“Yes, sir.”
“Now help me to my bed and call the nurse.”
This young woman didn’t leave him any choice. He hated to waste her, but to hide the truth about what he had done years ago was imperative. She hadn’t budged to his threat, and that would be one stupid decision she wouldn’t live to regret. As for Mac, he would deal with him on his own terms on a later date. No one could take Mac from him, he was his, and always would be.
When Miranda returned to her room, she unpacked her laptop and entered all her notes. What she discovered was something she needed to think through, including all the possibilities. If her hunch were true, how would she react? For some reason, she didn’t believe all what Mr. Wardlaw told her, but still, doubts floated beneath the surface, competing with that familiar little warning bell in her head, which was spot on every time.
Why would Mac have any interest in stopping her from publishing her book? It must be because he had a connection with the accident and he wanted to hide his identity.
But why does he want to hide who he is? And his uncle Ken—what do they fear?
Mac was Marcas. It wasn’t impossible—perhaps difficult to comprehend, but not unbelievable. Dr. Bradford said the police investigation twenty years ago wasn’t thorough, and everyone assumed Marcas had died. He could have gone into hiding, instead. Ken was the key to this mystery—and, of course, so was Mac. She was not about to tell Mac what happened. She would wait and see the outcome of events.
Miranda sat on the bed typing her theories until a light knock on the door drew her from her thoughts. “Come in,” she called.
William entered her room. “Sir Mac Wardlaw would like to have dinner with you tonight.”
“Gladly. What time is dinner?” She would dress to impress, wearing the sexy burgundy dress she bought in the village
. I need to use my looks and charm to get the truth out of him. If I can distract him a little, I’ll get the information I want.
“At seven. He’ll be in his office.”
As the butler left, Miranda looked at her watch: still three hours to kill. She kept herself busy by writing a whole chapter about her discovery: the visit to the doctor, the picture of the child and how he was connected to Mac, and the uncle possibly being involved with the accident. Miranda was satisfied with what she put together. She sighed, saved the document, and closed her laptop.
Time passed so quickly she had to rush dressing and putting her makeup on. She had little experience in that field. But she was happy with the result; simple pink lip-gloss, light mascara, and rose blusher was always enough to bring her beauty alive, and a little
lilac
perfume would entice him.
She stepped into her high heels and walked to Mac’s office, her heart pounding. She was eager to watch the reaction on his face when he saw her all dressed up.
As the soft, mellow piano solo wafted to her ears, relaxing and calming, she gathered her courage and knocked. As if pulled by an invisible thread, the door swung open before her to reveal a peaceful scene. The office was softly lit by a small lamp on his desk; she sauntered in, searching for Mac, then spotted him lounging on his chair. His eyes were closed; he seemed drawn into the soft, peaceful ballad. He looked breathtaking, powerful, and beautifully proportioned from head to toe.
Miranda stood, taken in by his seductive, chiseled features. He wore a white shirt, half- open in the front, showing his light chest hair. His black blazer shone in the soft light. His hair was pulled into a ponytail; a few locks dangled over his forehead, as though he’d run his fingers through them. Miranda was mesmerized.
As he opened his eyes and locked his gaze with hers, a slow, dark, delicious smile spread across his face.
She held her breath, her gaze fixed on his lips. Her throat was dry. She swallowed and wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. Remembering how his lips felt on hers, warm and firm but with raw hunger, and the way his heated, delighting kisses tempted sighs from her, sent a shiver up her spine. She wished she could run to him and sit in his lap. She wanted to fondle every soft hair that decorated his muscular chest. She wanted to discover his shape, discover how he would feel under her touch. Her daydream was interrupted when he said, softly, “You look incredibly beautiful.” He rose from his chair, heading toward her.
Miranda couldn’t breathe, but finally remembered to inhale as he came closer. Mac was tall; his chest was at her eye level. He lifted her chin with his forefinger. “Shy from last night?”
Oh, dear, he is not bringing that to the conversation.
She cleared her throat, as softly as a polite lady would. “No, I’m wondering where you hid this morning.” He held her stare with the drugged gaze in his dilated, lazuline eyes.
