Midnight's Kiss (3 page)

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry ’bout that. I tend to get involved with my work. I’m Andy Simmons, the site manager.”

“Arran MacCarrick,” he said, and held out his hand.

Andy shook it with a grip that was much stronger than Arran would have guessed. “You arrived earlier than expected. I was just told a few hours ago that you’d be helping out.”

“I was eager to get started,” Arran said with a smile.

“We’re glad to have you. Anyone connected to Ms. Fletcher … er … Mrs. MacKenna, is a friend of ours. Sorry. I’m still getting used to the fact that Saffron is married.”

“Aye. To a verra good friend of mine. Saffron knows how interested I am in the history of my land, and when she told me about the dig, I wasna about to let the opportunity pass.” Arran wondered if he’d layered on the lie a little too thick, but Andy just nodded as if he understood.

“You either love archeology or you don’t.” Andy shoved his glasses higher on his nose and jabbed the pencil behind his ear. “Everyone seems to think it’ll be like
Indiana Jones
.”

Arran just chuckled along with Andy, since he had no idea what Andy was referring to. “Can you point me to Dr. Ronnie Reid? I’d like to get acquainted.”

There was a loud pop followed by static and someone’s disembodied voice yelling Andy’s name. Andy jumped and reached for the walkie-talkie strapped to his waist.

“Dr. Reid is there.” Andy pointed over his shoulder before he clicked the walkie-talkie and began a conversation as he strode away.

Summarily dismissed, Arran let his gaze wander the site. Since he didn’t know what Dr. Reid looked like, he began to look for someone who appeared to be in charge.

His gaze paused when he found himself looking at the nicest bum he’d seen in a long time. The woman wore tight, faded jeans that looked well worn, as if they were her favorite. The denim hugged her slim hips and long legs.

The wind paused, allowing the back of her tan jacket to fall into place, instantly hiding her backside from his view. Arran frowned. He liked what he’d seen. A lot. With one look, his blood was already burning for more than just a glance at her, churning with barely restrained desire.

That mixed with the Druid magic that was pushing the limits of his control only added to his hunger. He got another eyeful of the woman’s backside and smiled in approval. He’d always appreciated a nice body when he saw one, and this woman had a particularly superb figure.

Just before he looked away, the man beside the woman caught his attention. The older white man had a full beard more gray than black. A wide-brimmed, olive-colored hat rested upon his head to shield his eyes from the sun. He was speaking while the woman nodded her head of wheat-colored hair pulled back in a low, loose bun.

And just like that, Arran found his eyes locked on the woman once more. His fingers longed to run down the length of her slender neck before delving into the strands of her hair, pulling her slowly toward him until her lips were parted, begging for his kiss.

He swallowed and adjusted his jeans around his swollen cock. With great self-control, he looked away from the beauty and focused on the older gentleman again until his desire was in check.

Arran knew he’d found Dr. Reid. Without hesitation, he walked to the duo. His curiosity about what the woman looked like caused him to change course so that he came up from her right side instead of from behind her.

His gaze slid over her at his leisure. Her face was a golden bronze from her time outdoors. Her boots were muddied and as well worn as her jeans, proving she didn’t mind getting dirty.

The long-sleeve plaid shirt he glimpsed under her jacket was tucked into her jeans and showed off her full breasts. But it was the gold chain with the trinity knot dangling just above her cleavage that intrigued him.

It wasn’t just any piece of jewelry. It was ancient, and Arran would bet his immortality that she had unearthed it herself on some dig.

Where, he’d like to know.

There was another crackle of magic, and for an instant Arran thought it might have come from the woman.

The magic was
mie
magic, or good magic. The
mies
were the ones who used the magic nature gave them to heal and to help things grow. They were the ones who had counseled the leaders of the clans, the ones who had educated the young.

Had he felt
drough
magic, black magic, he would have sought the source immediately and ended it. Because
droughs
were evil. They gave their souls to Satan in order to use black magic.

The feel of their magic was cloying, sickening—whereas the feel of
mie
magic was calming to a Warrior.

As far as he knew, only Warriors could sense or feel the magic of the Druids. It had saved his brethren more times than he wanted to count.

