A Trap So Tender (3 page)

“And presumably he brought his piece of the cup with him.”

James shrugged. “Can’t say I care one way or the other.”

“You’re terrible. It’s a part of your family history.”

“I keep this pile going. That’s my contribution to the family
history. Maybe I should start playing dice. Losing it would save me a
fortune.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Not really.” He finally looked at her, and again his gray gaze
stole her breath. “Though sometimes I wish I did.”

She thought she saw emotion somewhere behind his stony facade.
How could you not feel a powerful sense of history—even destiny—while standing
in such an ancient and dramatic space? If she could feel it, she knew ancestral
pride must beat somewhere in James Drummond’s cold heart. She could hardly
imagine being heir to such a kingdom even if, by today’s standards, it was
rather remote and unpopulated.

She drew in a long breath and stared about her. “I think it’s
magical.”

His attention focused on her again, its icy blast like a laser.
Did he suddenly suspect her of trying to worm her way into his affections so she
could be mistress of this place? Women must have been trying for decades. She
regretted her cheesy enthusiasm, and managed a casual shrug. “But I can see how
a condo near Orchard Road would be easier to maintain.”

He laughed. “Unquestionably.” His eyes narrowed and she felt
herself under scrutiny again. For a split second his gaze seemed to scan her
body like an unemotional piece of precision equipment, but somehow it left her
nipples tingling, her belly quivering and her knees shaky.

She wheeled around. Maybe if she couldn’t see him he’d have
less power over her. It was infuriating how a simple glance from him sent her
pulse racing. He was her enemy, for crying out loud. Perhaps he brought all his
potential conquests here to astonish them with his family grandeur and made them
swoon into his arms.

“So, where’s the cup?” She walked farther away from him, trying
to sound nonchalant.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Hardly. You know where the nooks and crannies are.” There
didn’t even seem to be any that she could see. Though there were some battered
wooden doors along one wall. “You know, the places where they locked up their
enemies and left them for dead?”

“Oubliettes are more of a French thing. We Scots prefer to slit
their throats in broad daylight then have a party.”

She had to laugh. “A simple folk.”

“Yes. Reporters have accused me of similar behavior in my
business dealings.” Humor glittered in his cool gaze.

She cursed the way her heart fluttered. He’d just admitted that
he was a ruthless bastard! How could she still be attracted to him? She should
be worried about her own sanity. “Do you think they’re right?” She tried to
maintain a steely stare.

“Maybe.” He turned and strode across the room, leaving her
standing there, heart pounding and unspoken words crowding her brain.

You stole my father’s business and left
him penniless and devastated.
She had to keep a cool head until she
figured out how to get it back. She couldn’t let him know that she was on the
side of those who despised him. “I guess that’s just business, huh?”

He wheeled around, and she was surprised to see a half smile on
his face. “It’s a relief to talk to someone who understands.”

She blinked. Okay. She’d opened this trapdoor and fallen in all
by herself. “I haven’t had to slit any throats yet.”

He laughed. “You’re still young.”

“Not really.” How arrogant of him. He was only a few years
older than she. “I have plenty of life experience.”

Laughter danced in his eyes. “Of course you do.”

She wanted to slap him. “I started my first business when I was
twelve.”

“A lemonade stand?”

“Buying old computers and reselling them for scrap.” She lifted
her chin. “Much more profitable than squeezing lemons.” No need to mention she’d
had the lemonade stand, too.

He moved closer to her. Which was unsettling considering that
they had about an acre of space around them. “I started my first business at
eleven.”

“Competitive, aren’t you?” She raised a brow. All the tiny
hairs on her body stood on end, prickling with awareness as he moved even
closer.

“Very. Some have even said it will be my downfall.”

Maybe sooner than you think.
“What
was your first business?”

“I bought wholesale chocolate bars and resold them to the
desperate souls at my boarding school.”

“A captive audience.”

“The best kind.” His shoulders were broad, almost straining
against the elegant cut of his shirt. The great room was cool, but she could
feel her body temperature spiking as he shifted his stance. His gray gaze rested
right on her face, thoughtful, daring her to argue with him.

She straightened her own shoulders and raised herself to her
full height, which unfortunately was a good half a foot less than his. “Is it
hard to find a captive audience these days?”

“Not at all.” He held her gaze for a heartbeat. “Everyone’s
captive in one way or another.”

“Are you?” Had he moved closer? She didn’t see him move his
feet, but he was now so near she could lift her hand and touch him. His male
scent—expensive wool and subtle musk—tickled her senses. Her nipples now
strained against her bra, and she hoped he didn’t notice.

“Absolutely.” His voice was a low growl that took her by
surprise, but not as much as the way he stepped in, lifted her chin deftly with
his fingers and pressed his lips softly to hers.

