Heart of the Highland Wolf (5 page)

With a sparkle in his devilishly dark eyes, he clapped his hands on his thighs and nodded. “Then it's decided.”

Before she could object, he headed for the bathroom.

Oh… my… God.
If Maria thought Julia was going to willingly butter him up, her friend had another thing coming. But Julia had never suspected that she wouldn't have to do a thing to get there.

Even so, she knew this was a horrible mistake.

Giving in to circumstances that she had little control over, Julia closed her eyes and envisioned Laird Ian MacNeill—
in the historical romance she would write
—adding rose petals to her bathwater after the servants carried heated water to the wooden tub in the lady's chamber adjoining the laird's. At first, the laird had not been happy about having the lass forced on him due to a contract drawn up by his da and hers to unite the clans. But now, the notion seemed to intrigue him somewhat.

Before she could envision more of the details for her story in her mind's eye, the sofa gave a little shudder, and her eyes popped open. Ian sat next to her on the couch, his arms folded, watching her. The sofa all of a sudden seemed way too small for the two of them as his leg brushed hers in a heated caress.

“A warm bath will do you a world of good, lass. But I wondered what you'll be doing during the filming.”

She loved his brogue. She could soak it up all day long as she listened to the way he rolled his
r
's and twisted his tongue around in ways she couldn't even imagine, her gaze focused on his sensuous mouth all the while.

He touched a piece of her hair tickling her cheek and moved it behind her ear. “Lass?”

“You asked?”

He chuckled. “Either you're too tired to think straight, having been through too much in the last several hours, or…” He smiled, and the intimation was that she was too wrapped up in him to think clearly. “Water should be ready.” He rose from the sofa, and without waiting for her to say she could walk, he scooped her up and headed for the bathroom.

She didn't need blankets or hot baths or anything of the sort to heat her up. His body did the trick—his hot, hard body pressing against hers, his arm securely around her waist, his hand resting beneath her breast, his other arm cupped under her legs. She was feeling incredibly warm.

“It's jet lag,” she finally said, looking up at him, her head tilted back, her hair tumbling backward. “You're right. I'm exhausted, and I'm not thinking clearly.” It had nothing to do with Ian being an incredibly hunky Highlander. Or that she was imagining the virile warrior wearing a kilt and a sword as he carried her into the bathroom instead of the wet clinging trousers that showed just how hot and sexy and intrigued he was with her.

He hesitated to set her down on the floor or the edge of the bathtub, staring into her eyes as if she had mesmerized him and momentarily made him forget his mission. But then he did the unexpected and set her on the marble sink countertop. She thought he meant to offer to help her further with undressing and intended to quickly decline his generous offer. Instead, he leaned his face down to meet hers and kissed her! Full on the mouth with a sensuous, hot-blooded kiss that would have knocked her stockings off if she'd still been wearing them.

She didn't even object or pull away like she should have done. What would the Scotsman think of American women if she didn't? But she couldn't, not when his lips were caressing hers in such a sexually charged way, warm and soft and needy and in control.
Very
much in control. She loved the feel of his mouth on hers, the desire sparking between them, the heat that chased away the chill.

Enjoying the feel of his masculine lips on hers, she wanted more. She wrapped her hands around his neck and parted her lips just enough to give a hint that she wanted him to deepen the kiss, but not too much to make it seem she was desperate for more.
Even if she was.

His mouth smiled against hers as his eyes grew smokier with desire. And then he obliged. His hands shifted to her hair, stroking and grasping handfuls as he poked his tongue between her lips, drew her body closer to his, and then pressed deeply into her mouth with his tongue.

She gave as good as she got, shifting her hands from around his neck to his hips and pulling him in even closer, settling him against the heat between her legs. Felt his rigid erection against her. Rolled her tongue around his in a lover's intimate dance.

But he suddenly went very still and then groaned, pulling his mouth from hers. He wanted more. She could tell from the way his body was still pressed against hers, the way he was fighting with himself to let go, and damn if she didn't want him to keep kissing her. A wolf had never kissed her before, and she wondered if it was just Ian or if all wolves were this hot.

