Heart Melter (18 page)

He turned to her with furrowed brows. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said with a despondent sigh.

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong,” Ian said after a moment, his voice brusque. “You’re stressed, and I’m furious. Not with you,” he assured her quickly, “but with whoever’s after you.” He rubbed his face with an impatient hand. “I’m frustrated because I don’t know how much time we have left together” he said, making her want to cry at the reality of it.

“I know, and I’m dreading going back to New York. But I have to,” she said, her heart aching over how much she would miss him.

Ian sucked in a rough breath and exhaled it heavily. “I can’t keep you here, but I’ll be damned if I’ll let anyone harm you. While you’re in Scotland, you’re mine,” he said, his tone darkening with ferocity. He glanced at her, his hot, unblinking gaze making her heart feel close to bursting. “I won’t have it any other way, Tasha.”

“I
am
yours,” she said, placing her hand on his tightly clenched jaw. “I’ve
always
been yours.”

“Good. It’s settled then,” he said with gruff male satisfaction. His hand curled around her nape and pulled her in for a brief kiss, his mouth crushing hers with possessiveness.

He released her just as quickly as he’d grabbed her and turned his attention to the road. Natasha smiled as happiness surged inside her.
While you’re in Scotland, you’re mine.
Ian’s words—punctuated by a fierce kiss—would forever be etched in her heart. When he set his mind to something, he was a force to be reckoned with and she was thrilled to be the object of his focus.

“We’re approaching Mallaig,” he said a few moments later. “Get in the back before we get on the ferry.”

“Again?” she groaned.

“Aye. We need to get to Skye without anyone noticing you in the car.”

“All right.” She tossed her shoulder bag in the back and got on her knees, inching between the passenger seat and the driver’s. Leaning forward with her head down and her butt up, she steadied her hands on the back seat cushion.

Ian swatted her bottom. “Hurry up, we’re almost there."

“Hey!” she said, giggling.

“I couldn’t resist.”

Once she was settled under the covers, she asked, “Where are we staying in Skye?"

"There's an abandoned stone house in Portree. People don't go near it because they think it's spooked by the spirits of Flora MacDonald and Bonnie Prince Charlie."

“Are you kidding?” she said, her voice muffled by the covers.

“No.”

“Great. I'm normally not superstitious, but staying in a haunted house in the wilderness gives me the willies. Especially at night."

"Don’t worry. I'll be with you."

"That’s not comforting, unless you’re an exorcist," she retorted, her nose twitching from the wool fibers. A sneeze punctuated her words.

Ian snorted. “Can’t help you there. Better toughen up. The cottage is ancient and there’s no electrical heating."

"No wonder you brought so many blankets. We're going to freeze our buns off!"

"Not if I can help it.”

Ooh, can’t wait,
she thought, her belly fluttering wildly.

When they arrived at the harbor at Mallaig, Ian drove aboard the Armadale ferry. The ferry ride across the Sound of Sleat took approximately ten minutes, but it seemed like forever as Natasha’s nose and eyes twitched from the effort not to sneeze.

When Ian disembarked the car, she said, "Where are we? Can I get up now?"

"Not yet. We're in Portree. Stay underneath the blankets until I say you can get up.”

"B a a a a ah!" she bleated. “Now I know what a sheep feels like.”

Ian gave a short laugh. When they were a safe distance from the Armadale harbor, he said, “Climb up here, sassy lassie.”

She gladly obliged. “The sky looks so serene. I love the way the stars glow through the mist.”

Ian looked at the stars above and nodded. “It is a nice evening. Another few minutes and we’ll be there,” he said, maneuvering the car up the dirt road.

“Is that the cottage?” Natasha asked as the headlights shone on a stone house at a short distance. It was a small dwelling, surrounded by an unkempt garden, giving it a wild, primitive appearance.

“Yes.” Ian parked the car and lit a kerosene lamp. Holding the lamp, he led Natasha up the winding gravel road.

"How are you going to get in?" she whispered, gesturing toward the heavy, wooden front door.

"It's not locked," Ian said, turning the latch and opening the door.

"Well then how are we going to feel safe here?" She stalled at the doorway.

He pulled her along. "Don’t worry about it. Come on. We’ll bolt it from the inside."

