mercenary foot soldier? All armies had need of them. One thing was certain, he wouldna continue pimping women. ’Twas barely tolerable for a short period. ’Twas beyond imagining doing so for a lifetime.

Humph, a lifetime. While trying to ease his grief, Mistress Power had listed what she called the positives in his situation. She’d told him he would now likely live to be ninety. Who the hell needed to live so long? Or would even want to?

He needed a drink.

He rose and went into the kitchen where he opened the cabinet above Claire’s cold storage and pulled out the remaining two bottles of merlot, then rummaged through her drawer for the wine opener. After two twists, he muttered, “Screw it,” and pulled the cork from the bottle with his teeth and sucked down half the wine from one bottle, then returned to the parlor with a bottle in each hand.

“Cam? Cam!” Claire, her hair wild, her eyes puffy and blood shot, stared at him for a heartbeat, then launched herself into his arms, wrapping her legs about his hips as her chest hit his. Stunned, his arms came about her.

“ ’Tis pleased I am, lass but—”

Her hands cradled his face. “I thought—oh my God! You’re still here! I was so scared.” She kissed him, hard and sweet.

Without thinking, needing comfort as much as she apparently did, he opened to the caress of her tongue, her lips a balm for the wound too deep to touch.

Their kiss unbroken, he carried her to her bedchamber, pausing only to drop the bottles onto her dresser, then collapsed onto the thick ticking and down, taking her with him. As he braced his arms to cushion the impact, her fingers locked behind his neck and her legs rode up and settled at his waist.

He ran a hand up her ribs to the fine fullness of a breast, something he’d been longing to do for days. A perfect palm full. She groaned into his mouth at his touch and he repaid the compliment, groaning as well, desperate for more. He plunged into the warm depths of her mouth and tasted salt and that which was Claire alone. With each breath he wanted more.

He broke the kiss so his lips might travel to her jaw and heard a soft keen. Ah, he well understood, but his mouth couldna be in two places at once. Her breasts with their taut nipples his goal, his lips traveled down the smooth contours of her neck, then hesitated where her pulse bound beneath his lips. He licked and traveled on. Buttons. Tiny pearl buttons blocked his way. His fingers, never designed for such a small task, fumbled with the glossy pink nuisances. He hated buttons, he truly did. He heard her wee keen and her fingers, fine and delicate, slid past his and within seconds the fabric parted exposing slick white fabric and soft curves. Nothing in a shop window could compare to the sight, this lovely warm flesh encased in smooth satin. Not lace, not feathers.

He slid down, forcing her legs to loosen their hold at his waist so he could capture her breast in his mouth. As he did, she arched and fingers threaded through what remained of his hair. Hair that should have been brushing her breasts and making her keen but was sadly no more.

He blew a hot breath across the tip of her right breast as he slipped the straps from her shoulders. He wanted in. Desperately.

He spied the clip between her breasts, squeezed and the fabric separated. Smooth alabaster mounds tipped by large caramel nipples came into view. A groan escaped him. Aye, ’tis better than he imagined. He latched onto one peak and suckled as a babe might, hot blood pumping into his groin. In. He needed in.

As if reading his mind, her hands started tugging at his sweater. He reared up and ripped it over his head and tossed it onto the floor. Claire, panting, her gaze locked on his, shrugged out of her delicate shirt and under thing, then reached for the button on her own jeans.

His hands closed over hers. “Nay.” He wanted to unwrap that exquisite package himself and be ready to enter when he did.

He kicked off his sneakers. One button, a zip, a tug, and he was free of the tight garb that bound him, hers for the taking. Fully engorged, he knelt between her legs and placed a hand on her belly, a fingertip resting on the button of her jeans. “Mine?”

Her breath quickened. “Oh, yes, all yours.”

He growled deep in his throat. His for the taking and take he would. His fingers made quick work of her button and zipper before hooking the fabric and tugging. The fabric slid easily off her hips and down her thighs. He tossed all onto the floor, then took a moment to admire her in the pale light.

He ran a gentle palm over the downy dark curls at her apex. “Ye’re most lovely.”