He gazed into her eyes, his own filled with lust, his body hard and ready for more, but he cleared his throat and said, “Welcome to Scotland, lass.”

That's when she heard the car doors slam outside. He must have heard his brother and Maria drive up while she'd been concentrating too much on the kiss and everything else.

Then he moved her to the edge of the bathtub and said, “I'll leave you to your bath, unless you need any further help.” He smiled and gave her the sexiest wink that a man had ever given her, and in that instant, heat suffused every pore all over again.

Before he moved away from her, she heard Duncan speaking loudly at the front door, alerting Ian, she figured, that he and Maria had returned in case Ian was too busy to hear them. Duncan probably didn't wish to incur Ian's wrath in the event the laird wasn't through with his “business” with Julia.

Ian shut the bathroom door as the front door opened.

A moment of silence followed, and Julia could imagine Duncan and Maria quickly drawing their own conclusions as to what had occurred between Ian and her in the bathroom.

Maria finally broke the silence. “Thanks so much for helping us out. We'll repay you as soon as we can get some—”

“No need,” Ian said, dismissing her comment. “We'll be expecting you and your staff later.” He was officious and curt, to the point, and then the front door shut, leaving Julia and Maria alone.

Julia wondered then if he felt he'd made a terrible mistake in kissing her, like she was feeling. Not that she didn't like it or hadn't wanted it to last a whole hell of a lot longer, but what had she been thinking? This was not the way to conduct her covert missions.

She rose gingerly from the edge of the tub, tested her foot on the tile floor, which felt fine, and then hurried to strip and plunge into the bath for a quick cleanup.

“Are you all right in there?” Maria asked, sounding more than curious.

“Just washing some of the mud off. Be out in a second so you can get cleaned up for your meeting.”

Maria didn't budge from outside the door.

“Nothing happened,” Julia assured her. Then she frowned. “Nothing happened between you and Duncan, did it?”

***

“Did you think either of the women was the same as the wolf we smelled near the car accident?” Duncan asked Ian as he drove them the two kilometers to Argent Castle, although the trek through the woods was closer to a kilometer.

“
You
smelled a wolf,” Ian corrected. “I couldn't catch the scent of a wolf at all, not with the smoke from the burning vehicle clouding my senses. After that, the rain washed away any scent of wolf.”

“You didn't know that they were wolves when you saw them in the pub?”

Ian shook his head. “You know how pungent Scott's onion-and-garlic burgers are. The women weren't close enough for me to smell them.”

Duncan's brows furrowed as he glanced at Ian. “You didn't join the women at their table?”

“They appeared afraid of me.”

Duncan grunted. “Whatever for? We were trying to help them.”

“We were chasing them through the woods. They didn't believe we were there to help them. Besides, they work for Sunset Productions. No matter whatever else they are, they're bad news.” Although, Ian couldn't quash the urge to get to know the redhead better. After kissing her and the way she'd responded, he had an even greater desire to do so.

“That's why we took them to the cottage?” Duncan asked with a lifted brow. “Why we got them food and you drew a bath for Julia?”

“We were on our way back to Argent,” Ian reminded him. “Besides, MacNamara hadn't finished his business at the pub. And the women needed food.”

Duncan gave Ian a critical look. “Admit it, Ian. You drank your whisky
and
mine so we could catch up to MacNamara and take the women off his hands because you're intrigued with the redheaded lass.”

With no intention of responding to his youngest brother's claim, Ian asked, “Did you think the wolf you smelled was one of these women?”

“I don't believe so. And one of our own people wouldn't have been running as a wolf, or I would have recognized the scent.”

Most likely it wouldn't have been one of Ian's own people anyway, not after he had warned them not to run as wolves until the film crew was gone. If it wasn't the women and it wasn't someone from his own pack, someone else had to be trespassing on his lands again.

Only one wolf or pack came to mind. “Basil Sutherland or one of his men.” The long-running feud between Sutherland's clan and Ian's had been going on for centuries, although the MacNeills hadn't encountered any recent difficulty with the Sutherlands until the previous month at the Celtic festival.

“Aye, that mess with them over the sword-fighting demonstration could have caused real trouble. He's asking for an all-out war, Ian. I keep telling you that.”