The moment they entered, Ian set the kerosene lamp on a wooden table in the center of the room, illuminating it in a golden glow.

"Good thing there's a broom," Natasha said, eyeing the large broom beside the stone fireplace. "This place needs a good sweeping."

"You sweep, I’ll unload the supplies," he said.

“But the dust will make me sneeze, even with the allergy pill I took. How about I unload the car and you sweep?” she said, knowing he wouldn’t agree.

“Right.” He shot her a cynical look. “
You
unload the car? That would take all night."  He walked to the hearth and returned with the broom. "Start sweeping, Cinderella. There's a lot of work to be done so we can sleep comfortably tonight." He handed her his muffler. “Tie this over your nose and mouth. It’ll keep the dust out.”

Natasha wrinkled her nose in response, and he tweaked it while he held the broom out to her.

"All right, but don't overdo your position as protector. You might be the laird of Glenhaven estate, but I’m not your minion."

He looked down his aristocratic nose at her with amusement. "Get to work."

Making a face, she wound her hair up at the crown of her head as best she could. Several tendrils escaped as she began to clean.

Ian brought in a hunting rifle and propped it next to the cot.

“Where did that come from?” Natasha said.

“My father’s hunting collection. Here’s another one for you,” Ian said, taking a smaller gun out of a holster on his side.

“Me? No way,” Natasha said, backing away from it.

“We’ll store it in a special hiding place in the floor. Come I’ll show you.”

Natasha watched Ian lift a wooden plank underneath the bed. “I have to hand it to you Scots. Pretty crafty. Secret chambers in castles, hiding places in the floor…cool,” she said, staring at him as he placed the gun on its side and covered it with the wood board. “Is it loaded?”

The look Ian gave her said she was daft for asking. “Of course. Now back to work,” he said with an infuriating grin.

He went outside and made several trips back and forth, carrying everything inside they'd need for at least a week. By the time he finished, Natasha had swept out the cottage, dusted every surface and made up the cot with the clean sheets he’d brought.

"Great job, minion,” he said.

“Thank you, my lord,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“You look adorable with your hair up like that," he teased, kissing the tip of her pink nose. “I’m hungry. Let's have the picnic Dugie prepared.”

Natasha rubbed her arms. "Can you start the fire first? I'm freezing."

"Sure." Ian gathered several pieces of wood he had brought inside and ignited the fire.

“I’ll light some candles, so we can shut off the kerosene lamp. It’s cozier that way,” Natasha said.

Moments later, they sat at the round wooden table that she covered with a blue and white checkered tablecloth from the hamper. She set two places with paper plates and plastic utensils in front of the containers of food.

"I noticed you moved the car. Where is it?" she said, handing Ian a drumstick of cold roast chicken.

"Down the road a bit, hidden behind a cluster of trees."

"Is that necessary? This place is so desolate."

"I'm not taking chances," he said, tearing a chunk of chicken with gleaming white teeth.

Natasha bit into a chicken breast and chewed appreciatively. "This is probably the best meal we'll have while we're here."

"You’re probably right. Here you go,” Ian said, relaxing as he handed her a bottle of ale.

She took a sip of the dark ale. "How did you know about this place?"

"I used to play here as a lad. Once when I was thirteen, I ran away from home during the school year. This is where I spent the night."

She set the chicken down and wiped her mouth with the napkin. "Why did you run away?"

Ian chugged down several gulps of ale. "I was sick of the pressure Dad was putting on me to study business and finance. When he found out where I was, he wouldn't let anyone come and get me until I had spent the night here alone."

Natasha studied the chiseled planes of Ian’s face, thinking how handsome he looked in the firelight. "What happened?"

He shrugged. “I realized I could survive on my instincts. That gave me a lot of self-confidence at thirteen."

“I’ll bet.” Natasha took his hand and turned it palm up. She kissed the inside of his palm, her lips lingering at the center. “I love your confidence…and your hands. So healing and strong,” she murmured, filled with longing to have those masterful hands stroking her again.

The blatant eroticism of Natasha’s whisper-soft kiss in the center of his palm sent hot lust coursing through Ian and all he could think of was covering her pliant body with his. Her face glowed in the candlelight, her wide blue eyes clear and luminous. She was breathtaking—an incandescent, copper-haired angel sharing a simple meal with him in an ancient stone house.