When her skin quivered in response, he placed a finger in his mouth and licked, his gaze locked on hers. His finger moist, he touched the soft puffy fold beneath the curls, and she keened, her hips rising with the touch. “I need ye.”

She licked her lips and managed a breathy, “Yes.”

His thumb grazed her tender nub as he slid his finger forward and found wet heat. “Ah, lass, ye’re ready.”

He stroked, watching. Her hands, which had clutched at the sheeting when he’d touched her, now reached up for him, her breath coming in short pants. Aye, lass, now.

He settled over her, his hips coming into perfect alignment with hers, and captured her mouth again with his. As his tongue stroked hers, her hands slid to his shoulders and her legs wrapped around his thighs. He rocked forward, his heart racing as he slid into her warm, wet core and felt her nails digging in. Her breathy keen would have given him pause had she not lifted her hips and slid her hands to his arse, urging him deeper. He thrust again and got lost in the warmth and sweetness, deaf to all but the sound of her panting and the slick slide of their bodies as he rocked above her. To his wonderment, her legs quickly grew taut and her body began to arch, her nails digging into his buttocks. Oh, lass, bless ye. Ye’re coming with me.

On the brink of exploding, he felt her buck. As the wondrous flesh surrounding his shaft pulsed and she fell over the precipice keening his name, he followed.

Oh, Cam. My word. Who knew?

Never in her wildest imaginings had she even imagined that sex could be so wonderful.

Her body still pulsing with aftershocks, Claire took a shuddering breath and looked at Cam as he laid eyes closed and panting, half on her, half at her side. Wow. Physically, he was every woman’s fantasy come true, but for him to be so, so … wow.

She studied the movement behind his closed lids. How could he possibly sleep after so miraculous a happening? And look at his hair, standing up every which way in wavy spikes. She grinned, thinking it kind of cute but suspected he’d be cursing her for cutting it so short before the week was out. And he was still here. But how? Better yet, why?

She ran a finger along his lower lip. “Cam?”

“Ugh.”

She laughed and he rolled onto his side, draping an arm about her, pulling her close so they lay face to face. “Shhh.”

Claire snuggled into his warmth, her fingers toying with the fine hair on his chest. “Not until you tell me why you’re here.”

One eye opened and a dimple took sharp in his right cheek. “I havena the strength to move. Ye drained me of all my vital juices.”

“I’m pleased to hear it. But what I meant was what happened downstairs?”

“Naught of any import.” His left hand gently stroked her ass as he nuzzled her neck. “My apologies for rushing the loving, lass. Normally I take a good bit more time, but ye ken ’tis been a while. Shall we start anew?”

Shivers ran down her spine as he caught her earlobe between his teeth, his breath hot on her neck.

“Yer skin is lovely, the color of fine ivory.”

How nice that he thought so, but he still hadn’t answered her question. “Cam, I saw Sandra and the others in the shop. What happened?”

He cupped her right breast and gently rubbed a thumb across her nipple. “Naught to be concerned about.”

Deep inside, the hot aching need returned. She was sorely tempted to cave in to the feeling, but no, she couldn’t just yet. Something had happened downstairs. She’d heard their conversation and the droning. Had seen the lights flicker out. She leaned back so she could look into his eyes. “They tried to reverse the spell, didn’t they?”

“Ack, ye’re determined to be the cat at the mouse-hole.” He heaved a sigh and rolled onto his back, an arm flopping over his eyes. “Aye, they did, but it appears I’m trapped here.”

While part of her rejoiced at the news, her heart nearly broke at the way he said trapped. “Oh Cam, I’m so sorry. I had such hope.”

“As did I.”

“Now what? What will you do?”

“Let’s not fash on that now. I’m starved.” He bounded out of bed and headed for the kitchen.

What the hell? “Cam, we need to talk.” She grabbed her robe and hurriedly padded after him.

“Nay,” he called, “we need to eat.”

She found him rooting around in the refrigerator. “We can eat later.” She’d just gotten him back. Emotionally, anyway, and she couldn’t have him shutting—stonewalling her. “Cam, look at me.”