Electric voltage zapped through her. Her body temperature shot
skyward as his tongue touched hers.
I’m kissing James
Drummond.

She felt the weight of his palms settle on her lower back. Her
breath now came in unsteady gasps, and her hands crept up to his torso and
fisted themselves in his shirt.

This man is a beast.
He chews people up and spits them out. He just confessed as
much!

His low moan in her ear made her desire surge. Her fingers dug
into his hard back. His rough skin created pleasurable friction against her
cheek as he shifted the angle of the kiss and plunged deeper, making her arch
her back and lean into his arms.

Uh-oh.
Instead of fighting him off,
she gripped him tighter and kissed him back with all the strength she
possessed.

His scent was intoxicating. Surprisingly masculine and rugged,
betraying the man hidden beneath the expensive designer clothes. She could feel
the raw passion of his warlike ancestors surging through them both.

Was there magic in this place? If so, it might be the dark and
scary kind. She certainly didn’t feel fully in control of this situation—or even
herself—at this moment.

And there was that family curse to contend with….

James’s strong hand squeezed her buttock, which made her
squirm. Her breasts bumped against his chest, and his other hand rose to skim
her nipple with his thumb. His lips never left hers. His kiss was alternately
fierce and tender, drawing her in and taking her breath away. She’d never been
kissed like this.

He’s your enemy.

This is probably exactly what his ancestors did with their
enemies. The female ones, at least. She was being ravished. Why did it feel so
good?

Her fingers had somehow wandered into his thick hair. She
pressed the length of her body against his, and the thickening of his arousal
made her heart beat faster. James Drummond seemed so cool, so controlled, that
it only heightened her desire to feel him surging within her with heat and
passion.

There was definitely more to this man than met the eye, or was
written about in the columns of
Investor’s Business
Daily.
The way she felt right now, she could easily imagine peeling
off his shirt and pants and making love to him right there on the cold stone
floor of his ancestral castle.

But he pulled back. His hands slid from her waist and his lips
slipped away from hers. An icy chill seemed to replace his touch. She opened her
eyes—how long had they been closed?—and found herself blinking in the cold light
of the empty hall.

James’s eyes were narrowed, his face hard. “I hadn’t intended
for that to happen.” He shoved a hand through his tousled hair. “Yet.”

Three

F
iona smoothed the front of her black
shirtdress. She hadn’t changed since getting off the plane so it was probably
rumpled even before James started roaming his hands over it. She couldn’t
believe she’d let him smooch her before she’d been here one entire day.

The word
yet
said it all. She now
knew he’d fully intended to enjoy her in his bed, but after a suitable preamble
of flirtation. Apparently, he’d grown impatient, and she’d fallen right into his
arms like the fawning girls who no doubt cooed over him on every continent.

“I didn’t intend for that to happen at all.” She tried to look
calm. “In fact, I’m still not sure what did happen.”

“I think they call it kissing.” His narrowed gaze showed only
the coldest glint of humor. “And it’s entirely too early in the day for it,
apart from any other objections.”

Her body still pulsed with arousal. Her fingertips itched to
touch his hard body, and her lips ached for the crush of his mouth. Who was he
to suddenly announce it was a big mistake? “You started it.”

Her childish retort hung in the air for a moment and she wished
she could take it back. It was true, though.

His eyes widened very slightly. “I didn’t notice you fighting
me off.”

“Maybe I was just trying to be a polite guest.” This was
getting sillier every moment.

One side of his arrogant mouth tilted in a wry smile. “Your
manners are impeccable.”

Irritation surged inside her, mingling with the almost painful
desire that had sensitized her whole body. She raised herself to her full, not
very impressive height. “I don’t know about yours.”

He raised a brow. “I have to agree with you.” Then he frowned.
“I’m not sure whether an apology is in order or whether that would be downright
rude under the circumstances.”

She drew in a shaky breath. “Maybe we should just act like it
didn’t happen.”

“I don’t think so.” His gaze drifted lower. Not to anywhere
obvious, like her breasts, but to her collarbone, which felt singed by his hot,
dark gaze, then to her hands, which were now knotted in front of her.

“I’m not good at pretending.”

He laughed. “Me, either. Okay, it happened and damn it, I
enjoyed it.”

She fought a smile that wanted to rip across her mouth. “No
comment.” Her enjoyment was so obvious there was no need to encourage him to
gloat with triumph. “So, the cup. Where were we?”

James glanced around the room, as if wondering where exactly
they were. “I confess I’m not entirely sure. Certainly not where I thought we
would be.”

She laughed. Couldn’t help it. It was probably all the
tension—sexual and otherwise—that had built in the air around them. “Let’s keep
moving forward, shall we? And try to stay focused this time?”

“I like a woman with a good head on her shoulders.”

