Heart of the Highland Wolf (3 page)

“Then the dark-haired woman used my cell phone and called someone named Howard, said they needed to file an accident report and she didn't want to miss the first meeting at Argent Castle.” Sara raised her brows as if saying it was now Ian's turn to fill her in on the rest of the details.

But Ian's thoughts had focused on the scheduled meeting later today with the film producer.

Both women were sipping their water, looking at each other, quiet. They were with the film production crew? His mouth hardening, he said, “And?”

“I got the distinct impression Howard isn't coming to pick them up.” Sarah waved her hand at a couple of the tables filled with men. “
Everyone
offered to drive the women to their cottage, but MacNamara warned them their wives wouldn't like it.”

Ian grunted. That was for sure. “Do you know where they're headed?”

Sarah smiled. She was an American, having traveled here three years ago with a couple of girlfriends on the vacation of a lifetime—as they had called it. Sarah had fallen in love with Scott, married him, and never gone back. She tucked a gold curl behind her ear and raised her brows.

“They're staying at Baird Cottage. They wanted to know how far it was from here.” Then she turned her attention to the women and smiled.

They gave her tense smiles back, as if they were trying to make a show of it, but they still looked apprehensive.

Ian took a short draught of whisky and caught the redhead's eye. She challenged him right back, her gaze intense. Without his consent, his mouth quirked into a bit of a smile. A blush extended from her face all the way down her naked neck as she looked away. His gaze drew lower to her breasts again. Hell, if he'd had a dry shirt, he'd have offered it to her. He noted the other men were looking her way, too. That really irked him.

She glanced at him again. Something about her lowered lashes, the way her gaze fetched his, made him consciously aware of her interest in him, as though she was reconsidering her initial thoughts about him. His smile broadened. But she pulled her gaze away from him almost dismissively. He'd never been interested in a woman who fawned over him. Something about a lass who challenged him appealed so much more.

In this case, he wasn't about to fall into that quagmire. Not as much as he hated the idea of having the film production anywhere on his grounds. In his view, anyone participating in the venture was the enemy. But Ian and his pack desperately needed the money—they were in a financial mess.

The dark-haired woman glanced over her shoulder at Ian, raised her brows, and then spoke softly to the redhead. “He's the one who followed us, Julia.”

Julia's voice also was hushed. “But was he trying to help us, or was he after us?”

Sarah cleared her throat to get Ian's attention and folded her arms. “So, are you going to take them to Baird Cottage, or should MacNamara do it? He's already offered.”

MacNamara had finished his beer and was watching Ian to see what he had to say about it. MacNamara's face was lined with the ages; he fished when he wasn't here drinking. But had he already had more than his fair share of beer? Ian didn't want him to drive the women in this weather if he had. Yet, taking the women in his own car was a last resort. He didn't want the Sunset Productions staff thinking he was easygoing where any of them were concerned.

Ian motioned for MacNamara to join him. The older man rose to his six-four height, smiled at the American women, and lumbered over to Ian's table. His gait was steady.

Ian nodded in Julia's and Maria's direction. “See them safe.”

MacNamara bowed his head slightly and then walked back to the women's table. “Do you want me to take you to Baird Cottage?”

“Yes,” Maria said, nearly jumping from her chair, clearly more than ready.

Julia rose much more slowly, and by the way she grabbed Maria's arm and then limped toward the door, Ian realized she'd hurt her ankle. His gaze slid down her body, curvy in all the right places, the silk top tucked into the clinging slacks showing off a nice arse, and nude stockings, all flecked with mud, but no shoes. He glanced back at the entryway and then noticed the two pairs of mud-coated shoes.

Maria refused to look at Ian, but Julia gave him one last good glower as she passed him. He tilted his head to her in greeting. She narrowed her eyes and then looked away. Had she had word about his dealings with the film staff? They were
not
in his good graces. Not with all the concessions they had wanted from him and not with him having to say no repeatedly when his saying so once was more than enough for anyone he dealt with on a regular basis.

He considered Julia's height and the other woman's, too. They were too petite to be gray
lupus garous
. Were they even wolves? Or had Duncan smelled someone else?

If Julia was a
lupus garou
, he wondered if she was a red, as small as she was. She limped toward the entrance, which bothered him more than he'd like to admit. If he hadn't been trying to maintain his aloofness with the film crew, he would have swept her up in his arms and taken her to
his
car. And given her a tour of his castle and a warm welcome to Scotland, if she'd been so inclined. That was saying she wasn't a wolf. Interest in a
lupus garou
took on a whole different load of problems.

As soon as MacNamara and the American women were outside, the talk amongst the men in the pub began in earnest as they cast amused glances at Ian.