“If one of Sutherland's men was trespassing, why now?”

“What if in an effort to get back at us, Sutherland or his men are targeting the women because he knew they were
lupus garous
and with the film crew and that you would take an interest in protecting them?”

Or what if Julia whatever-her-last-name-really-was served as one of Sutherland's spies—a way for him to get one of his people into Ian's castle on some devious mission?

So why did he want to take her back to the castle, lock her in his chambers, and kiss her again, only this time into telling him the truth?

With the jet lag and the car accident, Julia was exhausted. But she also had a mission that wouldn't wait. She washed, carefully climbed out of the bath, again testing her foot on the floor, and found her ankle only bothered her slightly. She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself, too revved up for what she had to do next to lie around the cottage.

“Well, Maria? Anything going on between you and Duncan?” Julia asked again.

Maria didn't answer her, but Julia heard the kitchen sink running.

The running water set her thinking about Ian MacNeill, the bath he'd drawn, and the way he'd challenged her with his hot-blooded gaze, like the devil in a once-white, rain-soaked button-down shirt and muddy khaki trousers. That brought to mind how his wet clothes had stuck to his skin, outlining various muscle groups—legs, chest, arms—and even giving a hint of how well endowed he was. Which, of course she had noticed, taking mental notes for her new Highland story. Forget bare-assed in a kilt. The wet khakis were more than intriguing. Because of the way he'd stared at her clothes, just as revealing as his own, she hadn't felt any guilt in checking out his wares.

And that kiss? She was ready to spill all her secrets and even make some up if he'd just keep kissing her. She was hopeless and would never make it as a secret agent. Unless kissing someone as hot as Ian was part of her cover. But she feared he'd learn the truth about her in short order then. How could she be so dumb? Lusting after the laird of the castle was definitely not in the plans.

Julia headed into the bedroom. Her tapestry floral suitcases sat on a full-sized bed clothed in a forest-green bedspread and next to a light-oak bachelor chest. A matching side table and a brass lamp sat on the other side. The walls were covered in floral flocked paper, and on one of them hung two pictures, one of a waterfall and the other, a tree-lined lake with mountains rising into the sky to meet fluffy, white clouds. Both of which she'd love to see in person.

She pushed aside the green velvetlike drapes on the room's small window and peeked out to see the piney woods. She could almost smell them through the closed window.

Unzipping her suitcase, she thought about how she had nearly stumbled over Ian's mud-caked suede boots when she and Maria had hastily left the pub. The boots had to have been his because they hadn't been there when she and Maria had first entered the pub.

Which brought her back to the way his darkened eyes had admired her. God, he was gorgeous. Even more gorgeous up close, sitting a few tables away from her. Just the hint of a smile on his lips had turned her insides to jelly. She'd forgotten her ankle, the other men in the room, the American waitress, even that Maria was warily watching her and that Ian was not the kind of man who would be interested in her—mainly because she was with the odious film crew.

Yet Julia thought he might, in that moment, have forgotten that she was with the film crew.

Despite how good he looked in rain-soaked clothes, she thought about him wearing a kilt like in the photo. Since she had to transform him into a historical Highland hero, perfect for her book, modern-day trousers wouldn't do.

He had the dark look and the aristocratic air of a titled laird—although the fact he'd left his muddy shoes outside countered his being totally arrogant—and he was in charge. She could see that in the way the other men had greeted him. Something unwritten was being observed. As if they had to watch themselves until he left. Or maybe just until she and Maria had left. She wished she could have been the proverbial fly on the wall and observed his interaction with the men after Maria and she had exited the pub.

She threw on her sleuthing clothes—a pair of olive-green jeans and a matching cashmere sweater—and then sat on her bed and braided her wet hair.

Most telling was the way MacNamara had reacted to Ian. At first, MacNamara had wanted to take her and Maria to their cottage without reservation, even saying no to the other men in a lighthearted way when they all offered with too much exuberance. But the towering Scot had seemed to need Laird Ian MacNeill's permission once he arrived. If only she could watch the way Ian interacted further with others, she'd have half her story written.