“I can tell.” She lifted her chin. “What’s through that door?”
She marched forward, determined to have some say in where this was going.
Drifting along, allowing James to lead the way, was obviously dangerous.

“Try the handle.”

She reached out, wondering what could be the worst-possible
scenario for what they’d encounter on the other side. “What if it’s a closet
full of your family skeletons?”

“If one of them is clutching a cup, we’re well on our way.”

“If the Drummonds in New York found the stem, and the ones in
Florida found the part you drink from, there isn’t much cup for skeletal fingers
to wrap around.”

“Are you afraid to open that door?”

“Not at all.” Her hand still clutched the small round handle,
and she forced herself to turn it. With her luck it would be locked anyway. It
swung open suddenly, almost pulling her into the room with it. She let go of the
handle as if it burned. The room was piled high with furniture. Literally, it
was piled almost to the rather low ceiling. Chairs and tables and chests, all
obviously old and made of unpainted dark wood. “I think we found the junk
room.”

“Interesting.” James stepped past her and into the room. “I’ve
never been in here. I don’t think I ever even noticed the door before.” He
looked around at the stacks of furniture that blocked their entrance. “You
certainly are bringing something to this quest.”

“Let’s hope it’s good luck that I’m bringing.”

“I’m not at all sure, but I’ll take my chances.” His
challenging gray gaze met hers.

Her heart kicked violently in response. Partly because a simple
glance from him had that effect on her, and partly because she hadn’t come here
to bring him good luck.

“I bet some of these pieces are quite valuable.”

“Do you know anything about antique furniture?” He rubbed at
the finish of a nearby upside-down chair.

“Nothing at all.”

“Me neither. I guess we’ll just leave it here for the next
generation to rediscover. Though I suppose we should check all the drawers for
cup bottoms.” He tugged on the brass handle of an elaborately carved chest. The
drawer didn’t budge.

“Let me try.” She needed something to do. Her nerves were all
on edge. She grabbed the handle and tugged on it. It came off in her hand,
revealing sharp brass nails. “Oh.”

“Looks like we’ll have to keep you away from the priceless
artifacts.” His eyes sparkled with amusement.

“I’m sure it will be easy to fix.” She looked at the handle in
her hand. The nails made it look like a weapon. “Though maybe we should leave
that to a professional.” What little she did know about furniture told her that
this little carved chest was several hundred years old.

James wrapped his long, strong fingers around the outside of
the drawer and pulled it out as if it were a matchbox. Empty.

“That was an anticlimax.” She heaved a sigh of relief, then
wondered why. Was she worried they’d find this dumb cup base too soon and she’d
have no excuse to stay here?

He pulled out the next drawer. Also empty, and very stained
with something that looked like black ink. “Is that the blood of your ancestors’
enemies, perhaps?”

“Nope. Too dark. There’s a bloodstained floorboard in one of
the upstairs bedrooms that resists all attempts to clean it. It’s where one of
my forebears was murdered by his manservant.”

“Yikes. I guess that’s the family curse in action.”

“No doubt. It’s quite a different color than this, though. Much
richer. Almost like a wood stain.”

“I’ll have to remember that if I need to refinish something
cheaply.” She blew out another breath as he closed the drawer. She turned and
lifted the lid on a nearby piece built like an old steamer trunk, but made of
blackened oak carved with oak leaves. The lid opened easily, and the contents
made her gasp. “This entire chest is filled with cup bases!”

James moved over to where she stood blinking at all the wide
bases with their narrow stems. He let out a loud laugh. “Those are
candlesticks.”

“Oh. Of course they are.” She cursed her stupidity. “I suppose
that’s a perfect example of seeing things the way you want them to be.”

He picked one up and twisted it in the light. Like the others,
it was a dark metal, tarnished to a dull, sheenless finish. “I guess these all
went out of style overnight when they wired the place for electricity. Not that
this wing ever got wired. I suppose they just shoved them all here out of the
way.”

“Funny to think how important these once were.”

“They still are. We lose power quite often here.” He smiled at
her, which made her stomach do an alarming shimmy. “Wait until we get a storm,
you’ll see.”

She fought the urge to shiver. “I’d worry about all the ghosts
coming out to party.”

“I don’t worry about them.” He shoved his hand into the tangle
of candlesticks.

“So there are ghosts?”

“I’d imagine so.” He plucked one out and turned it in the
light. “But as long as they leave me alone I won’t bother them, either.”

She stared. James Drummond was turning out to be quite
different than she’d imagined. “I guess we should go through these and see if
any of them could be a cup base. They are more or less the same shape. How big
is the cup?”

He frowned. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen pictures of it. I
suppose I should call Cousin Katherine and get all the details now that we’re
officially on the prowl for it.”

“I bet she’ll be thrilled.”

“She will. Let’s ask her to send some photos of the other
pieces.”

* * *

Katherine was out. James left a message explaining their
situation and asking her to call.

