Sisters of Colford Hall 01 - The Invasion of Falgannon Isle (5 page)

Familiar with a concussion, Desmond knew he didn’t have one. On the other hand, he wouldn’t tell her that. Thanks to a bizarre accident, the Scots had plunked him down in her bed and forced her to play nurse. Lady Fate had smiled on him!

Memories were muddled following the knock on his head, but he recalled kissing B.A. Oh, boy, had he kissed her—as he’d dreamt of doing for longer than he cared to admit. Perhaps kissing B.A. hadn’t been the smartest thing he’d ever done. He’d intended to ingratiate himself, win her over to his plans. On the other hand, in the deepest of night B.A. had played a part of his most sensual fantasies more times than he could count. For too long, she’d haunted him. Being knocked loopy, he’d been unable to resist. The taste of Pepsi had made him want to kiss her forever. And by her stunned reaction, he inferred that though surrounded by men, she wasn’t kissed often enough.

“They all right?” he prompted when she kept staring with that perplexed expression.

She batted her lashes as if coming out of a trance. “Aye, urn… they’re normal. You need to remove your shirt so I can treat the scratches. ‘Tis ruined, I fear.”

“Plenty more where that came from.” Unbuttoning the shirt, he tossed it onto the floor.

Desmond glanced at the ruined Armani shirt. Costing more than his mother had earned in a month, the price would’ve been a godsend on many an occasion when he was growing up. Now he discarded it without thought. He suspected that spoke volumes about his character—and not anything he liked. Pushing down inner demons, he summoned the control that came second nature to him. B.A. jumped to her feet. “If you’d… turn…” Raising his brow, Desmond silently marked her stammer and blush, but did as she asked.

B.A. wanted to kick the man for his drop-dead, sexy grin .

She picked up the cloth to clean his scratches, working in utter silence, though the kitty’s purr rivaled a badly tuned diesel engine as he rubbed against Desmond’s elbow. Toweling the scratches dry, B.A. saturated a cotton ball with tea tree oil. When the pungent fluid touched the raw skin, he jumped.

“Sorry, they’re cat tracks. They need disinfecting.”

“No problem.”

B.A. couldn’t contain her sigh. The man’s back was as gorgeous as his chest. The shoulders were strong, square, and with the right amount of muscular contours. Two intriguing moles lay above the small of the spine, fortunately missed by Dudley in his attack.

Maybe you ought to kiss them and make it better.
Devil B.A.‘s suggestion dripped with enticement.

Having Mershan in her bedroom conjured a surreal
Twilight Zone
quality. Pulse pounding, B.A. disliked the out-of-body sensation, which sucked all the air from the room. Desmond the Panther upset her nerves, awakening that part of her she’d carefully packed away after Evian’s death.

Heaving a sigh, B.A. set aside the cotton ball, desperate to flee the room. She picked up the tray, escape within reach.

He stopped her with four words. “What about my leg?”

Tray rattling in her hands, she squeaked, “Your leg?”

He rotated on his hips and got to his feet, fixing her with those warlock eyes. “Your cat bit me on the leg.”

“He’s
not
my cat.”

She recalled the scatty feline had sunk his claws into Desmond’s leg and bit him. Mesmerized by the piercing eyes and the wonderful expanse of naked chest, her gaze traveled down his body to the tailored black slacks.

“Uh…. oh!” she spluttered, the walls of the oxygen-deprived room closing in on her.

He smiled. And oh, what a smile. It was one of those smiles to turn a woman’s knees weak. Smug, he unbuckled his pants.

She gulped. “Can you not push the pant leg up?”

“It’d be awkward.”

“Not as awkward as you dropping your bloody breeks!”

She strangled when he did precisely that, then kicked out of them. The man was perfect—everywhere. Well, maybe not his toes—men rarely had pretty toes—but she barely paid them attention. The rest of him made up for standard-issue male feet. And wow, nothing typical in the underwear department. No sexless jockey whites women abhor, but black silk. Black silk covering a blatant erection!

No, sir. She won’t catalog the perfection there,
Devil B.A. chortled.

Her vision jerked up, colliding with his feline eyes.

Then it hit her. He had green eyes.
Green
eyes. No wonder her lads had dropped him into her bed.

Och, she was doomed!

