Page 29

December 24, 2008

Her elbow propped on the sideboard, her chin in hand, Claire scanned her account spreadsheets. “If by some miracle I win the lottery, I may make it through another year.”

She reached for one of the gingerbread reindeer she kept on a tray for customers and bit off its head. Something she’d very much like to do to Cameron MacLeod. She hadn’t heard from him in weeks, and then only via a Christmas card, which sat on the wrought iron cardholder next to Tracy’s card. A month ago, she would have tucked it under her pillow. But not now. She’d quit smoking. She could quit Cam.

She huffed and picked up Tracy’s card. She still couldn’t believe her friend had gone back to New York. Tracy’s summer stock success wasn’t exactly the big time, but it had been enough to stoke the fires of ambition. All Claire could do now was hope Tracy’s dreams were realized … and send what little money she could spare.

The brass bell above the door clattered, and Claire brushed the crumbs from her lips and smiled only to have her jaw go slack a second later. A huge plush teddy bear, the largest she’d seen in her life, was trying to come through the Velvet Pumpkin’s doorway.

She came out from behind the sideboard just as a head popped out from beneath a furry arm. “Hi,” a pimply-faced teen said, “Are you Claire MacGregor?”

Nodding, she said, “Yes.”

“Then this is for you.” He shoved the bear into her arms, nearly toppling her, and headed for the door.

“But who sent it?”

“There’s a card on the collar.”

Grinning at the absurdity of the gift, Claire put the bear on a settee, fumbled with its floppy head and found a card attached to a thick red ribbon.

Usually bears this large were stuffed with straw. Not so this one, which meant it cost someone a fortune. It took a pair of scissors to wrestle the envelope free and open it. “Oh my God.” The check was for twelve thousand dollars.

Merry Christmas, Claire. I thought—nay, dare hope—the other bear might be soggy by now. Love, Cam.

Claire dropped to the floor, her eyes welling. The poor bear upstairs did look like a massive wad of mascara-smeared tissue. “He sent a new bear.”

She pulled it into her arms and buried her face in its neck, hot tears splashing onto the pristine white fur. Damn you, Cam.

“Does this mean ye dinna like it?”

Her head snapped up. In the doorway stood Cam, tanned, dressed in jeans and a form-fitting leather blazer, his hair brushing his shoulders, blue eyes and dimples flashing. She’d finally lost her mind.

“Cam?”

“Aye. Is there anyone else sending ye bears?” He stepped toward her as she struggled to her feet. “I was rather hoping for a warmer wel—”

She launched herself into his arms, her arms wrapping around his neck, her legs wrapping around his hips, and buried her face in his neck. God, he smelled so good.

With one hand supporting her weight, his other clasped her neck. “Ah, now that’s more like it.”

He let her huff and sniffle for a minute before saying, “Let me look at ye.”

Oh great, she probably looked like a rabid raccoon. But she leaned back so she could look at him and he could look at her.

“God’s teeth, ye’re a bonnie sight for these world-weary eyes.” And then he kissed her. Deep and warm, wet and sweet. He tasted of Doublemint gum. She’d have melted into him had he not lifted his head and grinned at her. “I’ve missed ye terribly, lass.”

“Oh ya? Then how come I hadn’t heard from you in months. Where the hell have you been?” She slapped his chest with both hands. “And why didn’t you tell me you were modeling? I had to learn it from Tracy!”

He slipped both hands beneath her bottom and grimaced. “It wasna something I was proud of.”

“Not proud of? Cam, you’re a superstar.”

“Humph! I canna go into a restaurant any more without women racing up to me. And the lies they put in the broadsheets about me … ’twould make ye hair fry and my mother, God rest her soul, weep with shame. And ye wouldna believe what I go through at airports, lights flashing in my eyes, women shouting and waving like crazed beasts. They even follow me into the bloody loo.” He blew through his teeth. “ ’Tisna a good thing, Claire, not at all.”

He shuddered, and she pushed a lock behind his ear. “It’s so good to see you again even if you did have to go through hell to get here.”

He grinned and waggled a perfectly arched brow. “ ’Tis good to see ye as well. And I’ve something verra important to show ye.” He set her down and took her hand, heading for the door.

“Wait! I have to tell Dad I’m leaving.”

“Yer Da’s here?”

She smiled. “Yes, we reconciled, thanks to you. Took some time, but I think it might work out.”

He gave her a squeeze, and she dragged him toward the back stairs. On the second-floor landing, she knocked. Her father opened the door, took one look at Cam and said, “As I live and breathe, if it isn’t Cameron MacLeod, the man who broke my daughter’s heart. I’d deck you but as you can see I have my hands full.”

“Daddy!”