The woman glanced at him, her hazel eyes barely giving him a second’s notice as she went back to her conversation. But with that quick look, the color of her eyes would be embedded in his memory forever.

Arran slowed his steps. Her heart-shaped face was angled a bit to the left. High cheekbones and a smooth complexion without a hint of makeup gave her an earthy, natural look he found appealing. The only thing that marred her face was a small scar on her chin.

Her full lips were a dusky pink that quickened his blood as he imagined them opening for his kisses and whispering his name. The clear, vibrant hazel eyes were by far her best feature. They were large, and every emotion could be detected in their rich depths.

Arran smiled. It was too bad he didn’t have time to pursue the woman, because he loved a good challenge, and that’s exactly what she’d be.

He gave her bum another look, inwardly smiling at how his hand itched to smooth over such nice curves. Anyone who stirred him as much as she deserved attention. Hours and hours of attention. Perhaps after he found the spell, he could turn his time to her.

A strand of her wheat-colored hair was pulled out of her bun by the ever-present wind and tangled in her long eyelashes. Long, slim fingers reached up and patiently extradited it again and again. Arran would bet his case of Dreagan Scotch hidden in his room that it was a motion she did every day and no longer noticed.

He was upon them now, and he hated that his perusal of the woman had come to an end. Arran wanted to know her name. He wanted to see her smile, hear her laugh, and listen to her scream his name as he brought her to climax.

His balls tightened as he imagined loosing her bun and allowing her hair to fall free as he removed her clothing one piece at a time until she was bare before him and he could feast his eyes upon her beauty.

Being this close to her made his blood run like molten lava in his veins. He craved a touch of her, yearned to hold her. Longed to claim her.

Months with just the two of them. Touching, kissing. Loving. Sheltered and wrapped in their desire.

He reached toward her, the need to touch her overwhelming, crushing. Just before he made contact, Arran dropped his hand, silently cursing himself for allowing his passion to rule him. But damn if he didn’t want to give in and see where it took him.

“Dr. Reid,” Arran said to the older man as he realized he’d been staring at the woman too long.

Except it wasn’t the man who answered, “Yes?”

Arran glanced at the woman to his left and narrowed his eyes. He jerked his gaze back to the man. “Ronnie Reid?”

There was a long-suffering sigh before he heard, “Right here, imbecile,” to his left.

Arran’s eyes slowly turned to the woman. “You?”

“Yes,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Why is everyone so surprised?”

“Maybe because you use ‘Ronnie’ as your name, lass.”

The older man chuckled, but kept quiet when Ronnie sent him a withering glare.

“Listen, I don’t know who you are, but let’s get this straight once and for all. I’m Dr. Veronica Reid, also known as Ronnie.”

“There’s no need to get riled, lass,” Arran said to calm her, but he loved the fire he saw within her. By the way her hazel eyes blazed, he knew he’d said the wrong thing.

“No need, huh?” Ronnie asked, her American-accented voice getting higher the more irritated she became. “How would you like everyone questioning who you were?”

“Ronnie,” the older man said as he tried—and failed—to hide his smile. “Give the poor bloke a break. He can’t know you’ve had a bad day.”

Ronnie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she looked at Arran again, her anger had evaporated. “Forgive me. As Pete so wisely stated, you can’t know about the day I’ve had. I had no right to get riled, as you put it.”

“No harm done. I’m Arran MacCarrick.”

She winced when she heard his name. “Saffron said you were coming. I know first impressions are important, Mr. MacCarrick, but I hope you’ll forget mine.”

Arran had no such plans, but he didn’t tell her that. Besides, he liked what he’d seen. Maybe too much. The fact that she was Dr. Reid definitely put the brakes on any kind of flirting he might have thought of doing, however, his cock be damned.

Flirting might be out, but he was there to know all there was about Ronnie and what she was on the verge of discovering. He had to get close to her.

Yes. Verra close.

How he was going to do that and not give in to the need to pull her against him and taste her delectable pink lips, he had no idea. But he’d have to think, and quickly.

“Doona fash yourself about it, Dr. Reid.”

