An Enchanted Spring: Mists of Fate - Book Two (15 page)

That’s what she told herself every time she caught his eyes. And the refrain echoed hollowly in her own mind. And she’d gone back and forth about her ethics almost since the moment she met him.

Never before had she been so tempted by a man. Emma had wasted years on the wrong guy; she’d only dated a couple of people before she met Ben, and that was it. She’d filled out a profile on Celtic Connections, sure—but nothing ever came of it. She had turned down each date they offered her until she set her profile to “inactive.” None of the men made her want to take a chance.

If she were honest with herself, she knew there was something between her and Aidan. She would also admit that she would be a fool not to explore it. But she’d been a fool before, and she once again took stock of her life.

On the run, in a strange man’s home, lusting after her boss.

Oh yeah. Desirable qualities, all.

She heard the shower stop, and drew a deep breath. Perhaps…perhaps she should take a chance. She never took chances, and thus far in her life she’d merely hung on for the ride.

She was finally ready to take the wheel.

If Aidan wanted to stay away from her, he could. But she wasn’t going to stay away unless she received a message from the universe, or heard the words directly from his mouth.

• • •

Aidan rested his head against the tile and let the cool air from the bathroom seep into the shower. His shoulders wouldn’t relax, and his thoughts wouldn’t slow down.

All because of one blonde, blue-eyed publicist who had stirred more feeling in his chest in a few days than all other women in the whole of his life combined.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out. He ran his hands through his hair and inspected himself for damage. The small scrape across his chest barely garnered notice; he’d sustained much worse injuries from much larger blades without complaint.

When he was but a boy of twelve summers, he was out riding his favorite horse, Aengus. He’d fallen, and the beast wouldn’t let him back on. The creature just kept teasing him—Aidan would get close, Aengus would shimmy away, neighing and blowing. The game went on until Aidan came face-to-face with a stranger who thought Aidan was trying to steal his cattle. Aidan had taken a sword to his lower back, and the scar sat just below his waistline.

Talk about stranger danger. His childhood had been one long lesson in staying alive.

He sighed. In his recent adulthood, he had gone soft. He knew it, and a part of him was grateful for it. A small part, to be sure—he often craved the adventure of his youth. Though the world around him was full of marvels, Aidan’s ennui with people grew with each passing year. Most of them were so focused on money and fame they forgot that the true measure of a man’s worth was in his clan, in his connections with his past.

His brother would laugh his arse off if he were ever privy to Aidan’s thoughts.

When they last saw each other, Aidan thrived on battle and vanquishing enemies. Stealing cattle from other clans so his could eat, protecting Nick and Bri with his life, volunteering for any and all missions.

About two years after he arrived in the future, Aidan began to doubt that he might return to his former life, so he sought what adventures he could find. Now his vanquishing took place in the antiquities and real estate markets. It was a lot less bloody and filled his coffers more than any battle ever had…yet it left his soul empty.

Pushing his thoughts aside, he threw open the door and stopped short. Sitting on his bed was the lovely Emma, looking both nervous and bold at the same time.

“Needing something, lass?” he drawled, leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb. When his towel slipped a notch, he didn’t bother to hitch it back up.

She blinked, her gaze moving from the top of his towel up his arms, over his chest, and finally to his eyes. He felt every bit of her stare, as evidenced by the towel hanging even more precariously over his hips.

She held up a first-aid kit and stuttered, “I, um, thought you might need this.”

“And you wanted to deliver it in person?”

“I thought you would dress in the bathroom,” she said lamely.

He did smile then. It wasn’t a kind smile, or even a welcoming one. It was wolfish, and he could tell she knew it. She swallowed, her throat working, and Aidan took a step toward her. She didn’t move, and he raised a brow in challenge.

She raised one back.

Emma Perkins surprised him at every turn, and he’d never felt more alive.

Her gaze zeroed in on his chest, and he just barely refrained from puffing it out to show off a little. The laugh that burst from her lips indicated she’d caught that small flex of his pecs.

“Now that you have me here, ready and willing to be fussed over, what are you going to do about it?” he asked. He advanced toward her slowly, his eyes fixed on hers, which were still fixed on his chest.