But what she hadn't counted on was for Ian to actually come up behind them, scaring the daylights out of her and sweeping her up in his arms to spirit her away to his car and take her and Maria to their cottage. That had her heart tripping.

He had known she was not who she said she was as soon as she'd given that damned fake name. She'd expected him to question her about it as soon as he sent his brother with Maria to get groceries. But he didn't question her further about that, which hadn't alleviated her concern one iota. He was like a wolf with its quarry.

She couldn't believe she'd fallen asleep while Ian had been getting the ice pack for her, either. She figured she'd use it a little longer before Maria left for her meeting And then? Julia would be off looking for secret entrances to the castle.

“Julia
Jones
?” Maria said, standing in her open doorway and startling Julia from her thoughts. “Why in the world would you make up an alias?”

“You know what I write for a living.” Julia sighed, then rose from the bed, moved past Maria, and made her way to the couch.

“I couldn't believe he'd ask if you were mated.”

“He asked about both of us,” Julia reminded her, as she sat down on the sofa, propped her foot on the pillow, and covered her ankle with the melting ice pack.

“Yeah, well he was only interested in whether
you
are mated or not. If you're trying to keep a low profile, it's not working. You've already got the attention of the laird and at least one of his brothers. Really not good. So what exactly happened between you and the laird?”

“Nothing.”

Maria gave a snort of laughter. “Right. You look guilty as hell. And here he goes and draws you a bath? It could work well if you play your cards right. But if you don't…” She paused. “What are you going to do while I'm seeing Harold?” The slight censure in Maria's voice warned Julia that her friend knew she would be up to something—probably something Maria wouldn't approve of.

Before Julia could respond, Maria folded her arms. “You're not going to stay at the cottage and unpack your bags, are you? Despite your ankle being sprained, I know you won't wait for my return. Like you should.”

“My ankle isn't swollen, and resting it made it feel better.” Julia pulled off the ice pack and considered her ankle. “No bruising. If I take it easy, it'll be fine. I want to start writing the details for the book while the castle is still quiet and not filled with the film crew. I won't be here all that long.”

“You have no ulterior motive?”

Feigning innocence, Julia smiled, but her heart did a flip just the same. Julia's own guilty conscience was enough to increase her heart rate at hearing the question. She didn't want Maria to know what she was up to. What if Julia got caught? As it was, if Maria was questioned, she could honestly say she didn't know a thing about Julia's secret mission.

“Now what ulterior motive would that be, other than taking a walk around the castle to research some details for my current work in progress when nobody's about?” Julia asked.

Maria jammed her hands into the pockets of her still damp pants. “Your recommendation that we use Ian MacNeill's castle wasn't because of some more personal interest, was it?”

“Personal interest?” Julia's voice sounded a little too guilty, and she was afraid Maria would recognize that at once. Did she think Julia had some plan to snag Ian MacNeill for a mate? She hadn't even known he was a wolf. “You made it possible for me to get a chance to see the inside of a castle that is never open to the public so I can use it in my story.”

If Maria really knew this had to do with Julia's family history and taking back what belonged to her family, Maria probably would not have agreed to bring her along.

Julia lifted a shoulder. “I researched it first. Then I called a Guthrie MacNeill, who handles the financial ins and outs of the family castle, lands, and businesses, and he was thrilled.”

Thrilled really wasn't the way she'd describe Guthrie's enthusiasm. More guarded, thinking at first she was a nutcase, Julia assumed. And then reservedly interested, as if he had his sword out and was ready to fight if the enemy turned on him.

“Thrilled? He was pretty hard-nosed about how much they wanted, and we went back and forth with him for months. He nearly delayed the production. Guthrie said an Iris North had spoken to him and told him to get in touch with me.” Maria raised a brow at Julia. “I figured he'd say a Julia Wildthorn had spoken to him. It took me aback, until I figured out you'd used an alias.”

“I didn't want them hearing my ‘Julia Wildthorn' name and realizing, if they discovered I was an author, that I might be trying to write about the off-limits parts of their castle, even though in my story the name and location will be masked.” Hoping that would satisfy Maria's curiosity, Julia smiled broadly.

“And now he thinks you're Julia Jones. Or did you tell him the truth while I was with Duncan?”