Sarah shook her head. “Didn't figure you to let her get away.” She sounded disappointed and headed back to the bar.

“Thought you were going to take the bonnie lassies out your way,” Scott said, bringing over a basket of potato crisps.

“They're part of the film production crew.”

Scott's eyes widened. He glanced at the door. “If I'd known that, I would have encouraged the Yanks to do business here. Think maybe the redhead is a famous actress? She looked to be Scottish and could play the part in that new film. Could be good for business.”

Ian glanced toward the entryway.
Even worse.
An actress. Ian shook his head, more at himself than at Scott's question. He didn't have a clue who was famous in the movie business. He finished off Duncan's drink, paid Scott, and then rose from the chair. As soon as Duncan brought the car around, Ian planned to follow MacNamara and the women to make sure that they didn't have any more
accidents
on the way to the cottage.

In departure, Ian waved at the men, who all raised their mugs in salute and then began singing again.

Sarah accompanied Ian to the front doors. “I'd watch old MacNamara also. You never know when he might go fishing for something other than salmon or trout.”

Ian knew she was teasing. MacNamara's wife had left him five years ago, and he was content not to have a nagging woman around. No, the man was a happy bachelor.

MacNamara wasn't the one who concerned him. The faint odor of gunpowder that Ian had smelled where the women's car had catapulted off the road still clung to his thoughts, and that's what worried him.

He headed out the door as Duncan drove up and cut the engine. Julia and her friend were limping in the direction of MacNamara's van. Before Duncan could get out of the car, Ian stalked after them. Forget that they were part of the film crew. He had to know—were they
lupus garous,
and what had occurred on the road?

“What happened to having a glass of whisky? And what about the women?” Duncan asked, getting halfway out of the car.

“MacNamara was taking them to Baird Cottage. The women are part of that film production crew.”

“Och.” That one wee word said it all. Duncan had to know that ended any interest in the women,
lupus garous
or not. Then his brows furrowed deeply. “So where are you going in such a hurry, and what the hell happened to my glass of whisky?”

Ian didn't reply but instead pursued the women, feeling as though he was in hunting mode again.

Only this time, he'd have a word with his prey.

“Are the two women wolves then?” Duncan asked Ian, his voice hushed as he hurried to join his brother while they headed for the women, Julia pronouncedly limping and clinging to Maria as they followed MacNamara to his van.

“I don't know.” But Ian intended to find out.

“What
exactly
are we doing now?”

“We're taking them to their cottage.”

The road that led to Argent Castle was a short distance after the turnoff for Baird Cottage, so they wouldn't be going out of their way, but the manner in which Duncan asked the question indicated he believed Ian had some other notion in mind.

An elusive smile curved Duncan's lips. “MacNamara's giving them a lift wouldn't do.”

Ian didn't need his brother's humorous take on the matter. He had to know if the women were
lupus garous
and if one of them or someone else had been running through his pack's area as a wolf. If the wolf had been one of his own people, he'd take him to task. If it had been someone else, he had to know who.

But he couldn't deny that the redhead's actions and looks also had grabbed his attention, and he wasn't ready to let her go. He couldn't quit thinking about how her wet curls had looked as if she'd just taken a shower fully dressed; the way her green eyes had both glowered at him and eaten him up; how she had stiffened her spine, showing off her tantalizingly perky breasts even more; and how her lips framed a mouth meant to soften under a man's kisses. Attempting to shake loose of the image of her lush pink lips pursed at him when she had caught his gaze, he ground his teeth.

Being a human, MacNamara didn't hear Ian and his brother's silent approach, but the redhead must have sensed or heard them. She glanced over her shoulder, eyes widening when she saw Ian and Duncan closing in on them.

“I'll take the lasses to their cottage,” Ian said to MacNamara. Once the words left his mouth, he thought he had sounded a little too insistent.

MacNamara turned and gave him a knowing smile, his face crinkling in amusement. “I'd best return to the pub to finish my business. 'Night, my laird, lassies, Duncan.”

He didn't wait for the ladies' objections—
if
they had intended to voice any. Giving Ian a polite nod, he hurried back to the pub.

The other men would have a good-hearted chuckle when they learned Ian MacNeill had stolen MacNamara's catch for the day.

“Ladies,” Ian said, bowing his head a little and motioned to his car. “I'll take you to Baird Cottage since it's on my way to Argent Castle. I'm Laird MacNeill, and this is my youngest brother, Duncan.”

Both women stood still, not saying a word. Without waiting for either to respond, Ian stalked toward them and, without invitation, swung the redhead up into his arms. She gave a small cry of surprise. The other woman's mouth parted in astonishment.