Desmond watched the door close on B.A.‘s shapely rear as she beat a hasty retreat. He’d rattled the walls of her safe life on this tiny island in the Hebrides.
Good.
His mouth tugged at the corners. Male dominance surged in his blood, urging him to fling aside the duvet and run B.A. down like prey. He let her flee.

All good things to those who wait.
He’d waited a damn long time. For now, he could go slowly, relish the victory almost within his grasp.

He lay back on the silk sheets, feeling out of place in the pale pink bedroom—yet loving every minute. His masculine presence was a stark contrast to the room. He was alien, dark… the invader. He recalled the Scots calling him a Viking. Well, he didn’t have a drop of Norse blood in him, but the aura of a Viking raider suited. Like a conquering warlord of old, he’d come to this island to claim it, and if he admitted it to himself, he’d come as much to face B.A.

BarbaraAnne Montgomerie Deshaunt was his riddle of the Sphinx. She was unique to his world, a prize he’d denied himself for a very long time. Ever since he’d clawed his way out of grinding poverty and to the pinnacle of his high-powered world, all else he wanted he’d taken and kept until he lost interest.

B.A. was different in a way he could never define. He’d watched her from afar for years. Wanted her. Maybe he’d made a mistake keeping his distance, turning her into a shimmering chimera forever out of reach.

No more. He’d touch her. When he wanted. As often as he wanted.

He’d touched her tonight. His body bucked as he closed his eyes, thinking back on her soft mouth, her taste, how she responded to him.

With her looks and family connections, it made no sense that B.A. buried herself on this isle straight from some quirky Alec Guinness movie. She had money to live anywhere, to go first class without asking the price. Why hide here? From profiles his friend and employee Julian Starkadder had supplied about the Montgomeries over the years, Desmond knew all the details of B.A.‘s life, such as her mother’s death when she was in her teens, and how she was raised in Falgannon by her grandmother, away from her siblings. Dry facts that failed to prepare him for the woman. Could she have cared for Evian Deshaunt so much that his death had affected her so?

Desmond mistrusted the word
love
. It was a means to bind people to your will. Another form of a price tag.

Oddly, he’d feared the real B.A. would somehow be less than the B.A. who lived in his mind, that he’d find disappointment in their confrontation. There’d been no letdown in facing her. In fact, he hadn’t felt this alive… well, for longer than he could recall.

The fat cat hopped up beside him. Not used to four-legged creatures crawling into bed with him, Desmond jerked. The feline purred and flexed his claws on the fluffy duvet. A soft chuckle rattled through Desmond’s body as he considered how Ms. B.A. Montgomerie wouldn’t like that.

Groggily, he petted the puss. “Falgannon’s ice princess better get used to a man mucking up her world.”

B.A. lifted her head and glanced around. Gor, she’d fallen asleep on her laptop—again. Focusing on the keyboard, she checked if she’d drooled on it. Bad enough when you drooled on your pillow. Only, when you ended up sleeping on your computer three nights out of five, the specter of shorting out the system was no joke.

She listened to the house, sensing a difference. Then it hit her.
The invader.
Mershan’s male presence seemed to permeate the air.

Rolling her neck to ease the kink, she fretted. She needed sleep desperately, since she hadn’t slept well these past two weeks.

An edginess crawled under her skin, but she couldn’t put a finger on why. Or more to the point, she didn’t want to face why.

Damn her meddling islanders. There wasn’t anyplace to lie down except the bed upstairs. New sofas and chairs for the cottage were supposed to have been on the ferry, but in all the confusion of Mershan’s arrival she’d forgotten to find out if they’d come.

It was time to check on him. Past time.

Stretched out beside the sleeping man, The Cat Dudley smiled, his purrs so loud she was surprised he didn’t wake Mershan. Setting the tray on the nightstand, she frowned at the moggie. Silly critter watched Desmond with an adoring expression that said,
Can I keep him?

“Stow it, I’m kissing—hmm—kicking his arse off the island first thing come Thursday,” she muttered to the fuzzy pussycat.

B.A.‘s fingers touched the beautiful arm. She was spellbound. It’d been a long time since a man had been in her bed. So many things she’d thought dead within her achingly roared to life. Images flooded her mind, dark imaginings of them together. Of him taking her in the deep of night.

Weakened from the lack of sleep, she fought the heady pull. B.A. wondered in a whisper, “Where the hell is Angel B.A. when I need her?”

The tableau seemed too real: her climbing up on the bed, sliding over him, kissing him, tasting him. Him awakening and rolling her under that gorgeous, hard body. His weight pressing her into the mattress.

