The Black Sheep and the Princess (3 page)

He'd been the living embodiment of every one of her fevered, youthful dreams. The proverbial black sheep, the bad boy every good girl would die to have look at her, hold her, touch her…take her.

Kate had fantasized about all that and more. In fact, it was the only reason she'd bothered to come anywhere near the lake property every summer. Shelby had always been around, and he'd been just enough of a creep even then that she'd done almost anything to steer clear of him. But the lure of seeing Donovan, dark shaggy hair, rippling belly muscles, piercing gray eyes, working around camp, even if just for a weekend, had been too strong to ignore.

Now, at thirty-four, and thinking herself quite past the age of feverish sexual fantasies, it was a shock to discover just how wrong she actually was.

“You—you read about my camp? Where?” she stuttered, feeling like a complete fool for being so off balance. If he knew the direction of her thoughts, he'd likely laugh himself sick. Though why it mattered what he thought, she had no idea. Old habits, indeed.

“There was a mention in the
Times
.”

“Oh.” Probably another snide little column about the idiotic heiress who'd given up her fortune, she thought with an inward sigh. What did people think, that when someone died, they just gave their inheriting family member a check for their bulk net worth? “So, uh, what made you come all the way up here? You're still in the city, right? A…detective or something?”

She knew exactly what he was because she'd been the one who'd forced her mother into tracking him down when Donny Mac had his heart attack. It was one of the last times Kate had had contact with her mother, until right before her death. But he didn't have to know any of that. “And I'm sorry, too. About your father. I know it's been a very long time since…since it happened. But, still, I regret my mother didn't get word to you in time, back then. It was—”

“Water under a very old bridge.” He appeared relaxed on the surface, but when he'd stepped closer, she could feel the tension emanating from him. It was costing him, the casual nonchalance.

“Some would say the same about you being here,” she said, feeling the same tension coiling inside of her. “Why did you come back, Donovan?”

“Mac,” he said, sounding irritated all of a sudden. “Just—it's Mac.”

“Okay. Mac. Were you in the area on some other business? Why are you camped out on my porch?”

“I read about the problems you were having. In the article.”

That caught her badly off guard. No way could he have known about what happened earlier today. Unless—but no, how on earth could he be part of that? That was all Shelby being typical Shelby.

“With the vandalism, the developers leaning on you,” he went on when she didn't immediately respond. “I thought I might be able to help.”

She frowned. “You came back here, after all these years, because you read in some article that someone was vandalizing the old camp property? Isn't that taking your oath to protect and defend a little far? We're a bit out of your jurisdiction, Detective.”

“I'm no longer with the department. I'm in the private sector now.” He rocked back a little on his heels. It was only then she noticed Bagel, sitting quietly by his feet.

Traitor
, she thought. So much for dependable males of any species.

Donovan—Mac—followed her gaze downward. “Quite the watchdog you got for yourself.”

Kate had to fight to keep from reflexively calling the dog to her side, only half sure he'd listen. She didn't need to look more the fool in front of Donov—Mac—than she already did. “That's Bagel.”

He cocked one eyebrow. “You named your dog after breakfast food?”

“He's part basset, part beagle. It's just a combination of—never mind.” Her cheeks flushed a little, but she'd be damned if she'd apologize for her choice in canine companionship, much less the name she'd christened him with. “And he's not a watchdog, he's—”

“No kidding.” He leaned down and scratched Bagel behind his ears, earning an enthusiastic thumping of tail and a near orgasmic whimper of pleasure. This didn't come as a surprise to Kate, who would have likely whimpered in near orgasmic pleasure if he'd touched her, too.

She struggled to rally her wayward thoughts and blatant physical reaction.
Like you ever could before
. “I still don't understand why you drove all the way up here. Surely not because of some silly article. Were you here on other business?” And did it have anything to do with her camp?

He straightened and looked at her intently again, in that way he had of making her feel as though she was the only one in the universe. His universe. It was both disconcerting…and quite a turn-on.

She really needed to find a way to turn it back off again.

“I've done a little research,” he said, not directly answering her question. “You might want to reconsider the guard dog option. You're being looked at pretty closely. Or your property is.”

Kate couldn't keep up with the barrage of information her tired brain was being asked to process. First him showing up, now him standing there telling her he knew all about her business. It was all simply too much. Eighteen years had passed, yet here Donovan MacLeod stood, in the still rippling flesh, still making her heart pound. Her camp was under siege. She was under siege. By too many memories and too much responsibility. And, to be perfectly honest, more than a passing ripple of fear. She hadn't really let herself think about it too much, focusing on Shelby as the source of her problems. Once she had him dealt with, then she'd force Sheriff Gilby to stop brushing off her concerns and figure out who was playing stupid games on her property.

“I appreciate the concern, but that still doesn't explain why you just popped up out of nowhere to stick your nose in my business.” She wanted—no, needed—him to go away. She desperately needed to sort out her thoughts, and she couldn't do that with him standing less than five feet away, pinning her with that intent gaze of his. Maybe it was better not to confront him so directly. After all, she really didn't know him or what he was capable of, then or now. “Listen,” she went on, trying to sound conciliatory, “I don't mean to sound ungrateful, really, I don't. It's just…it's been a very long day, and I'm not really prepared to deal with this”—
or you
—“at the moment.”