Now it was Mac who held his breath as if he had never seen such a beauty before. His eyes lingered over her dark maroon, silk multilayered dress, then trailed up to the ruffle on her bust.
“Engaged in business,” he said, evading her question.
She didn’t move away. It was as if she were pinned in place. He was aware of his effect on her.
“I think you were hiding so I couldn’t find you,” Miranda said. “You knew I would come back to find out more about…
Rose.”
She pretended she was there for the information he had—but no, she had come for more than that. He could hear her short breaths quicken as he closed in on her. Small shivers erupted over her delicate body. Her strawberry-blond, curly hair moved in light shudders, screaming to be touched.
Mac stepped away from her, reached for a remote control, and pushed a button; the door closed automatically. As he walked to his bar, he asked, “What kind of drink do you prefer—wine, vodka, brandy, or whisky?”
“Rosé, please. I’m not a heavy drinker.”
He poured a glass of wine for her and chose brandy for himself. As he handed her the crystal glass, her fingers brushed his, sending a quiver into his body. His gaze glided on her creamy skin and her rosy lips with blush to match. Her rainforest green eyes were darkened with desire.
“Rose and Duncan,” he said, “were lovers.”
Her eyes widened. “How do you know this? And why do I see her, and Duncan? What is the relationship between us and them?”
“We
are
them,” Mac said softly. “We’re reincarnated. I had visions of them as you did.” He watched her, studying her reaction. She was like a small bird trapped in a golden cage, flapping its wings in all directions to escape but not knowing how.
“I don’t believe in reincarnation.” She rubbed her forehead. “I’m Miranda. I have my own personality and life,” she said, but her voice shook.
He drew closer. Mac’s heart pounded as he brushed her curls back gently. His finger traced along her collarbone and she caught her breath. He touched the necklace that hung around her neck. “I gave you this. I mean, Duncan gave Rose the heart-shaped necklace.” Her warm skin under his finger reddened.
She looked at him, shifting the wine glass from one hand to the other. Her eyes dared him to prove his argument.
“Open the locket,” he said. “There are words engraved in it. It says,
‘Some are haunted by their first lost love; the lucky ones get to find it again.’”
“It doesn’t open. I’ve tried,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “It’s sealed.”
“May I?” he asked as he reached for the golden necklace.
“Sure, knock yourself out,” she said, slipping the necklace over her head.
He placed the necklace in his both palms and twisted it; a soft clicking announced the truth of his claim. He parted the two sides. “Look,” he demanded.
She blinked a couple of times at him before she dared to look into the open piece. She gasped. “It can’t be.”
“Why not? Do you think I researched that, too?”
Mac strolled over to his desk and leaned on it, folding his arms over his chest. “You believe in things that are felt more than seen, don’t you? I heard you say it in an interview,” he announced. “Do you feel what I feel, Miranda?”
She looked confused, fighting her inner thoughts. She twisted the necklace in her delicate fingers, playing with it and the golden chain. Her chest rose and fell with fast, shallow breaths. As if her mind searched for every possibility she might have to put to the test. She sauntered over and stood in front of him. “What does it mean to us?”
Ah, she has begun to believe,
Mac thought.
“It means we are granted a second chance.” He held her by the shoulders; her smooth skin made his senses tingle. Then he whispered, “It means we are here for a reason, Miranda. When I saw you, I felt feelings I’ve never experienced before, feelings that captured my heart with full force. I’d never enjoyed a woman in my life, or felt anything towards kissing like I did with you.”
All he wanted tonight was to make her feel him, to find him as he found her. He had to have her, and have her
now
.
For crying out loud, get yourself under control, you’ll scare her
.
Everything that happened in the previous forty-eight hours were probably overwhelming her. As much as he yearned for her, he really should try to be a gentleman. But he couldn’t act what he lacked; she brought out the mischievous man in him.
Miranda stiffened, her innocent, blinking eyes wandering over his face, as if she were dreaming. She looked confused. Aroused. Out of breath.
