Heart of the Highland Wolf (4 page)

“I'm sorry to hear about your losses. I lost my da and grandparents some years ago. Your grandfather is the pack leader? Or has he stepped down?”

“Neither. We don't…” She cleared her throat. Others didn't understand their pack dynamics. It wasn't really a pack, in truth, but a family. They helped each other, giving advice to each other. Sometimes her father was in charge, sometimes her grandfather, and sometimes even Julia—usually when her father and grandfather were feeling under the weather and she was there to help them get well. It was their way. No jostling to be the alpha leader. Each had his or her own job to do. They were all headstrong alphas so they just lived as a family. Although she had a place of her own. “We are a family.”

“Family.” He stroked his chin a couple of times and then leaned back against the seat. “No pack.” He said the words to himself, making her think he had come to a conclusion about her family but wasn't letting her in on it. “I'm sorry I'm taking up so much room in the backseat,” Ian remarked, stretching and pressing further against her leg, muscled, hard, and hot.

She thought this time he rubbed against her because he was feeling cramped, but the heat still sizzled between them. She should have watched the scenery, gathering notes for her story, but his leg pressed against hers thoroughly distracted her. She assumed the reason he hadn't sat up front where he would have had more leg room was he was as intrigued with her as she was with him. If she'd been perfectly human, he might have taken her to his castle for a little fun, if she'd been willing.

Duncan glanced up at the rearview mirror again. Julia's cheeks were flushed with heat, and she said to Ian, attempting to pretend she wasn't enjoying his touch as much as she was, “It won't be much farther, will it?”

Ian raised his brows almost imperceptibly, a movement as barely noticeable as the smile on his lips. “Not much farther, but with the fog…” His words trailed off, and she swore Duncan took his foot off the gas and slowed down a bit more.

The brothers were in collusion, which warned her that pack ties were a real force to be reckoned with.

When Duncan parked at the cottage nestled in the woods a few minutes later, Julia sighed with relief, feeling an overwhelming need to get away from the man who could uncover her secrets. The cottage was small and cheery with a stone chimney clinging to one outside wall and a burgundy-red door inviting them in, a small window on either side of it covered in lace curtains.

Usually totally independent, Julia intended to leave Ian's car under her own power. She had to hide a smile, though, when the poor man struggled to unfold himself from the cramped backseat of the car. But then Maria stood in front of Julia's door, barricading her in and waiting for Ian to carry Julia inside the cottage.

Traitor.
Julia was certain Maria was encouraging a relationship between Ian and her so that he'd be nicer about the logistics during the filming. As if Ian would agree to do anything other than what he had already approved.

She gave Maria a disgruntled look. Maria gave her a smug smile back.

***

Ian finally got himself out of the damnable backseat of his car, vowing never to ride in it again, even if an enticing female wolf sat back there.

“Do you have the keys to the place?” Ian asked Maria, who was blocking Julia's car door.

“We don't have any.” Maria moved out of his way so Ian could get to the rear car door. “Chad, a man who runs errands for us, is bringing our suitcases and keys by. Since we're late, he might have already been here and left the door unlocked for us.”

“If not, Duncan can manage it,” Ian said, opening the car door for Julia.

Her lips were again compressed, luscious, rosy, annoyed. “I can walk.”

“Aye, lass, but it would take too long.” He gathered her in his arms and was reminded of how soft and warm and delectable the woman was. He wished the distance from the car to the cottage would have afforded a longer walk. Even so, he shortened his normally lengthy stride.

As soon as they were inside, Ian carried Julia to the sofa in the small living area. The room was also furnished with two cushioned chairs wearing green-and-blue plaid, an old oak coffee table, and a cold fireplace against one wall. The furniture was old-world and re-upholstered, a throw blanket resting on top of the sofa, but otherwise the interior of the cottage looked very much the same as when one of his cousins had lived there seventy years earlier.

