Chapter Eight
The next morning the cat was gone. By the time Helen showered and left her room, thoughts of her furry bedfellow disappeared, and Simon refilled every corner of her brain.
It was damn unnerving. Men weren’t to be trusted, even a Druid man with a hero complex. A serious sword swinging, damsel in distress saving, follow me I know what I’m doing, hero complex. His disturbing words about being uncertain if she’d vanish out of her comfortable world and find herself thrust into his at any moment, gave her nightmares. Life-size nightmares where Simon didn’t reach her in time, and the two smelly medieval men latched on to her in the overbearing way men did to weak women.
But she wasn
’t a weak woman. Not anymore.
Knowledge gave her control and control gave her power.
They were missing a piece of vital information about how she’d managed to get to the sixteenth century, and Helen was hell-bent on finding out what it was.
In the kitchen, Simon sat with a steaming cup of coffee, his eyes half open. “You look like how I feel,” Helen said as she crossed over to the pot and poured herself some much-needed caffeine.
“Sleep here is difficult.”
“It has to be more comfortable than what you
’re used to.”
“What makes you think that?”
Helen sat across the table from him and sipped her coffee.
“I
’d think without electricity it would be either too hot or too cold. I doubt you have duel-pained windows and insulation.”
He nodded. “You have a point there. Yet each room has its own fireplace for warmth. In the hotter months, we keep the windows open to catch the breeze. It isn
’t as bad as you may think.”
“That
’s what people say who live back east. Cold is cold and hot is hot. No way around it.”
“Aye. You
’re right on that count. But the noise here is suffocating. ’Tis difficult to clear my head.”
Helen narrowed her eyes and noticed the strain setting into his temples, stress she hadn
’t seen the day before. “Mrs. Dawson’s house is quieter than my apartment.”
“It
’s deafening.”
“How can you say that?”
Simon reached over and carefully covered one of her hands with his. “Close your eyes.”
His warm thumb stroked her index finger and sent a swift current up her arm. “Please,” he said.
Helen lowered her eyes lids. “What are we doing?”
“Shh, just listen.”
She didn’t hear anything. Not even a television in another room, or an ambulance screaming outside. As she started to shake her head, Simon held onto her hand tighter.
“Do you hear the refrigerator?”
“Of course, but it isn’t loud.”
“Not loud, but there. The hum and click of it going on and off. I hear the furnace running, the clock in the hall ticking, the coffeemaker percolating, and there is some kind of machine running outside.”
“It’s a lawnmower,” she told him, hearing it now for the first time.
“A dog is barking and an airplane is flying overhead.” His hand squeezed hers again as he added, “Even the mice in the attic are scratching inside the walls.”
“You hear the mice?” Her eyes sprung open.
A strange look of guilt passed over his face. “My point is it
’s noisy. Electricity and technology are noisy.”
Helen removed her hand from under his. “Small price to pay for conveniences if you ask me.”
“Spoken by someone who’s never awakened to quiet mornings where only the sun interrupts their sleep, where alarm clocks are unheard of, and the smoke drifting away from a cook’s fire generates the only pollution in the air. I’ve lived in both worlds, Helen, and this one is loud and suffocating.” His voice sounded full of longing, and his gaze drifted beyond her out the kitchen window.
“We
’ll find a way to get you home,” she assured him.
“We will.”
An hour later, they’d packed the books into boxes and loaded them into the trunk of her car. Mrs. Dawson tried to encourage them to stay longer, but Helen didn’t want to impose. Besides, she needed the use of her computer back at her apartment. Mrs. Dawson’s ancient computer was a dinosaur, and she didn’t have access to the Internet, rendering it useless for their purpose.
After she parked her car in the secured garage, Simon removed two of the boxes to carry, insisting she leave the other one for him to retrieve.
“I can carry the box.”
“But you don
’t have to. I’m here.”
She moved to grab the box anyway. “I
’m used to taking care of myself.”
“You
’ve provided for me ever since I arrived, I need to do something useful.”
Helen knew it was a trick to get his way, but what the hell. She didn
’t feel like lugging the box anyway. “Fine.”
Simon smiled and followed her into the building. She held the door open for him and led him up the stairs. The complex had an elevator, but Helen seldom used it.
“I need to call the hotel in Scotland and tell them to send my stuff back. How am I going to explain my sudden departure?”
“Tell them you had a family emergency.”
Not that she had a family, but the hotel didn’t know that. “And the car I left in the field?”
“You can tell them it broke down.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
If carrying thirty pounds of books up three flights of stairs was tiring, Simon didn
’t say. His muscular arms hardly strained under the weight. His sword was probably heavier, she guessed.
Drawing her eyes away from Simon
’s beefy arms, she opened the door to the third level of the complex, took two steps into the hall, and froze. Philip, her boss, was exiting her apartment.