He leaned closer as if to inspect the necklace and detected the scent of lilac lingering in her hair, mingled with the alluring warmth of her own natural woman-scent. His breath caught with longing for her as the enticing fragrance stole over his senses. He breathed it in, his instinctual hunger rising. His helpless desire for her whispered to his heart, and his strength ebbed like a fading vision.
Her skin softened; she was surrendering gradually. He stroked her neck with his fingertip, unable to resist the impulse. When he bent his head and caressed the hollow of her neck with the tip of his tongue, she panted and quivered. The warmth of her skin intensified and she became like liquid under his touch.
She dropped her head back and closed her eyes, offering him more access to her neck.
“Mac,” she breathed.
Mac shuddered, wrapping one arm around her slim waist, the other hand gliding over her hair. He kissed her swan-like neck until she quivered in response and let out a soft moan.
“My lovely Miranda, where have you been?” It wasn’t a question; it was more like a cry for his lost years without her.
Miranda turned her face slowly toward him, bringing her lips nearer, but she still seemed hesitant, as though she feared her own actions.
Nearly blind with his need for her, Mac cupped her cheek with his palm. For a second, his mouth hovered above hers as he savored the exquisite torment of this sweet anticipation. God, how he had dreamed of tasting her again. His mind whirled.
The soft puffs of her warm, rapid breathing tickled his lips as she waited; drugged, hypnotized by his seductive advances. He had stripped her of all her defenses, and he planned to continue stripping her until she was as exposed, as naked, as he felt right now.
Mac claimed Miranda’s mouth in a wild and burning kiss. She moaned again as he drove her lips apart and invaded the silken pleasure of her mouth with each deep stroke of his tongue.
She clutched at his shoulders as if to steady herself, and the fire between them grew into a roaring flame, growing by feverish degrees of blazing heat. He’d been starved for so long. As he clasped her to him, his mouth slanted over hers with a desire that bordered on desperation, aware of her hands on him. Warmth slipped beneath his shirt. Miranda pressed her palms against the curve of his back, then began stroking his sides and his chest. She slid one arm up around his neck as he delighted her with his kisses. He couldn’t handle the desperate urge to take her. He turned her, and with one hand, pushed away whatever was on his desk. He lifted her to sit on the desk, then leaned down until his weight pushed her gently back onto its surface.
Mac wedged a thigh between her legs, forcing them apart. Her body underneath him was warm and throbbing, ready to be taken. “Oh, please, Mac, don’t let go,” she whimpered.
His muscles tightened as he hugged her tightly against him. A flicker of a vision struck him and tugged at his mind until he straddled two worlds. Both worlds were filled with strong emotions, and the soft pleas of the woman in his arms.
Mac’s grip on Miranda tightened, and his body shook violently. She didn’t know what was happening as he moaned in agony.
Dear God, what have I done?
She struggled, unable to free herself from his grip. “Mac, what happened?” she asked as his chest muscles tightened. He was sweating now, and the shivers had grown stronger. “Mac! Talk to me, what’s wrong?”
He inhaled sharply, then let her go as if stung by fire. Fear was etched into his face and his eyes were wide and watery. He moved away from her and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“You didn’t hurt me, but what happened?” she asked with concern. She reached out to him, but he winced away from her.
“Nothing.” His chest heaved.
She was certain he was hiding something that disturbed him greatly, but what could it be? Surely not her book…the thought struck a chord within her. Was that it?
What was I thinking, letting him kiss me!
He was the man who wanted to stop her from publishing her book. She had come here to solve a mystery, to know the truth and to let her readers know it, too. This was beside her need to understand her connection to the castle and why she was drawn to it. Love, lust, or whatever they were doing, was not in her plan.
“Let us have dinner, shall we?” he said, his voice calmer now. His expression now indifferent.
Mac led Miranda through the corridor and down the staircase. They reached a luxurious dining room that glittered in the scattered light from a crystal chandelier. The walls were covered in thick, gilded paper and had gold-painted moldings. The dining table was large enough to serve twelve people. Miranda took a deep breath, scanning the luxury on display. The aroma of cinnamon and baked bread wafted to her nostrils. When she spotted the food on the table, her stomach made a faint rumble of hunger.