Exhausted from their long trip, they ate an early dinner of
beautifully prepared mini hens with some sort of fruity sauce and went to their
separate rooms. She locked the door from the inside with the great iron key in
the lock.

Not that James was likely to come looking for her after
midnight, of course, but after what happened that afternoon…

She woke up in the dead of night with no idea what time it was.
She’d fallen asleep like someone plunging into a coma and hadn’t taken the time
to keep her phone handy. The sky must have been overcast, as there was no hint
of a moon. The room was a black hole.

With ghosts probably hanging around in the corners, watching
her.

She pulled the covers up over her shoulders. That kiss had been
crazy. It came out of nowhere and blew her off her feet like a Santa Ana wind.
She had no idea he was that attracted to her. She’d been ogling him, sure, but
she was pretty confident she had her lust under control. She wasn’t usually
given to bouts of groping and fondling strange men she’d just met.

He must have been feeling the same way. She shifted into the
mattress with a swell of satisfaction. So, James Drummond thought she was
hot.

Then she bit her lip. She was here to help her father. James
Drummond’s baser instincts were interesting to her only in so far as they’d help
her get that factory back.

She sat up. There had been times when she’d almost forgotten
about her father and that accursed factory, but now that she was away from
Drummond’s seductive gaze she should focus on what was really important.

Determined to find her phone, she slid her feet gingerly over
the edge of the bed, hoping no spectral hands would grab at her ankles.

Stop being a wuss.
The Persian rug
felt threadbare under her toes, and a floorboard creaked alarmingly when she
leaned her weight on one foot. Heart pounding, she crept across the room to the
chair where she’d left her purse. Groping in the dark, she found her phone and
let out a sigh of relief. She scurried back to the bed and climbed under the
covers, then pulled up her father’s number.

It rang the inevitable four times before he answered with a
gruff, “Hello.”

“Hi, Dad.” She smiled at the sound of the words. She’d longed
all her life to have a relationship with her father. She’d gone almost twelve
years without even seeing him, and she was still angry with her mother for
insisting that it was best to leave him alone.

“Who is it?” He did have an abrasive tone. She could see he
wasn’t a good match for her bubbly, artistic mother.

“It’s Fiona.” Who else could he think it was? He didn’t have
any other children. He was funny. “You won’t believe where I’m calling
from.”

Suddenly she wondered if she should tell him. Would he believe
she’d come all the way to Scotland just to help him out, or would he suspect she
had entirely different motives in climbing into James Drummond’s bed? Or one of
them, at least.

“Where are you, Fifi?”

The term of endearment made her smile. If anyone else called
her that she’d knock the person flat, but every conversation with her dad was a
dream come true. “I’m in Scotland. At James Drummond’s estate.” She held her
breath, waiting to see if he’d explode in a volley of abuse at the man he hated
so much.

But dead silence hung in the air. She heard noise, like
something happening at the other end of the line.

“I’m here to get your factory back, Dad.”

“What? You can’t do that. It’s gone. That bastard stole it.”
His words burst into her ear, so loud she almost dropped the phone.

“He owns it, yes, but he hasn’t done anything with it. As long
as it’s still standing, I can buy it back.”

“He won’t sell it.”

This was true. She’d had a local real estate agent approach him
and met with a firm refusal. But hopefully getting to know him would change
things. “Every item has a price at which it becomes disposable.” Even she had
her price when they finally offered her so much money for Smileworks that she
couldn’t say no. “I’ll convince him.”

“He’s an evil man.”

“Not evil.” She frowned. “Just misguided.” Not unlike her
father. Her mom had told her unflattering stories about him when she was growing
up. Not all at once, but a little at a time. How he never uttered anything but
criticism, worked twenty-three hours of the day and put every penny he earned
back into the business so she had to make meals with rice and broth. Not the
existence a young bride dreams of. Now that Fiona was an adult, she understood
that everything worth achieving required a sacrifice. Her father and mother were
just cut from different cloth: her mom’s soft and flowery and her dad’s crisp
and tailored. She knew she was more like him. “He’s not so bad, really.”

“Why did he invite you? Is he trying to take advantage of
you?”

Yes.
At first she wasn’t sure why
he had invited her. Now she had a better idea. Strangely, it didn’t scare her as
much as it should. “Nothing like that. I’m supposedly here to help him look for
a lost family artifact. We’re searching through rooms of old junk.”

“You be careful around that snake.”

“Don’t worry, I will.” She’d have to put a double lock on her
chastity belt. His hard, serious gaze had a disconcerting effect on her libido.
“I’m trying to get to know him better so I can come up with a good plan. I’m
currently leaning toward telling him I need to buy a building in Singapore as
part of my next business. If he’s as ruthless as they say, he won’t mind selling
as long as he’s screwing me over.”