“What happened?” she asked, and he glanced down at the red scratch.

“A tiny, insignificant knife. Nothing to worry about,” he assured her. He reached the edge of the bed, and her face was level with his hips. The towel hung low, only staying on by the grace of God.

“A tiny knife?”

Aidan saw the worry in her eyes as she rose, alarmed. He pried the kit from her arms, opened it, and pulled out the antibiotic cream. “Aye.”

“Reilly’s knife?”

He shook his head slowly. “Nay. Not Reilly’s knife.”

Her face lost some of its color, and Aidan handed her the cream silently. A surge of protectiveness crashed over him as he watched the realization dawn on her…the danger was real and he was involved. He knew there wasn’t any point in lying about it.

“Did—was it Ben? Did he try to kill you?” she finally asked.

“He tried
something.
If it was an attempt on my life, it was the weakest one yet.”

“Do you often have attempts on your life?” she breathed, her eyes wide with worry.

“Not anymore,” he murmured. “We’re going to have to leave again, Emmaline. I’m sorry.”

“He told you I’m his, then?” she asked. She unscrewed the cap and squeezed some of the cream onto her fingers. “That he owns me, and that he’s promised to kill me?”

“Something to that effect, aye.”

“Grand,” she replied softly, her brows knitting together in concentration as she gently touched her shaking fingertips to his chest.

Electricity jolted through him at her touch, and his muscles jumped. She pulled her hand back quickly.

“It hurts?”

He shook his head, unable—unwilling—to explain his reaction. She began to smooth the cream over his chest more carefully.

Her feather-light touch drove him to the brink of his restraint.

Emma carefully rubbed it into his skin before capping the tube and holding up her hand. “I need to wipe this off.”

Slowly, giving her time to tell him no, he pulled the towel from around his waist and gently wiped her hand, dragging the soft cotton over the back of her hand, through her fingers, and over her palm.

She shuddered and closed her eyes.

He raised her other hand and kissed the inside of her wrist, inhaling her scent. Fresh. Clean.

His
.

“This is madness,” he said, his voice raw. “Tell me to go to hell, Emmaline.”

“I can’t,” she whispered.

He kissed her palm, then took her mouth in a long, deep kiss that seared him straight to his soul.

She traced his biceps, rubbing her hands over his shoulders, and tangled her fingers into his hair. He groaned into her mouth as she pressed herself against him, her body soft, pliant, and completely at his mercy.

She was soft, willing…and completely vulnerable.

The thought was like a bucket of cold water; he broke the kiss and took in her flushed face, lush lips, and dreamy expression.

“Emma,” he started.

“No,” she said in a low voice.

He felt the stab of disappointment deep and tried to tell himself it was for the best.

“If I only get this one chance,” she said, “this
only
chance to have you, to see what this is between us…I want it.”

His heart thudded heavily against his chest. He saw honesty in her eyes, and he knew he would deny her nothing.

His lips met hers again, and he vowed to make it the best day—and night—of her life.

With what he and Reilly had planned, it might be all they could have.

Emma couldn’t believe it was happening. Aidan MacWilliam, no longer in an almost-too-small white towel, was kissing her like he was a starving man and she was a full-on feast.

All of the deep fear she’d felt a moment ago vanished when his lips moved over hers.

She clung to him tightly, reveling in the feel of his chest pressing against her shirt, dampening it with the water he hadn’t bothered to towel off. His tongue shut off her brain, and her body took over. She was all sensation, his hands leaving a fiery trail wherever they touched. He broke the kiss to lift her shirt over her head, and in that moment, she was more than thankful for the baby-blue lace bra in the suitcase he’d brought for her.

She shivered at the raw hunger in his eyes.

Gently, Aidan laid her on the bed, kissing her lips, neck, ears. Her desire was building to a fever pitch. She trailed her hands down his sides, reaching for him, but he caught her wrist and gently brought it back to his mouth.

“If you touch me, this will be over before it begins,” he said with a grin, tracing the back of her hand with his lips.