Simon collided into her back, and Helen quickly turned and pushed him back into the stairwell.
“What is it?”
“Shh!”
What the hell is he doing coming out of my apartment?
How had he gotten in? Her mind raced and her heartbeat skipped. She needed to poke her head through the door to see more but was afraid he’d see her. He knew she was supposed to be out of town, so he wasn’t there for a social call. Not that he’d ever been to her home.
Helen grabbed the boxes from Simon and dropped them to the ground. “Quick, look down the hall.”
Simon stiffened beside her, but did as she asked without question.
“What do you see?”
Simon retreated from the hall. “A man with short brown hair walking the other way.”
Helen pushed past Simon and peeked for herself. Philip slipped around the corner and the chime from the elevator rang.
“What is amiss, lass?”
“That man came from my apartment.”
Simon’s spine straightened, his eyes narrowed.
Helen leaped over the boxes and grasped the handle on the door.
A large hand covered hers and stopped her. “Not this time.” Simon shoved in front of her. “Stay here.”
Fine, he could go in front, but she wasn
’t cowering in a stairwell. Helen walked behind him.
Simon scowled but didn
’t argue when she glared at him with renewed resolve.
At the door to her apartment, he twisted the handle.
Finding it locked, he opened his palm for the key. Luckily, Helen kept a spare at Mrs. Dawson’s home, or she’d be breaking into her own place, covering up whatever damage Philip might have done.
She kept glancing around to make sure Philip didn
’t double back.
The hall was clear.
Simon unlocked the door and stepped inside. She followed, stuck to his back. Her apartment looked like it did before they’d left the previous day. She wasn’t sure what she expected. The thought of Philip ransacking her place for a few bucks would have made her laugh if not for the fact that he had been in her home without her permission. The question was still, why?
For a big man, Simon moved with slow grace as he ducked into every corner of her apartment, making sure they were alone.
“Empty,” he finally said.
She released a breath. “What was he doing here?”
“Who was he?”
“My boss, Philip.”
“The man you work for?”
Helen turned a full circle, searching for anything out of place. “That
’s usually what the title of boss means.”
Simon stepped to the window and peaked through the curtain. “Do you see him?”
“No.”
“He could have parked out back.”
Simon darted around her and out the door. “Where are you going?”
“Your car.”
The books!
Helen followed Simon as far as the stairwell. “He
’ll recognize me.”
“Go back to your apartment and lock the door.”
Nodding, Helen grabbed the heavy boxes and hustled to disappear into the quiet of her home. She dropped the boxes and double keyed the lock.
* * * *
Simon reached the door to the parking garage and swung it open. The hinges squeaked in protest with the force of his arm and the sound echoed in the cavernous parking lot. Glancing side to side, he walked in the direction of Helen’s car.
The man who
’d left her apartment stepped into the garage and scanned the cars.
Simon watched from behind a concrete pole until he noticed the other man walk toward Helen
’s car. Without pause, Simon made his way in the same direction, determined to divert the intruder.
Like anyone trying to escape notice, the man saw Simon and twisted his face away.
Simon kept walking toward the car. The intruder made a show of patting his pockets as if searching for keys, and then turned and walked away.
To make certain he left, Simon followed him.
Outside the parking lot, Simon leaned against the building and waited. Helen’s boss glanced over his shoulder once before jogging across the street to a dark car. He jumped in and drove off.
Satisfied he wasn
’t returning, Simon retrieved the books and returned to Helen’s apartment.
****
“Oh my God, what took you so long? Did you see him? Did he see you?” She spat out questions faster than he could answer them. Helen grabbed for the box and tossed it on the couch as if it were in her way of getting his attention.
“Calm yourself, lass.”
“Calm myself? Calm myself! Are you kidding me? My boss, who knows I’m out of town by the way, just committed a crime by breaking and entering into my home, and you’re asking me to calm myself?”
“
’Tis easier to think with a clear head.”
“Yeah, well, mine ain
’t clear, kilt boy, mine is full of whys, what ifs, and how comes. Not to mention a heavy dose of ‘that sonofabitch’.”
Simon took her hand and led her to the kitchen. “Why don
’t you make some coffee, or tea.”
“You
’re thirsty?”
No, he was trying to calm her down. Giving her a task was the only way he knew to do it.
“Please.”
Helen grunted and swung away. As she stomped around the kitchen preparing coffee, Simon eased his way over to the front door and inspected the lock. There didn
’t seem to be any forced entry. “What is your boss’s name?”
“Philip Lyons.”
Mr. Lyons knew how to pick a lock.
Wonder where he acquired that skill?
“Are you sure he doesn’t have a key?”
“Positive.”