Dizzy, she jerked. Damn, she was falling asleep on her feet. She’d best get this done. Her hand gently shook his shoulder. “Mr. Mershan.”

She flinched at how hot he was. His body glistened with a sheen of sweat that alarmed her. It wasn’t normal. His pulse pounded, vibrating his whole body. Were his injuries worse than they’d assumed? Scared that might be the case, she shook him again.

Suddenly, he jackknifed upright. “No!”

B.A. saw his look of horror, empathized with the pain on his face. It took a moment before his eyes focused. Despite concern, her heart kicked into overdrive as she stared. There was a timeless feel to those eyes. Ancient eyes. Eyes of an
auld soul,
Scots called them.

“Are you all right, Mr. Mershan?”

“Just a dream.” He rubbed his forehead, then petted the cat crawling into his lap. Even Dudley was upset for him. “I never fooled with cats before.”

“I’m not entirely sure he’s really a cat.” She poured out some iced lemonade she’d brought and handed him several aspirin. “These should help.”

As he drained the tumbler, his eyes traveled down her body and back to her face. He lifted an eyebrow over her rumpled state. Swallowing her flight instincts, she struggled against losing herself in those pale depths as she checked to see if they appeared normal. No doubt about it, the man unnerved her.

He bent his knee to prop his arm on it, the corner of that sexy mouth twitching up in amusement. “Looking into my eyes again, Miz Montgomerie?”

B.A. hated her reaction to him. Around men, she remained cool and in control. She was aware the males of her isle lovingly called her Ice Goddess. So why did this one slip past her barriers?

“I am. Your heart rate alarms me.”

B.A. reached, putting two fingers to the pulse in his neck. The pounding was strong. With pantherlike reflexes, his hand caught hold of her wrist. Their eyes locked, and in a breathless moment the rhythm of her blood sped up to match the cadence of his heartbeat against her fingers.

His thumb brushed back and forth across her pulse point, the small touch sending a shiver over her skin. An agonizing touch. “Seems
your
heart rate isn’t too stable either, BarbaraAnne.”

Like an eegit, her mind grasped for a distraction. “You wanted a meal when you arrived. Would you like me to bring you something to eat?”

He kept up the slow, sensual stroking of her wrist. His grip was loose. She could’ve pulled back, yet she couldn’t break the invisible bond.

Those thick lashes flicked as he glanced at her body again. “Eat? Maybe later. I’m not hungry… for food.”

Scalded, B.A. jerked her arm back. “Then you should rest.”

“You’ll be around—in case I need something?”

B.A. thought she heard the sound of a trap spring shut. “I need to check your eyes, wake you every couple hours through the night. To be safe.”

“Thank you, it’s kind of you to care for me.” He slid back under the duvet and settled on his side.

Too jittery to move, B.A. watched him for a moment. Finally she turned out the lamp by the bedside and went to the walk-in closet to pull out extra pillows and blankets. Leaving the low-watt light on in the hall so he could find the loo, she halted in the middle of the floor. She longingly eyed the bed—the only one in the house. There wasn’t even a damn sofa to curl up on. Strangely, she didn’t fear he’d take advantage of his being alone with her. She feared herself.

After one last look at the bed, she went to the corner of the room and dropped the bedding. As she spread the covers on the floor, Dudley tippy-toed over. The kitty often curled up with her when she slept. His gentle presence helped keep the loneliness at bay. Tonight on the chilly floor, she’d welcome that warm body.

A vibrating hot water bottle with fur,
she thought. But instead of crawling under the covers with her, Dudley meowed then did an impatient dance on silent feet. “I get the message, kitty. It ain’t happening.”

Shooting her a disgusted look, the cat scampered back onto the bed. He executed another little boogie and meowed as if saying,
See, there’s plenty of room
. When that ploy didn’t work, he started flexing his claws into the duvet, taunting her to come make him stop. Damn cat might as well stick his tongue out and go,
nanabooboo!

“Traitor,” B.A. grumbled. Then she tugged the blanket over her head.

B.A. roused, shivering; still mostly asleep, she searched for her duvet. Fifteen togs, top-of-the-line for winter warmth, she should be toasty under its heavy weight. Then she noticed that scratchy warmth at the back of her throat warning she was taking a chill. Great. Rolling over to find the quilt, her back went into a spasm.