He held the tray of cookies out to Cam. “Have a reindeer.”

Cam laughed as he took one. “Thank ye. And ’tis good to see ye as well, Mr. MacGregor.”

“That remains to be seen.”

“Daddy, Cam and I are going out. Will you watch the shop for a few minutes?”

“Sure.”

Her heart tripping, Claire pulled Cam toward her apartment. “Come on. I have to get my coat.”

Inside her apartment, Cam took a deep breath. Lavender and spaghetti sauce. Pure heaven. He looked around, pleased to see nothing had changed. As Claire reached for her coat, she asked, “Where did you get that fabulous tan? The Riviera?”

He held her coat. “Tahiti. A nice enough place, I suppose, if ye’ve little to do.”

As she sought her purse, he looked into her bedroom, the site of their last lovemaking and was shocked to see his sword mounted on the wall above her bed. Warmth spread through him. He hadn’t wanted her to know that he’d sold it and still she’d found it. She truly did still care.

“Wow, I’ve always wanted to go to Tahiti.”

He grinned and took her hand. “Come, ’tis almost gloaming.”

Outside, he pressed the button on his key chain and his one indulgence bleeped.

“Cam! Is this yours?”

As Claire ran her hand over the Corvette’s glossy red fender, he reached for the door. “ ’Twas on sale. End-of-year model.”

“Wow. You must be doing well.”

He shrugged, made sure she was snug in the heated, wraparound leather seat, then jumped behind the wheel and they were off, the global positioning system leading the way. “Tell me, love, what else have I missed these last few months?”

As she brought him up to date, he had difficulty keeping his eyes off her.

“Eeeek! Other side of the road, Cam!”

“Oops.” He swerved, grinning at the oncoming driver who gave him the finger, and Claire blew out the breath she’d held.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?”

“ ’Twill just take me another minute or two to adjust to driving again on the right.”

“Oooh-kay.” She checked the tension on her seat-belt. “So how did you get another passport? And how long is it good for?”

He laughed. “Ye’re a reiver at heart, lass, ye truly are.”

“I most certainly am not.” She glanced at him. “Well, maybe just a little and only if it’s justifiable.” Then she grinned. “So? How did you manage it?”

“I’m now a Sassenach—God help me—in good standing and have a legitimate British passport, good for ten years.” Her grin dissolved, and he asked, “What is it?”

“Nothing. So, how long will you be stay—Augh, right! Go right!” She exhaled with a whoosh when they miraculously made it onto the Mystic River Bridge without incident.

“Sorry ’bout that.”

“Ya. I was asking how long will you be staying?”

“Depends.”

“On your next assignment?”

“Aye.”

“When will you know?”

“Verra soon.”

“Oh.” She looked at the cell phone resting on the console between them, then turned to the window at her side. He dearly wanted to put her out of her misery, but his future rested on what was about to happen, so he turned on the radio and kept driving.

As he took the turn toward Salem, she asked, “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see in a few minutes.” Taking the coast road, he murmured, “I went home, Claire, back to the sea and Rubha.”

“Ah, we’re going to see the witch.”

They weren’t, but he said, “She was right. There isna going back.” He told her what he’d found. “The oddest thing … it was as if my eyes had to repeatedly see for themselves what my heart already kenned. And still it hurt like hell.”

She placed a hand on his thigh, her eyes going soft with pity. “I’m so sorry, Cam.”

He shrugged, for there was naught else to say, and entering Marblehead, turned down a small side street. Spying the huge maple trees that marked his destination, he rolled up before them and shut off the car.

He helped Claire out and watched as she stood looking up at the shuttered, gray-shingled house with its dormers and gables and white picket fence. “Lovely. When did Sandra move?”

“I didna ken that she had.” He took her hand and walked up the brick path.

Frowning, she asked, “Then whose house is this?”

He stuck the key in the lock and the door swung wide exposing an airy interior with a view of the ocean beyond. “ ’Tis yers. Merry Christmas, Claire.”

She gaped at him for a long moment before shaking her head in wonder. Mute, she ran her fingertips over the waist-high molding in the parlor, opened cabinets in the dining room, and then stood before picture windows overlooking a lovely brick bailey and the dormant rose garden. Beyond the stone wall, the sea rolled in gentle swells rather than with crashing waves, but the scent of salt was in the air.

“It’s more than I ever dreamed of owning, but I can’t possibly accept this. It’s so large, a family home.” She faced him, and eyes glassy, patted his chest. “I love that you want to give it to me, I truly do, but—”

He pulled her close. “Ye dinna find it fair?”

