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Emma shook her head in apparent frustration. “I get that I need appropriate attire tonight. But I don’t need you to purchase me a new wardrobe! ”

He looked at the cardboard box sitting on the floor. “Your belongings beg to differ.”

While Emma was sequestered with the stylist in the extra bedroom, Cian had salvaged what he could from her apartment, but there was little to be saved.

Almost all of her belongings had been destroyed; the only things untouched were whatever was at the laundromat, which Cian had picked up on his way back to the hotel.

And, judging by the size of the box, it didn’t look like she’d sent much in her last drop-off.

She growled at Aidan, then rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers. “I had enough clothing to last me until I’m paid.”

He shrugged and remained silent. He got the distinct feeling that if he told her the real reason why he wanted to buy her clothing, she’d run so fast out the door he’d never catch up to her again.

Hell, even Cian had raised a bushy brow when Aidan demanded Neiman Marcus’s best personal shopper to be sent to his suite posthaste, but he wouldn’t be deterred.

When a lass came under a laird’s protection, he took care of all her basic needs.

Food, clothing, shelter. And whether or not she knew it, having signed that contract, Emmaline Perkins was now under his protection, and, until he reunited with his brother, Aidan MacWilliam was the laird.

For the first time since being separated from Nioclas, Aidan’s chest didn’t tighten at the thought of him. His driving need to return home seemed slightly dulled.

Emma’s mutinous face snagged his attention, and he frowned at her concern over his bank account. He tried another approach. “I want you to look a certain way while representing me.”

She guffawed. “Oh, right. Because my usual business attire is inappropriate?”

“You’d be better in business casual. ”

“Since when are jeans business casual?” she asked, her jaw set.

“Since I declare them to be,” he answered, folding his own arms. “Isn’t it bad form to argue with your new boss?”

She scowled at him, realizing the futility of her argument. “But—”

“Call it a cultural thing,” he drawled. “And, if that doesn’t work for you, then think of it as a uniform.”

She gritted her teeth, and after a charged moment, she ground out, “Thank you.” Then, because she apparently couldn’t seem to help herself, she added, “All of this is unnecessary, but I’m acquiescing.”

“So gracefully, too,” he murmured, and took an inordinate amount of pleasure at watching her face suffuse with heat.

“You’re quite welcome, anyway.” He sat on the sofa and checked his watch.

“I have some business to do this afternoon. Feel free to make use of the suite. Full telly lineup, movies, the whole thing.”

She half smiled. “Thanks, but I’m not big on television. I’ll figure something out.”

“You’re welcome to use the iPad if you’d like.” He pointed to the device in the kitchen. “Order a book? Play a game of some sort?”

She looked interested, and he took it as a good sign. “What’s on it?”

“Not much, but you can download what you wish.” He retrieved it and handed it to her.

Her eyes, glued to the screen, were enormous. She raised them to meet his, and Aidan felt something shift in his chest.

“You have access to the Book of Kells on this?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Aye. It’s publicly available through Trinity College.”

She shook her head as she swiped through the pages. “Not in its entirety,” she breathed. “I would know. I look for it online all the time. This is amazing—thank you.” And this time, the sincerity of the gratitude, plus the warmth from the true smile she bestowed upon him, knocked him flat.

His breath caught and his chest tightened at her beauty.

Her brilliant blue eyes sparkled, bringing him back to carefree childhood mornings spent on the seashore.

The rosy color in her cheeks was the exact hue of the small flowers that dotted the Irish countryside; her honey hair, tendrils of which had escaped her hair tie and now framed her heart-shaped face, danced like fairies as she moved her head.

She looks like home.

Emma curled up in the corner of the couch closest to the fireplace.

The flames danced in her hair, illuminating the lighter strands and shadowing the darker ones.

She held her teacup between both hands as her eyes drank in the images on the device in front of her, which she’d propped on the arm of the sofa.

Ensconced in her reading, Emma didn’t hear the brisk knock at the door, and she almost knocked over her teacup in surprise when a man breezed over to her and dropped to his knees.

Aidan rose swiftly from the dining table and stood behind the couch.

He rested his hands on it, his face schooled into a blank mask, his eyes on the newcomer.

“Ooh, your cheekbones are exquisite!” the man declared in a thick French accent, grasping Emma’s chin and turning her head from side to side.

He slid his fingers over a piece of hair that had escaped her ponytail.

“Oui, oui. The natural curl in your hair is delightful. I’ll fix it, though, don’t fret, ma chérie. ”

“I didn’t realize I was fretting,” she replied, leaning back a little.

He leaned closer to her, closing the small distance she had created. “I am ‘oward. I will make your inner beauty shine for your gala tonight. Where will this amazing transformation happen? Here, or another room in this magnifique hotel?”

“Um…maybe one of the bedrooms?” She shrugged and looked at Aidan. Is this guy for real? she wanted to ask. She noted the humor lurking in Aidan’s eyes, and her lips quirked at the corners in response.

“I believe your evening preparations have begun,” Aidan deadpanned.

“Indeed they have, monsieur!” Howard declared, standing with a flourish. “I shall make her into a breathtaking swan.”

“You can’t improve perfection,” Aidan murmured. “But you’re certainly welcome to try.”

Before Emma could form a response, Howard led her to the stairs, explaining that Tess had already sent him pictures of the dress that was on its way to them.

“My laird?” Cian stood by the door, his face incredulous as the door upstairs slammed shut. “Did you just…”

“It was a compliment, Cian, nothing more,” Aidan replied as he sat back down to the spreadsheets and contracts on the table. Cian snorted, and Aidan rolled his eyes. “By the saints, I’ve complimented women before. ’Tis not so strange.”

“I’ve not heard such flowery sentiments leave your mouth since we came to the future,” Cian replied, considering. “’Tis interesting, is all.”

Another knock at the door saved Aidan from replying to that insight. “That’d be the dress, I suppose.”

“Aye,” Cian concurred, his eyes twinkling. “Merely frosting for the perfect cake, no doubt.”

Aidan grabbed the nearest report and flipped it open, refusing to take his clansman’s bait.