Simon walked around the room, attempting to catch the man’s scent. If Helen knew about Simon’s other skills, he’d have shifted into a wolf and heightened his senses. Glancing her way, he noticed how she shoved the coffee grounds into the maker, agitated. This probably wasn’t the best time to reveal his many talents. He was able to distinguish the smell of the man’s soap, or maybe it was cologne. Either way, the scent didn’t belong to Helen.
“Where are you going?”
“Checking to see if anything looks out of place.”
Helen finished her task all too soon and stepped to his side.
Philip’s scent was stronger in Helen’s room, especially around her dresser drawers. “Do you keep valuables in here?” he asked reaching for the first drawer to pull open.
Helen
’s hand stopped him. “No, just my underwear.”
And from the tug of her hand, she didn
’t want him searching farther. A corner of his mouth lifted, and Helen seemed to forget about the drama of having her boss in her home, long enough to blush.
“You search here. I
’ll look in the bathroom.”
Helen nodded and waited for him to turn his back before pulling the drawer open.
Simon looked around the bathroom. He could smell the other man but couldn’t tell where he lingered.
“I don
’t see anything missing.”
They searched the entire place and found nothing. Why would a man search a woman
’s apartment and take nothing? A sick thought penetrated Simon’s mind. “Is it possible your boss has feelings for you?”
“Feelings? What do you mean?”
“Care for you? Has Philip ever shown interest in you as a woman?”
She opened her mouth to deliver what Simon thought was going to be an instant denial, than snapped it shut. “Eweh, are you thinking that he wants—?”
“He does desire you.”
“No, I mean in a sick way?” She shook her head and her face grew pale. “I
’m good at picking out perverts, and Philip didn’t strike me as one.”
Simon met her troubled gaze. “But he was here when he knew you weren
’t, searching through your things.”
“We don
’t know if he was in my things.”
Yes, Simon did. He could smell him nearly everywhere. “I see this two ways. He was either here for some sort of perversion...”
Helen cringed.
“...or he was searching for something and didn
’t find it. I don’t like either option.”
“I don
’t accept either option,” Helen denied.
“Do you have another?”
She paused, and glanced at the ceiling. “There has to be something we’re missing.”
“How well do you know him?”
“Better than most, I guess. He seems to do okay for himself. Single. Doesn’t date much that I’ve seen.”
“Do you know where he lives?”
Helen nodded. “He had a Christmas party last year.”
Simon stood and nodded toward the door. “Let
’s go.”
“Where?”
“Know your enemy and you will determine what motivates him.”
“Philip isn
’t my enemy,” she denied. Then after a few seconds, the strange stoic smile she’d been wearing fell.
“Today he crossed the line. Today he became your enemy.” Simon grabbed her hand. “C
’mon.”
Chapter Nine
The trip to Philip
’s house was a waste of time. He wasn’t there. She’d racked her brain trying to figure out what he’d been looking for. She didn’t have anything he’d need. The whole thing stunk.
“He thinks you
’re in Scotland?”
“Yeah.” Helen and Simon were sitting in her car across the street from Philip
’s empty house.
“Are you supposed to check in with him while you
’re gone?”
“I told him I would in a few days. Nothing
’s scheduled.”
“Then a call is in order. He might say something in your conversation that enlightens us to his reasons for his deception.”
Could she do that? Talk casually to a man who’d violated her privacy only hours before? “I don’t know.”
Simon shrugged. “Or I could talk with him.” Simon clenched his hands into fists.
“Back off, he-man. Clocking my boss probably won’t give us any answers either.”
“But I like
clocking
my enemies. To tell you the truth, I miss it.”
Helen couldn
’t help but let her eyes wander to his well-formed biceps.
I’ll bet you do.
“I’ll call first. If we run into him breaking in again, I’ll help you pound him. But let’s try this with a little less violence.”
Back in her apartment, Helen used a call blocking number and dialed the office. Lisa, the secretary, answered on the second ring.
“It’s Helen,” she offered as casually as she could. “Is Philip in?”
“Hey, Helen, how
’s Scotland?”
Helen glanced around the walls of her apartment. “Beautiful. You should come sometime.”
“It’s on my bucket list. How about the guys? Any of them wearing kilts?”
Licking her lips, Helen glanced at Simon and remembered the way his legs grasped hold of his horse
’s back and the way his thighs flexed under his plaid. At the time, she hadn’t thought of much other than getting away from the maniacs attacking them, but now with the threat behind them—as in 500 years behind them—it was easy to picture Simon in a kilt. “Yeah.”
“Ohhh, that sounds like an awfully breathy
‘yeah’, Helen. Who is he?”
“Who is who?”
“He? The kilt wearing he?”
Helen shook her head out of the fog and closed her eyes. “No one. Is Philip there or not?”
“Wow, talk about sensitive.”
“Lisa?”
“No, Philip already left. He should be there tomorrow.”
Already left? Tomorrow? “What are you talking about?”