Before anyone could say or do anything, partly because they all seemed to be looking to him for his say, which was the way he preferred it anyway, he said, “Duncan, take Maria to the market. They have no money, food, or transportation. She can pick up whatever they need.”

“Aye,” Duncan said.

Maria gave Julia a wee smile.

Ian got the impression Maria thought they might have special privileges if Julia played the game right. Julia looked worried, on the other hand. He wondered just what was going on in that pretty head of hers.

Duncan waited for Maria to leave the cottage and then shut the door. Ian's gaze slid over Julia, rumpled, hair still wet in curls, damp trousers still hugging her shapely legs, chill bumps covering her arms that were crossed tightly under her breasts, her nipples puckered against her silk sleeveless top.

She was still watching the door as if she hoped Maria would decide to return and stay. She finally said to Ian, “Thank you for bringing us here and for everything else.”

He gave her a nod. He couldn't say it was his pleasure because he wanted to douse this unfathomable urge to get to know her better now. He kept telling himself he only needed to determine the essentials: who she really was, what was she doing here, and whose picture was in her pocket.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, he did wonder if Basil Sutherland, his archenemy, had anything to do with her being here. Basil was always trying some damnable way to breach Ian's castle walls and create a problem for him or his people. The cur had never tried sending an attractive female
lupus garou
before, but if that was the case, Ian was having a damnable time keeping up his guard.

Breaking loose of the despicable notion that she could be working for his enemy, Ian set about making her more comfortable and hoped to learn more of the truth about her.

He set her on the blanket on the couch. Then he slid a decorative pillow onto the coffee table and, with a gentle touch, slipped off her shoes, lifted her leg, felt her muscle tense, and rested her foot on top of the pillow.

She was watching him, a wolf's wariness reflecting in her eyes. She should be wary. He was certainly wary of her. And damn attracted, which made him doubt his own objectivity.

“An ice pack will help also.” He walked into the small kitchen, found a tray of ice cubes in the freezer, and then wrapped a washcloth around a few. When he returned to the living room, Julia's eyes were closed and she was leaning against the sofa back, her breathing light, her breasts slightly rising with every breath she took.

She was beautiful and vulnerable, even available, and if his gut instincts were correct—
bad news
.

He didn't want to disturb her, but he wanted to make sure she wasn't injured all that badly. He set the bag of ice on the table, slid her trouser leg up, and reached up to pull off her stocking.

She stiffened, and he glanced at her. Her mouth had dropped open, but her eyes were shuttered and she looked sleepy. Ready for bed. Which made him think of how she would look in
his
bed.

Concerned his action had hurt her, he asked, “Are you all right, lass?”

“Yes.” This time the bite was gone from her words, and she sounded more tired than anything else.

“Aye, well, I'll be sure.” He slipped off her mud-spattered, sheer knee-high stocking as she tightened her leg muscle, either bracing for pain or feeling it. Then he set the stocking on the table and considered her ankle, delicate, pale, and fetching.

“Just a little redness, minimal swelling, no discoloration.”

“It's been tingling the whole way here in the car. It's healing and feels just fine.”

He wasn't sure she could be trusted to tell him the truth about her injury. He slipped off her other shoe and stocking and then considered her clothes, thinking how much she needed to remove them and could use his help. “Your trousers and shirt are damp, and you're shivering.”

Her lips lifted a fraction. Even with such a subtle smile, she caused a spark of heat to spiral through him, and he had the most damnable urge to kiss her.

“I should have known you were a wolf,” she said, whisper soft, not bluntly as he'd expected.

Unable to help himself, he chuckled.

She quickly added, “I can manage the rest—later—thank you.”

He saw her as vulnerable all over again. Not calculating. Not devious. But a woman who worried about his intentions. And she should. He was definitely feeling his wolfish side. What was the matter with him anyway? She was with the film crew, and that should have been enough to deter him.

He glanced at the cold fireplace and then crossed the floor to it. “I'll start a fire for you, and that'll warm up the place.” He broke up some kindling, set it on the fireplace grate, and then lit a match.