“No, we didn't discuss it. Wildthorn is my pen name. A red name. It suits my books. Iris North was a made-up name also.”

“I thought Julia Wildthorn was your real name.” Maria sounded surprised.

“Everyone knows me as Julia Wildthorn. I identify with the name. It's really Julia MacPherson. But that was in the past and I never use it, ever. It's just easier that way.”

“MacPherson is a Scottish name,” Maria said, her tone indicating she still thought Julia was being devious about something more. “This has nothing to do with the MacNeills or their castle or anything. No old-time clan feuds, right?”

Julia bit her lip. Omission was one thing. Out-and-out lying, another. “My MacPherson family lived in the castle at one time.”

Maria stared at her goggle-eyed. “Are you
serious
? So they actually
owned
it?”

“Lived there, like guests.” Not really guests, though, Julia didn't think. Not from the way her grandfather sounded so cryptic. Not knowing what the situation really was, she was unable to hide her exasperation. “It's no big deal.”

“You want to write about something that's more historically accurate? About your family having lived there?”

“Well, yes.” In a way Julia did—it added more realism.

She thought Maria was finished with the interrogation, but her friend continued to quiz her as she moved quickly about the place, looking for something. “Are you sure your family hadn't taken over the castle at some point, which I think is incredibly cool, and they truly owned it? At least for a brief time?”

“No, my family didn't own the castle.” As far as Julia knew.

“What if you had some claim to it? We could move in and open the place up for tours.”

Julia gave her an incredulous laugh. “Yeah, right. If my family had owned the place, they would still be running things. And probably would have to put up with a crew filming a movie here like the MacNeills. But no, it's nothing like that.”

In the kitchen, Maria said, “I found the phone.” Maria began speaking but not to her. “Hello, Chad? We're here. You called the police about the car? The car rental company, too? Yes, I'll talk to them tonight. You're an angel. Can you come and get me? Ten minutes? Thanks for bringing the bags by and getting the keys to the place for us. See you in a few.”

Maria hung up the phone and rushed to the bathroom, peeling off her wet, muddy clothes as she went. “Something is in the castle that your family wants you to steal back. What is it, and what is its importance?”

In disbelief, Julia stared at Maria's retreating backside. “How could you have possibly known?”

“Remember the night before we left on this trip when you told me to check movie times on your computer? You were making us chicken rice soup, and you wanted to go see that Scottish time travel.”

Julia had a sinking feeling she'd left something on the computer she shouldn't have. Maria had dropped in earlier than Julia had expected, so she'd forgotten what she'd been doing.

“I remember.”

The shower began running. Maria hollered over the rush of water, “Your email was open to a note from your grandfather. I wouldn't have read it, but the MacNeill name and reference to his castle caught my attention. Your grandfather said he wanted you to retrieve something from within the castle. He didn't say he wanted you to ask the MacNeills for it. So I assumed he wanted you to steal it.”

Julia shook her head and returned to her bedroom to get her socks and boots. “You turned off the computer so I forgot what I'd been doing before you arrived.”

“You told me to turn it off because we were rushed to see the earlier showing of the movie. So what
are
you supposed to retrieve?”

“Thanks for being a friend, Maria, and for not trying to stop me from doing this.” Julia felt sheepish that she hadn't trusted Maria beforehand.

The shower shut off, and Maria exited the bathroom, wearing a blue towel. “Are you kidding? You're the most interesting person I know. If you're not rappelling off a building to see how it's done for one of your books, you're learning to shoot a gun for another. Now it's searching for a hidden treasure in the MacNeill stronghold filled with brawny Scots who will thwart you in any way they can. It'll make for a great story
if
you don't get caught. Maybe even better if you do get caught. So what is it you'll be looking for, exactly?”

“It's a rosewood box engraved with the symbol of a thistle, the Celtic knot, and the name Artur MacPherson. None of my family members were able to return to the castle after they left it in haste, from what my grandfather said. They have tried with various ruses over the years, but the place has been sealed tight with no one allowed in except the MacNeills or their kin or close friends. Before my grandfather dies, he wants me to retrieve the box and return it to the family.”