Fascinated, he stared at the rapid pulse beating in the hollow of her throat above the downy fur collar of her sweater. Her high breasts rose and fell as her nostrils flared slightly and her mouth parted. Her tongue swept over her lips, turning them the same delicate pink staining her cheeks. Yearning shimmered in the depths of her dreamy eyes as their gazes met and held. She was as deeply aroused as he; it radiated from her in powerful waves, seductively luring him.

He pulled her from the table and within seconds, they were pulling each other’s clothes off. Kissing madly, they fell onto the cot in front of the fireplace. The cabin was still cool inside, but the kindling fire scorched Ian’s back as he leaned over Natasha and covered her satiny skin with hot kisses. Holding her in his arms, he turned on his back and anchored her on top of him. Soft moans escaped her throat, encouraging him to continue. She nipped and kissed his taut chest, licking his flat nipples from one hard tip to the other, before her sweet tongue dipped into his navel. Ian almost lurched from the bed when her lips inched across his taut midsection. He clutched her long hair and groaned in sweet agony.

Natasha smoothed her silken hands up and down his thighs. "I love your Highlander legs. So solid and powerful," she whispered huskily, her mouth trailing kisses along his inner thighs. Close to bursting, he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her up, desperate to bury himself inside her.  

A loud knock at the door jolted them apart. Ian’s eyes formed aggressive slits as he motioned for Natasha to be quiet. He pulled his jeans on and retrieved the rifle next to the cot. The loud banging suddenly stopped, replaced by the crunching sound of shoes on gravel and twigs. 

Ian glanced at Natasha and saw her sitting upright with the blankets clutched under her chin, her blue eyes as wide as her shocked mouth. Spurred by an overwhelming need to protect her, Ian catapulted into action.

Ian ran to the window and peered through the slats of the wooden shutters to see where the crackling sound was coming from. He could barely see anything in the darkness, but detected a large body looming beside the window. Suddenly, a loud bang preceded a force that flung the shutters open to reveal a man’s head and torso. As he climbed forward, Ian cracked the butt of the rifle over the guy’s head, knocking him out. The incoming air blew out the candles and Natasha let out a frightened gasp.

“Light the lamp and bring it here,” Ian said as he grabbed the intruder’s shoulders and heaved him inside. The man landed face down on the stone floor.

Wrapped in the blanket, Natasha joined his side and held the lamp up to illuminate his body. Ian turned the man over and snorted. "Well, I'll be damned. It's Alec MacLeod. What in bloody hell was he doing breaking in here?"

Natasha held the lamp to the man's face and saw he was good-looking with dark hair and thick eyebrows. His broad, rugged face was punctuated by a high-bridged nose and a strong jaw. She clutched Ian's arm and whispered loudly. "Who is he?"

“A good friend of mine."

Natasha made a scoffing sound. "Not anymore. You just knocked him out."

Ian put the gun down and lifted the man’s brawny torso up, slapping his face a few times. "Alec, wake up!"

Alec stirred and when he opened his eyes, they gazed directly at Natasha. "Who are you,
a bhean àlainn
?” he murmured with a Scottish burr.

Natasha turned to Ian and whispered, "What did he say?"

Ian rolled his eyes. “He’s showing off. He called you beautiful woman in Gaelic.” Ian shook Alec when he closed his eyes again. "Alec. Wake up!"

Alec scowled at him. "Why’d you have to ruin my dream?"

“It’s no dream. This is Natasha White and she's off-limits,” he added for good measure. Alec looked too charmed by Natasha’s state of undress. 

Alec extended his hand to her. "A pleasure to meet you, Natasha." He attempted to get up, but sank back down, clutching his head as he moaned.

"Stay put for a few minutes," Ian advised.

Alec glowered at Ian. "You didn't have to clobber me like that. I wouldn't steal your girl, bonnie as she is," he said with a rakish smile.

"Why were you breaking in here?" Ian asked, rocking back on his heels.

“The door was bolted from the inside,” Alec retorted. “What are you doing here? Not that I mind you using the place, but I would’ve liked to know before so as not to think it's a burglar."