“Philip. He’s on his way to Scotland. Didn’t he tell you?”
None of this made sense. “Must have slipped his mind.”
Lisa paused. “Is he surprising you? Hey, you two aren’t—”
“No!”
Simon’s gaze jolted toward her with the outburst.
“No. Philip and I aren
’t anything.” And because she had nothing to hide with her confusion, Helen added. “I don’t have a clue as to why he’s coming. Did he say anything to you?”
“Nothing more than the usual.”
Deciding there wasn’t any more information to gain, Helen ended the call.
“Philip is en route to Scotland.”
“To join you?”
“We didn
’t discuss him going.”
Simon rubbed the side of his face and the small amount of facial hair he had on his chin and lip. Funny, Helen hadn
’t thought much of the goatee until Simon stroked his fingers over it. “He may think whatever he searched for here is there with you.”
“With me? My camera? My clothes?”
“There must be something.”
Helen ran her hand on the back of her neck and rubbed the ache. Her hand caught on her necklace and she found herself playing with the pendent.
The same necklace worn by the woman in the book.
“Wait.” Her fingertips buzzed and popped with discovery.
“What is it, lass?”
Helen glanced at her chest. She reached behind her neck and attempted to undo the clasp on the necklace. It wouldn
’t give. “Help me with this.”
Simon stepped behind her, his body close enough to hers she could feel the heat off his frame. His breath brushed over the nape of her neck as his fingers played with the chain.
“I don’t see a latch.”
Helen tugged her hair in her hands to give him a better view. “It
’s a screw thingy.”
Simon tugged on the chain.
“Don’t break it.”
“I
’m not. There isn’t a latch.”
Helen reached around her neck and felt around. All she touched was a chain. She wiggled the pendent until she could see the back.
Nothing. It was as if someone placed the necklace around her neck and welded it together.
It suddenly felt like a noose, something that had to come off.
She grasped two ends and pulled.
“You
’ll break it that way.”
“I don
’t care. There was a clasp and now it’s gone.” Helen didn’t like the fear lodged in the back of her throat. She pulled harder. All she gained for her effort as a nicked finger. “Dammit.”
Simon covered her hand with his, stopping her frantic tugging. “What has you so worried, love?”
“This darn necklace.” She tugged again. “It started this whole.” Pull. “Damn.” Tug. “Thing!”
Nothing. It wouldn
’t budge.
Simon grasped her hands in his and held them tight.
Helen tried to pull back, but he didn’t let go. He stepped closer and captured her gaze. His stare dove deep inside her mind until all she noticed was his amazing blue eyes. Thoughts of the necklace faded.
God he was gorgeous. He had this cocky little smirk with a hint of a dimple showing over his right cheek. He screamed control. Even in the most impossible conditions, Simon held a quiet calm Helen never felt, telling her everything was fine.
Well, it wasn’t fine. Far from fine!
He stood so close she could smell the masculine scent of his skin mixed with a musk that drifted with him all the way from the sixteenth century.
It unnerved her. Made her itch in places she didn’t want to.
Somewhere Simon McAllister stopped being a teenage kid and became this kilted hunk of a man who scrambled every nerve in her body and then some.
A man whose fingers grazed over hers and made her loosen her grip on the necklace around her neck.
A man who stepped even farther into her personal space than she
’d thought she wanted.
A man who dropped her hands, spread his own over the nape of her neck, and held her in waiting.
Helen’s heart knocked hard against her ribs, pounded even harder as Simon dipped his head closer and brushed his full, soft lips against hers.
She gasped with the kind of sound born in soap operas and melodramas. She didn
’t mean to, it just happened. With the noise, she moved closer and felt her tingling body melt into his.
The closed mouth kiss only stayed that way for a minute, probably less, and then Helen felt Simon tilt her head even farther back and her lips opened at his command.
Simon was everywhere, instantly. His body, from knees to head, leaned into her. His tongue swam into the cavern of her mouth as if being welcomed home after a long journey. The sweet taste of his lips on hers forced thoughts of necklaces and time travel far, far away.
Helen unclenched her fingers, which had grabbed handfuls of his shirt, and spread them wide over his firm chest. It was then she realized just how hard he was—everywhere.
She stiffened and Simon retreated.
“I
’m sorry.” The words escaped her lips before she could filter them.
“Sorry? Love, you have no reason to be sorry.” Although Simon was no longer kissing her, he hadn
’t stepped out of her arms.
A hot rush of heat fanned over her face. God, what was wrong with her? A desirable man held her in his arms, kissing her in an extremely sensual manner, and she froze and pushed him away. Memories of her last foster dad swam in her head. Simon was nothing like him so why was she so locked up? She opened her mouth to offer an excuse.
I don’t think about you that way.
But she did! Had thought of nothing but him since they’d met.