“Scottish hospitality,” Ian ground out, annoyed with himself for not leaving the women in MacNamara's able care but unwilling to tolerate any protest. In that instant, he smelled Julia's scent—an elusive floral fragrance that couldn't veil what she truly was. The fragrance of exotic flowers enhanced the tantalizing feminine smell of her—appealingly
all wolf
.

She was soft and curvaceous and all delectable woman, and she felt damn good against his body.

He tightened his grip on her almost imperceptibly, like a male would a female, already wanting to keep her—
in a strictly wolfish way
—and not with any thought of whether she'd be the right kind of woman for him or not. He didn't even know if the redhead was mated.
Hell
. He glanced at the other and took a deep breath, smelling the air. Maria was a wolf, too.

Both women must have realized he was a wolf in the same instant, the way they took deep breaths and their eyes widened. He smiled. His expression had to appear as predatory as he felt.

When Ian spun around and headed for the car, Duncan watched him with a darkly amused expression, but he didn't appear in the least bit surprised. Ian hoped his brother hadn't known him better than he knew himself. He had not intended to be doing this.

“Ladies,” Duncan said, accompanying them.

“Sarah, the woman who was waiting tables at Scott's Pub, although she is co-owner and Scott's wife, said she thought you were with the film crew. Actresses?” Ian asked.

Duncan gave them a second look, this time his expression surprised. He wouldn't know a star if he saw one any more than Ian would.

His comment brought a smile to Maria's lips. “Hardly.”

“Doing what then?”

“Assistant director—Maria Baquero. And this is my assistant, Julia—”

“Jones,” Julia hastily said.

The way Maria stared at her and the fact that Julia had interrupted her boss made Ian suspicious. “Are you certain?” he asked Julia, as they reached the back passenger door.

“Why wouldn't I be?” she asked haughtily back.

“Miss Baquero seemed surprised.” He studied Julia, waiting for a comeback.

Maria didn't come to Julia's defense. Which made him suspect Julia's last name wasn't Jones. Did she even work for Maria?

Eyes narrowed, Julia immediately pursed that beautiful mouth of hers and didn't say a word to refute his suspicion.

Duncan stood by the car, waiting to see about the logistics of the situation. Most likely also to see how the scene played out between Ian and Julia.

“Lass?” Ian said, waiting for a response. He wasn't used to being kept waiting, nor was he often lied to, but when she didn't answer, he shook his head. “Do you have some ID?”

“In the rental car,” she said with a heavy sigh.

He thought back to the flames consuming the car. “Convenient.” He deposited Julia in the backseat and said to Maria, “You can ride up front with Duncan and see the scenery.” While Ian enjoyed the scenery in the backseat. The spitfire, more like it.

Duncan cast him an elusive smile, knowing that Ian rarely,
if ever
, sat in the backseat of any vehicle, and then he opened the front passenger door for Maria. She hesitated for a heartbeat and then climbed into the car, whereupon Duncan shut her door for her, and Ian closed Julia's.

“They're wolves,” Duncan said to Ian, as they walked around the back side of his car, his voice low so the women wouldn't hear them.

“And they are with the film crew,” Ian reminded him. He yanked open the car door, then slid inside next to Julia and closed his door.

At once, he knew this was a mistake. The backseat was too small, and he was way too close to the object of his fascination. He felt another tug of desire as soon as he felt the heat and softness of her body when his leg touched hers in the small compact car, smelled her feminine fragrance, and heard her light breathing before the engine roared to life and they were on their way.

With every intention of quashing the interest he had in her, he attempted a distraction and asked, “Where are you from?”

Maria answered, “Los Angeles.”

Duncan smiled in the rearview mirror as he looked back at Ian.

“Have you been involved in making many movies?” Again, Ian asked this of Julia.

And again Maria answered. But Ian didn't listen closely to her response as she listed movie locations, movie titles, and more. She seemed to be the real deal when it came to her job and her role in this current film venture.

He asked Julia, “How badly is your ankle sprained?”

“It's fine,” Julia said quickly, as if she wanted to get the focus off herself.

He didn't believe her. She didn't seem to be the kind of woman who would fake an injury to get attention. Yet he also knew sprains didn't take long to heal, not with being a
lupus garou
. In due course she
would
be fine.

“Did you sustain any injuries, Miss Baquero?” Ian asked.

“Backache, sprained wrist. Nothing that won't go away soon.”

“Do you have anything for pain?” He asked because they had said they'd lost everything in the car.

“We'll be fine.” Then Maria queried about the castle—when it was built and who all had lived there, and Duncan gave her a few agreed-upon details.