“Please,” she said as she held out her hand. “Call me Ronnie. Any friend of Saffron’s is a friend of mine.”

Arran took her small, thin hand in his. Something electric passed between them with that one, simple touch. And just like that, the passion erupted out of control, and was directed right at Ronnie.

His body heated, his balls tightened again. All the desire he’d been pushing aside roared to life, urging him, driving him to pull her in his arms and taste her lips. She had the appearance of a calm, collected person, but Arran could see the passion simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to be released.

The slight widening of her eyes let him know she’d felt it, too. He wanted to press her, to make her acknowledge what was between them.

He wanted to see the desire in her eyes, feel her warm flesh beneath his hands. A tremor went through her hand, and Arran found himself tugging her to him. For just a moment she leaned into him. His gaze lowered to her lips. Nothing mattered but sampling her kisses.

She hastily looked away. But not before he saw lust darken her hazel eyes.

Arran bit back his smile at the last minute. As soon as he was alone, he was going to call Saffron and let her know her little jest about keeping secret Ronnie’s identity as a female hadn’t been funny.

He’d wondered why she had intentionally left out what Ronnie looked like. At first he thought Saffron was just preoccupied with the baby, but now he knew the real cause.

Yet, for all the reasons he was irritated with Saffron, Arran was more than pleased with what he saw of Ronnie. He wanted her. Nay,
want
was too weak of a word. He
hungered
for Ronnie, ached to feel her soft body against him.

Her wheat-colored hair and hazel eyes stood out against the dark bronze of her skin. Almond-shaped eyes, pert nose, amazing lips … there wasn’t anything about Ronnie that wasn’t feminine and altogether too alluring.

She was the kind of woman who would look good dressed in a formal gown, or as she was with jeans, shirt, and coat dusted with dirt and mud.

She was the kind of woman Arran liked. The kind he’d never been able to find.

The irony didn’t go unnoticed.

“Call me Arran, please.”

For long moments they simply stared into each other’s eyes. He knew she felt the desire, knew by the way her pulse quickened at her throat that he affected her.

“I’m Pete Thornton.”

Arran reluctantly released Ronnie’s hand and shook Pete’s. It took everything he could not to growl at Pete for interrupting them. Instead, he forced a smile. “How do you factor in this dig?”

Pete looked at Ronnie and they both laughed, but it was Pete who answered. “I was Ronnie’s professor at Stanford. She had a love for archeology I’d never seen before. And her knack for finding things is unparalleled.”

“Is that so?” Arran grew more intrigued about Ronnie Reid the more he discovered about her. There was magic here. Could it be from the magical artifacts lost long ago, the pendant Ronnie wore, or Ronnie herself?

Arran couldn’t wait to find out.

“Enough, Pete,” Ronnie said with a shy smile. “You know sometimes we get lucky in our digs, and sometimes we don’t.”

“Ah, but you’re luckier than most.”

“Come, I’ll show you to your tent,” Ronnie said to Arran.

He wasn’t fooled. She had cut Pete off before he could say more about how she found her artifacts. “Verra intriguing,” he murmured to himself.

With a wave to Pete, Arran followed her as they walked across the area roped off by the government; the rope border allowed them to dig but also kept others out.

Thousands of conversations, shouts, the sound of shovels plunging into the ground, and even the ring of hammers striking rocks filled the air.

As if reading his mind, Ronnie smiled. “No one ever realizes how loud the sites can be.”

“Aye. I wasna expecting this. The noise, nor the sheer amount of people.”

“We could use about a dozen more. So this is your first archeological dig?”

“It is. I willna be a hindrance, though.”

Arran didn’t miss the way she looked him up and down once they reached the set of tents that stood in a semicircle in front of dozens of caravans.

“No, I don’t expect you will. Why my dig, though?”

“It’s my country. I want to see what the past holds.”

She gave a small nod of acceptance. “This is your tent. You’ll be sharing with Pete for a few nights before he returns to the States for business.”

Arran ducked into the tent through the zippered opening. He saw two cots, one on either side of the small tent. It wasn’t optimal, since he’d have to share, but it could have been worse.