“You could have just turned on the heater.”

He shrugged. “We use the fireplaces in the castle to warm rooms. Seems less wasteful. The room will take awhile to warm up, no matter what the source of heat. Are you sure I can't help you out of your wet clothes?” He still attempted a serious expression, trying to show he strictly meant business—as in her welfare. Only he was sure it didn't come across that way.

She shook her head.

He put a log on the fire, and once it caught hold, he turned to observe her. Julia's smile was a mixture of sweet sauciness and the devil. Something about her manner appealed, despite the fact he was fighting the feeling.

The fire would warm up the small room nicely after a bit, but she was still shivering, and he thought of a way to heat her right up—in her bedroom, under the covers, naked together, kissing and caressing and hell…

“Could I get you a blanket?”

Duncan would be commenting forever about Ian's acting the nursemaid, if he could see him now. Ian was grateful his younger brother wasn't here.

Julia hesitated to respond. He took that as a yes, even though she was still considering whether to say no or not. But because of the cool cottage, her wet jeans, and the ice pack on her ankle, she couldn't hide that she was cold. “No, it won't be…”

He'd already headed for one of the rooms by the time she finished her sentence.

“…necessary.”

But as soon as he walked in, he knew it wasn't her room. The blue bags sitting beside the bed didn't have her scent on them. Maria's, yes. He left the room, gave Julia a small smile as her rounded eyes watched him, and said, “Looks like the man brought your luggage, but yours must be in the other room.”

Then he entered the other. Two tapestry bags sat next to the bed. He imagined her sleeping naked in the full-sized bed, the window looking out on the woods in the direction of Argent Castle. If not for the forest and the distance, he could see the cottage from one of the castle towers.

He hastily grabbed a mohair wool blanket folded at the foot of the bed and stalked back to the living area. He attempted a smile to reassure her, when he meant to interrogate her further. To put aside his foolish notion of sharing any intimacy with the little wolf.

Gently, he covered her lap with the blanket and then crouched beside her, making an effort to question her from a less intimidating height. He looked into her green eyes flecked with gold, saw the tension and unknown mysteries in them, and asked, “If I questioned Harold Washburn about a Miss Julia Jones who works for him, what would he say?”

***

Julia's traitorous heart was pounding as if she were running for her life while Ian crouched beside her. He
had
to have heard it and guessed she was afraid to tell the truth. Even though he attempted not to overawe her, the problem was that the man was inherently intimidating. From his darkened eyes to his husky voice, and the way his gaze shifted to the pocket of her shirt that contained his picture, she recognized both desire and a need for the truth in his expression.

What could she say? She was Julia Wildthorn, and a quick Internet search would expose her royally. Or she could say she was Julia MacPherson, and he'd know nothing about her—unless he knew something about the MacPhersons who had once inhabited Argent Castle. Either could be a disaster.

She could even say she was Iris North, the name she had given to Guthrie MacNeill when she was trying to learn if Argent Castle was a viable option for the film. Or any number of other names. She was a writer, after all. But he wouldn't believe her if she gave another alias, and he couldn't find further information on her to verify it.

Ian's brows lifted a little when she didn't respond quickly enough. She imagined that his pack and clan members probably never kept him waiting. And she'd already managed to keep him waiting several times.

Trying for nonchalant, she shrugged. “Knowing Harold, he probably won't remember who I am.”

Ian seemed darkly amused. “I see.” His gaze slid down her in a suggestively languorous manner, which had the effect of sending another hot flash spiraling through her already heated body. Sure, on the outside, her skin was chilled, but inside, she was way too aware of him—of his masculine scent and of the way he observed her and touched her and held her gaze. His eyes focused on hers again. “You're muddy and still shivering. I could prepare a hot bath for you.”

In surprise, her lips parted. His eyes focused on her mouth, and she quickly clamped it shut. She had never imagined a Scottish laird would prepare a woman's bath. Or act this interested in a
commoner
—of the American variety.