He straightened and smiled at her, spaghetti in hand. “Will yer stove work without electricity?”

Who the hell cared about food right now? “Yes, but we need to talk about this. You have lots of options besides the Purple Pussycat. I can teach you to use the computer and you can do data entry. Maybe construction. We can get you a green card—”

“Humph!”

“Second Hand Rose” chimed loud and shrill through the apartment but she ignored it. “Damn it, Cam, don’t roll your eyes at me when I’m—”

“You’d best answer that. It might be Mrs. Grouse in trouble.”

Augh. She pointed a finger at his chest. “Don’t you dare move.”

Claire stomped into the living room and snatched up her cell phone from the coffee table. “Hello?”

“What the hell is going on there?”

“Oh. Hi, Victor.”

“Don’t ‘hi Victor’ me. I turn on Good Morning LA and what do I see? MacLeod, of all people, running through the Franklin Park Zoo with a fucking two-hundred-pound deer over his shoulders!”

“It was only one-fifty.”

“Claire! For Christ sake. Did you call the cops?”

“No! It’s a complicated story, but I can assure you—”

“I don’t need assurances, Claire. I need you to get him out of your life before you end up in the next cell. Christ, Claire, they could charge you with harboring a criminal.”

Ya, and probably with aiding and abetting, too. If Victor ever found out she’d used his truck to transport the reindeer, he’d have a heart attack. “There’s really nothing to worry about, Victor. The deer are safe and back where they belong.”

“Do you hear yourself? That does it. I’m coming home.”

Oh no, he had to stay. “Victor, please, you can’t come home. You have too much riding on this competition. You have to stay out there and win. Your career may depend on it.”

He heaved an exasperated sigh, and then she heard the sound of shoes pounding on hard wood, could easily picture him pacing, torn between friendship and necessity.

“All right, but listen well, sweetie. I hear word one about MacLeod getting into any more trouble and I call my uncle and put an end to it. I don’t give a damn if it bankrupts me.”

Claire closed her eyes. Victor’s uncle, Tony Delucci, once a union leader and captain, was now a regional crime boss under perpetual surveillance by law enforcement or so Victor had told her in strictest confidence. To her knowledge, the man had only been hauled in once on racketeering charges and been set free, but if rumors were true …

“Victor, I promise there won’t be any more incidents.”

“Claire, there better not be. I love you too much to allow that Neanderthal to ruin your life.”

With that, he hung up.

Claire looked at the silent phone. Why me, Lord?

In the kitchen, she found the candles lit, the wine Cam had had in his hands when she’d jumped into his arms sitting on the table, but no Cam. Her heart tripped. “Cam?”

“Who called?”

She spun and found him fully dressed standing in the doorway. “It was Victor. He’s enjoying California.”

“Good. I couldna get the stove to work.”

She nodded. “That’s because it has an electric ignition. We’ll have to use matches.”

“Verra good. I shall ask Mrs. Grouse to join us.”

And with that, poof, he was gone. She held her breath until he heard him pound on Mrs. Grouse’s door and her tenant respond.

She collapsed onto a chair. This was not what she expected after their first lovemaking. She’d expected to be held, for them to talk a bit, maybe share a few secrets they’d never shared with anyone else before. Instead, he jumped out of bed and now he was seeking Mrs. Grouse’s company instead of hers. It was as plain as the nose on her face. He didn’t want to be alone with her. But why? Did he regret making love to her?

She mentally ran through it all. The urgency and passion. The wonder of it. The words of praise he’d whispered. His touch. Then he’d initiated another bout of lovemaking, and then she’d started questioning him and he’d—no, she’d started asking questions and then he’d initiated another bout of lovemaking …

“The light finally dawns on Marblehead.” He’d started making love to her a second time after she started questioning him, to distract her. She stared through the doorway and into her bedroom at the brass bed that had never felt the weight of a man before now, stared at the rumpled bed covers. A burning started at the back of her throat. What wasn’t he telling her now?