“Are you kidding? It’s stunning. Just look at that fireplace and the view …”

Verra good. He took a deep breath, and, hands sweating, pulled out the black velvet box that had been burning a hole in his pocket for three months. When he popped the lid she gasped. It was a lovely bit, to be sure. “Claire Patricia MacGregor I love you with every ounce of my being. Will ye do me the honor and be so foolish as to marry this auld man?”

She made a choking sound as tears slid down her cheeks.

“I’ll take that as an aye.” He took her left hand in his and placed the emerald on the middle finger. “The jeweler and Maggie said I should get ye a diamond, but this reminded me so much of yer eyes, I wouldna be dissuaded.” He waited, his gut churning, for her to say something, anything as she stared at the ring.

He was about to explode when she finally said, “Oh. My. God.”

What the hell did that mean? Had he made a poor choice? Would she have preferred a diamond after all? Did she love another? What?

Claire leaned into him, took a shuddering breath and then another. “Cam?”

“Aye?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

She raised her head and his heart soared. She was beaming at him. “Yes to marrying you, yes to the house and yes, I love the ring.”

“Verra good.” He kissed her soundly, loving the way she moaned as he stroked her, then keened when he reluctantly pulled away. “I’ve another surprise for ye.” He scooped her into his arms.

Giggling, her arms about his neck, her head on his shoulder, she asked, “Now what?”

“Ye’ll see.” He strode into the bedchamber.

“Oh Cam! It’s totally wicked.”

“Aye, wicked.” He’d found the massive four-poster bed in a London antique shop. ’Twas much like the one that had been in Rubha and had witnessed many a MacLeod birth. He could only hope this new MacLeod bed would see many more. And there was nae time like the present to start. Lowering her to the thick mattress, he settled above her, his weight on his arms. “I’ve missed ye, love, beyond words.”

“Oh, me, too.”

That she’d waited this long lonely year and still wanted him was almost beyond imagining. As he undressed her, her hands made fast work of his garments. Finally naked, he rolled onto his side and pulled her against him, her leg falling over his hip. He’d almost forgotten how incredible she felt. Too incredible. Moaning, she pressed her sweet wetness against him and rubbed. Already panting and on the brink, he whispered, “Easy, love, it’s been a year and ye dinna want me basting the lamb before it’s sheared.”

“Right.” Claire laughed and pushed Cam onto his back and straddled him, her breath catching as she took his delicious thickness in. “This any better?”

Eyes closed, his hips coming up to meet her, he growled, “Barely.”

Her insides molten, needing to rock, she straightened to brace her hands on his thighs and was startled by a flash of light. To her left, behind the partially closed door, she saw a huge baroque mirror leaning against the wall. “Cam, look.”

The mirror was every bit as fine as the one she’d sold. The owners would be sick when they realized they’d left it behind.

He grinned, his gaze locking on their reflection. He reached up and stroked the underside of her breasts. “Italian, like ye. Thought we might have a bit of fun,”—he strummed a thumb across her left nipple, sending searing heat through her—“before ye took it to ye shop.”

Before she could catch her breath to ask what the hell he was talking about, his hand slipped between her thighs and his thumb caressed her, totally short-circuiting her brain. Without thought but with her every nerve straining for release, she rocked, his every stroke stoking the fire at her core. “Oh, oh, oh …”

As his hips came up to meet her, he whispered, deep and husky, “Come to me, love. Come.”

Before she could gasp I am, she did, back arched and keening, in an explosion of color and sizzling nerves.

Claire collapsed onto his chest, and Cam grinned. He’d forgotten what a noisy wee bit she was when she fell off the earth.

Quite satisfied, he stroked her lovely hurdies, one hand finding its way to the warm wetness where they were joined, he still hard and hot, she all wet and soft. He stroked her there, rocking deeper and deeper, his thighs locked around hers. When her mouth found his and her hands found their way into his hair, he moaned and thrust deeper still, seeking her center. Her tongue thrust into his mouth matching the rhythm of his hips. His release—exquisite—so rocked him, it bordered on pain.

When he finally caught a breath, he cradled her to his chest. “Ye need ken something.”

“What?”

“I said good-bye to Maggie.”

She craned her neck to look at him. “Truly?”

“Aye, I’ve had my fill of posing. And I have enough money to see us through until I can find something worthy of a man.”

She turned in his arms and cradled his face in her hands. “Hearing this is almost as good as seeing you come through the Pumpkin’s door.”

He smiled. “Are ye having a Merry Christmas, love?”

“Aye, Mr. MacLeod. You’ve given me the best gift any woman could have.”

“And what might that be?” He’d put money on her saying the mirror. She’d been most fond of hers.

“My very own Highlander.”

He laughed and looked at their reflection.

Ye might be ancient, MacLeod, but ye havena lost yer touch.

And with any luck, he’d just given her another Highlander, a wee one.