For a heartbeat he pondered that he might have conjured her in his mind. Nay, the sweet press of her flesh beneath his had been real enough. The confusion and anger darkening her green eyes, her galloping heartbeat beneath him all spoke to a woman of honeyed breath rather than some figment of his imagination.
“And where is she now?” Hamish asked.
“In my bed, where she’ll stay until I decide what I’m going to do with her. I promised her passage home tomorrow, but until I’m certain she isna a Sassenach spy, she will stay. Her name is British enough. Kate Wexford.” It sounded foreign on his tongue. His conscience didn’t quibble at the change of plans. His first responsibility lay in protecting his people. Even so, the thought of her ripe curves beneath his plaid stirred his blood and various and sundry parts. “And I know what I’ll be doin’ with her soon enough.”
“What if she isn’t wanting a tumble?”
He hadn’t thought of that, he’d just thought they hadn’t made it that far yet. “I have yet to bed a lass less than willing.”
“And you ken she’s willing?”
He had yet to meet a woman who wasn’t. “Figure it out for yourself man. She was in my bed with no clothes on.”
“I would ken she’s willing.”
The memory of her pale skin against his plaid stirred his blood. A few bonnie words and the lass would be his for the tumbling. He smiled at Hamish. “Or she will be soon enough.”
KATE AWOKE, instantly alert. There was a lot to be said for the efficacy of power napping she’d perfected as a resident. She knew without glancing about that the Darach MacTavish wannabe was gone—knew it because she didn’t feel him in the room.
What to do? How to get out of here? The problem was the man could return at any moment. She needed help. She needed to let someone know where she was, which she didn’t exactly know, or at least that she’d been taken against her will. She pulled out her cell phone. It was still on, but there wasn’t a signal. Dammit. How could they have whisked her away to a place so remote there was no cell phone signal? Marc Fredericks was pulling a stint with Doctors Without Borders in Zimbabwe and even he had cell service. In freaking Zimbabwe, nonetheless.
Calm. Stay calm. She pulled out and turned on her Blackberry. She waited, but no signal bars showed. What the…? She’d paid a boatload of money for guaranteed service. She had it in writing. The only way she shouldn’t have an Internet signal was if all the satellites were down and that was a technological impossibility.
Exasperated and slightly panicked she stood and went to the window, trying to get her bearings, shivering at the constant draft in the room. The night sky blanketed the earth with an incredible display of stars. She realized she must be about three or four stories up because she could literally see for miles. With a dawning sense of dismay she realized the stars shone so bright because they weren’t competing with street lights. They weren’t competing with any lights. For as far as she could see, which she estimated to be several miles from this vantage point, there were no lights other than the odd pinprick which seemed to be more in keeping with a campfire than a streetlight.
And where were the trees? Every landscape within a several hour drive of Atlanta boasted a canopy of trees but all she saw was rolling hills, desolate and barren in the starlight.
She turned from the window, suddenly feeling frantic. Ohmigod. The picture. The picture from the museum. She’d missed it earlier because it had been out of her line of vision. It was the same, the exact same portrait. At least it looked the same. Okay. Definitely weird. And staring at the picture wouldn’t get her any answers. If she’d fallen through it to get here, ostensibly she should be able to fall through it to get back home. She walked over and tried to keep going. Ow! She bounced off of the picture and the stone wall. That hurt. And she was still here. Damn.
She methodically checked the stone wall. No electrical outlets surreptitiously tucked behind furniture to keep the authenticity of the room. Nope. They simply weren’t there. No central heating and air-conditioning vents. No phone jacks. No nothing except stone walls and floors and a fireplace nearly big enough for her to stand in and a constant draft of cold air. Dread slid down her spine and she pulled the soft wool more tightly around her.
She straightened her back and squared her shoulders, drawing herself up to her full five feet and five-and-a-half inches. Clearly, this room held no answers. She forced herself to walk to the wooden door cut into the stone wall.
She ignored the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. How many times had she watched scary movies and seen the heroine doing something stupid like opening the door to explore when sure as heck something awful awaited her on the other side? But she had to find out what was going on and her only hope was in discovering what lay out there.
She grasped the rustic metal latch and opened it. Just like in the movies, it swung wide with an accompanying screech, not exactly what she needed to settle her nerves.
Cold and inky black swallowed her. A musty dankness permeated the chill. Kate hesitated, her nerve nearly deserting her. She clutched the material around her, finding an odd comfort in the man’s scent clinging to the fabric.
Stairs went up and down in the narrow winding case. Obviously she was in some sort of turret. This just sucked. She wasn’t some princess. She hadn’t been sitting around waiting on her prince to show. There was no prince. And Darach MacTavish was too raw, too much man to be prince material.
She balanced herself along the wall with her right hand and edged her way along the staircase. The cold stone floor freezing against her bare feet, she used her toes to feel over the fairly sharp edge of the stone to the next step. Within seconds, the narrow, curving steps and wall obliterated the meager light from the open bedroom door. But even with her pisspoor sense of direction, she wasn’t likely to get lost with up and down as her only options.
She heard him, smelled him, felt him to her core before she met him in the dark. Not wanting to send them both tumbling down the narrow winding stairs she whispered into the quiet. “MacTavish?”
“Did you miss me that much, Katie-love, that ye had to come looking for me?”
No one called her Katie and certainly no one in their right mind called her Katie-love, but she was in a situation she neither understood nor controlled and he seemed to be in charge so she supposed he could call her whatever struck his fancy. And she didn’t miss the dark note of displeasure underlying his seemingly light remark.
“I was simply trying to get my bearings.”
“And I suppose you missed my suggestion you keep to my room.” He moved a step closer and his body heat enveloped her. There was nowhere to go. His fingers traced the line of her jaw, down the length of her throat to the ridge of her collarbone. He brushed his thumb against her wildly beating pulse. “Or mebbe you wanted me to tie you to my bed. Is that it Katie-love?”
He feathered his hands along her shoulders, down her arms and gently captured her wrists. He raised them above her head and pinned them against the wall with one hand. Cold, rough-hewn stones bit into her shoulders and arms. His hand, callused but warm, cupped her neck and he traced a sensual pattern with his thumb against her throat.
Her breath lodged in her chest, caught up in the mad beating of her heart. Was it him, or the dark, or the situation that heightened her senses? For more than a month, she’d smelled his scent each time she’d visited the museum, and now it evoked the same response, but tenfold. He had her pinned to the wall in a strange place and still a dark, sensual heat coursed through her.
He lowered his head and his hair teased against her bare shoulder. His warm breath danced over her skin. His lips whispered against her, not quite a kiss, over her shoulder, along the line where his plaid covered her breasts. Instinctively she arched her back bringing her closer to his mouth. “Ah, that’s some fine skin you have Katie-love, soft and warm and you smell good too.” He nuzzled where her shoulder met her neck and Kate thought she might melt at the feel of his lips against her skin, the faint scrape of his whiskers.