“We wouldn’t want that,” Emma breathed as he nibbled the inside of the wrist he held.

She cupped his face, and his green eyes intensified. “Emma, I will make this so good for you.”

“If your kisses are any indication, I’m in for the time of my life.”

“That’s just the start, lass.”

“Promises, promises,” she teased. He arched a brow at her, then traced her breast with his fingertip, effectively cutting off any further conversation as she sucked in a breath. “Oh…”

He kissed her again, smiling against her lips. She couldn’t help but grin back.

“Having fun, Ms. Perkins?” he asked, lazily circling her navel with his fingertip.

“I am,” she replied breathlessly. “Can I ask the same of you, Mr. MacWilliam?”

“So far, so good. But I’ll let you know for sure when I’m finished,” he replied, unsnapping her jeans with a flick of his wrist. He unzipped them, and a slow, sexy smile spread across his face when he saw that her panties matched her bra. “I don’t expect to be finished for a long, long time.”

In one fluid movement, he pulled her jeans off and kissed her belly. Everything south of her navel clenched in anticipation, and she closed her eyes and dropped her head back.

“Laird MacWilliam!” Someone banged on the door, hard.

Emma’s eyes flew open. Aidan ignored whoever was at the door and placed a palm on her stomach, rooting her to the spot. He kissed the inside of her thigh, and a small moan escaped her.

“My laird—they went after O’Rourke as well!”

Aidan’s demeanor changed so fast, Emma was still trying to identify what his expression was when he leaped off the bed and strode to the door. She barely managed to cover herself with the bed comforter when he flung the door open.

Sans towel.

“Explain,” he barked.

Cian didn’t even blink at the nudity. “Colin called. He just arrived here, and is safe but for a scratch on his arm.”

Aidan swore and punched the wall next to the door, his fist making an impressive hole.

Emma pulled the comforter tighter around herself, her fear returning in full force.

Cian leaned in and whispered something, and Aidan nodded grimly. “We leave within the hour. Call Les, get the jet ready. I want to be on Irish soil by tonight.”

Aidan shrugged on a tee shirt. “There’s something you should know about me.”

Emma fumbled with her shirt. It was slightly damp from where Aidan had pressed against her.

“I’m a little…old-fashioned.” He slid the zipper closed on his jeans, and Emma tried really hard not to take a moment to enjoy the way they encased his behind.

“I gathered.”

“When you signed that contract, you signed on for more than just a job.”

Emma paused, her shirt over her face, and thought,
Did I read that contract all the way through?

“It’s not in the document itself,” he added as though he read her thoughts.

She quickly tugged her shirt the rest of the way down. “Maybe you could explain it to me, then.”

• • •

Aidan looked at Emma, wondering how he would explain it to her without making her think him insane.

Brianagh had taken it well when Nioclas explained it to her. Of course, she was actually
in
the Middle Ages at that point, so perhaps she had a better sphere of reference…

He sighed. “I’m not sure that as a modern woman you’ll understand the mentality behind it.”

“Modern woman?” she echoed. “That sounds vaguely patronizing.”

He sat on the edge of the bed. “Another cultural difference, I assure you. But I’m offering you my full protection.”

“Full protection? What’s that mean, exactly?”

He scratched his neck. “Well…I take care of you until you’re safe.”

“What does that entail, though?” she asked, her eyes hardening.

Ah, yes. Independence and trust issues. The lass was stubborn, to be sure, but he found that it didn’t bother him.

The thought gave him pause. He avoided stubborn women like the plague; he had too many of those in his clan to ever want one of his own.

Or so he used to think.

“You need to disappear. No paper trails, no way to link your whereabouts—and I can make that happen.”

She scuttled backward on the bed. “No thanks!”

He didn’t move. “MacDermott won’t stop until you’re six feet underground, Emmaline.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “I know.”

“I can keep you safe. You just have to let me.”

“I can do it on my own,” she whispered. “It’s easy enough to disappear.”

Aidan regarded her for a long moment, weighing his words. Finally, he asked, “How?”

Emma opened her mouth, then paused. “I don’t know yet. But I’ll figure it out.”