Given her continued, rather visceral reaction to him, even after all these years, perhaps she'd never be ready to deal with him. She'd been so focused on launching her mission here, it had been quite a while since she'd enjoyed the company of…well, anyone, much less a member of the opposite sex. Bagel had pretty much been it in terms of companionship. But even she knew that excuse didn't cover the extent of her reaction. It was as if all the intervening years meant nothing. Everything had changed…and yet nothing had changed. The last time she'd felt this pull toward him, she'd been a girl. Almost two full decades had passed, and she was a woman now…and yet the pull was only that much stronger. The kind of pull only an adult truly understood and appreciated.

“Why don't you leave me the number where you're staying, and maybe we can work something out to talk at a later time, if that's okay.” She was still staring at him, drinking in all she could, while she could. Pathetic, perhaps, but it only cemented her decision to get him out of there as quickly as possible. “I appreciate the offer of help. I just…You caught me off guard.” Understatement of the century. He'd caught her hormones off guard, too. Every tingling, over-sensitized, and apparently vastly sensory-deprived one of them. “And unfortunately I'm not prepared to discuss any of this tonight.”

If he'd been anyone else, she'd have extended her hand for a polite shake, but she was half afraid she didn't have polite in her where he was concerned. And touching him, letting him have any direct contact with her flesh…even all these years later…no. As badly as she'd wanted him to, she'd never let him touch her then. It would be the height of stupidity to think she could handle it any better now.

“I couldn't find any contact information for the camp, and I didn't have any direct information on contacting you,” he said by way of explanation. “Your mother's attorney wouldn't give that out.”

Her eyes widened. “You spoke to Donald?”

He nodded. “I didn't know where else to start. You're in trouble here, Kate. Trust me, no one wanted it to be otherwise more than me. I didn't want to come back here. I never wanted to come back here. But…helping people is what I do. And I thought I could help you. I know I can.”

It just wasn't adding up. No one just dropped everything to race off and play Good Samaritan for someone they hadn't seen in eighteen years. There was only one explanation she could think of that made any sense, though she didn't pretend to understand it. Yet. “Shelby put you up to this, didn't he? Well, I don't know what his game is, or yours, but you can tell him his ploy won't work. We had a deal and, one way or the other, I'm holding him to it. Good night, Mr. MacLeod.” She slapped her thigh. “Come, Bagel.”

Not waiting to see if her fickle dog complied, she went to storm past Mac into the cabin, but he shifted slightly, causing her to stop short and almost lose her balance rather than allow herself to come into even the most incidental contact with him.

“What on God's green earth would make you think I'd ever so much as lift a finger for Shelby Sutherland?”

Even if she hadn't heard the banked fury in his tone, she was close enough now that there was no mistaking the same emotion in his eyes. “A lot of years have passed,” she managed, suddenly feeling a whole lot more than indignation. He was far too close. “People change.”

“Not that much.”

She realized she was shaking, but there was nothing she could do about it. “Then why help me? You wouldn't give me the time of day eighteen years ago. Why go to all this trouble now? Have you changed?”

“I thought maybe you had. I guess I was wrong.”

“Donovan—Mac,” she corrected quickly, automatically, when his eyes flared, “I don't know what's going on here, or why you're really standing on my porch.” She broke off, was forced to swallow, her throat suddenly gone dry and tight. He really was standing far too close. “But I'm going to have to ask you to leave now. We—we'll talk later, sort this out. No more accusations, I'm just—it's been a long day.”

He said nothing, simply held her gaze. Only there was nothing really simple about it. She had no idea if he was even affected by her now, so many years later. Maybe she'd just dreamed that all those smoldering looks he'd sent her way all those summers ago had meant something. Had meant he was as intrigued by her as she'd been by him. For all the opposite reasons. She'd wanted, badly, to walk on the wrong side of the tracks. For a while anyway. With him. She'd thought maybe he'd wanted to get a taste of her life, too. Get a taste of her. But she'd been young and most definitely foolish where he was concerned.

It appeared that with age didn't necessarily come sensibility.

Then he was lifting his hand, and she knew, with absolute clarity, that the one thing she'd ached for, yearned for, fantasized about, all those hot summers ago, was finally about to happen…eighteen years too late. Donovan MacLeod was finally going to put his hands on her. And she wasn't going to be able to let him.

“Good night, Mac.” She stared steadily back at him, or as steadily as she could manage, willing him to step back and allow her entrance to her own damn cabin.

He didn't so much as budge. “It's good seeing you again, Kate. I didn't think it would be.” For the first time, amusement filtered into those eyes of his, and his mouth curved ever so slightly into a ghost of the cocky smile of his youth.

Her legs felt a little loose and wobbly. And her pulse jack-rabbited ahead with an abandon she couldn't control. Dammit, but she wanted him to touch her. Foolish and stupid. He was right. She hadn't changed at all. “Thanks.” She fought a sudden urge to smile. “I think.” It would be dangerous to let her guard down with him. Even for a split second. While she couldn't really imagine him working with Shelby—there had never been any love lost between the two—his sudden appearance on the same day Shelby had pulled a no-show was too much of a coincidence to dismiss it out of hand.

“I'm sorry I startled you,” he said. “I didn't know how else to get in touch.”

“You could have left a note.”

There was that little quirk again, at the corners of his mouth. Better not to look at his mouth. God, she was looking at his mouth.

“I could have done a lot of things.”

Was it her imagination still running wild, or had there been something suggestive in that? She dragged her gaze from his firmly chiseled lips—age had only improved every rugged inch of him—to his eyes. Eyes that had seen too much, more than she'd ever likely know. All that mattered was they probably saw way too much in hers.

“You, uh—” She had to clear her throat. “You staying in town? Maybe we'll grab a bite at Deenie's, talk all this out.”