Ian didn't listen, as absorbed as he was in everything about Julia, the feel of her thigh pressed against his, all heat and softness, and the scent of her, sweet and feminine and tantalizingly teasing.

“Are you coming to the meeting tonight?” he asked Julia.

Julia's gaze riveted on him, her half-shuttered eyes widening, her heartbeat quickening.

“The meeting that Maria said she was coming to with some of the other film staff,” he further explained when her luscious lips parted, but she didn't say anything.

“Oh, yes, of course,” she belatedly answered.

Maybe she was just so tired that she wasn't registering what he was saying. Or maybe her ankle was hurting too much for her to think straight. So he asked the next thing on his mind. And
that
got a swift reaction. “Are you mated?”

Her jaw dropped. The conversation in the front seat instantly died.

Too many heartbeats passed, and he realized she might be getting the wrong impression from his query. “It's a simple question, lass.” Again, he sounded gruffer than he intended. “I wondered if either of you were mated, and if so, why your mates wouldn't be here with you.”

Her lips thinned a bit, and she crossed her arms at her waist. “No, neither of us is mated. And if we were, we'd still do our jobs. Our mates would not have to chaperone us.”

“If you were
mine
, I wouldn't want you traipsing around a foreign country on your own. Too many
wolves
about.” At the last, he gave her a hint of a smile.

To his way of thinking, the little wolf was fair game.

***

Ian MacNeill was a wolf. A wolf disguised as a Scottish laird. None of the peerage charts had said anything about titled lords having werewolf roots, so unless one were to encounter a
lupus garou
laird in person, it would be impossible to know if he or she was one.

Julia knew she'd get the devil of a lecture from Maria about the name
Jones
. What could she have done? She didn't want Ian to know that she was Julia Wildthorn, romance writer. And not only a romance writer, but one who wrote about werewolves. Although her stories were a mix of werewolf lore and reality, and not strictly based on their own kind. She'd be in trouble if she did that. Still, she did get some flak from
lupus garous
who didn't like that she wrote werewolf romances, period. The majority of werewolves who read her stories loved them, though. She imagined Laird Ian MacNeill would not be one of those.

Never in a million years had she considered that she'd ever meet the laird personally or that he'd be one of her kind, let alone have to give her name to him or anyone else in his clan.

If Ian knew her pen name, he might realize she wasn't here to work on the film but to write her latest story about Argent Castle and Ian and his people. Not that she wouldn't disguise the location and the people's names, but essentially, the story
would be
about the location and his people. She was certain he wouldn't want to encourage that.

What shocked her most was Ian asking if she was mated. Adding that he wondered about both of the women—and only because he thought they shouldn't be here without their mates—was a total crock. The small smile on his brother's lips confirmed that she was right in her assumption.

Maria cast a look over her seat back, her expression one of butter-him-up-or-else. Did Maria think Julia should be super-nice to the Scottish hunk whose leg was pressed indecently against hers—although she had to admit the backseat was incredibly small for his long legs and he had nowhere else to stretch them? That Julia should encourage some kind of intimacy with him just to get on his good side so Maria would have an easier time during the filming of the production? Or maybe to make amends to Maria since Julia had already caused a situation by using a fake name and catching Maria off guard?

Julia sighed, pressed her leg against Ian's a little more, and smiled at him. Her smile was faked, but his wasn't. He seemed more amused than anything. Even so, his eyes darkened fractionally.

And what eyes they were—beautiful rich brown with golden flecks of amber; intuitive, perceptive, way too observant. With the heat on in the car, the silk shell she was wearing had dried, but his gaze slid to it anyway, and she wondered if it was still as revealing as when it had been wet and clinging to her breasts. Then she thought of Ian's photo in her pocket, and she blushed.

Now she wished she'd had the photo in her pants pocket, although with sitting, she probably would have wrinkled it. Even wet, it might be ruined. That would be a disappointment. Using his picture for visual stimulation would help her to write his description as her next hero.

“What of your pack?” Ian asked Julia out of nowhere.

She waited a heartbeat, expecting, hoping that Maria would answer by filling him in on
her
pack—large, with complicated dynamics, just like a real wolf pack often was—so Julia didn't have to talk about her own. But this time Maria said nothing. With Ian running a clan and a pack, Julia imagined he had a large number of people to supervise. She figured he'd think her family insignificant, unworthy of being called a pack.

“It's just my father and grandfather and me,” Julia said, brushing her hands down her wet pants legs in a nervous little gesture.

Ian frowned.

She let out her breath. This is why she hated mentioning it to anyone—well, of their wolf kind. “My mother and my paternal grandmother died when I was little. My father and his father never remated. My mother's parents died much earlier on. I had no siblings.”