Dark and Stormy Knight (38 page)

“Oh? And where is Mr. Faol now?”

“In the restaurant, having a heated debate with a rabid pack of politicos.”

She blinked up at him, still reeling from the shock of his sudden appearance. She thought she’d lost her chance and now, here he was, as if by magic. “Why aren’t you with them?”

“Because I’d rather be here.”

“Have a seat,” she said with her most charming smile. “Unless you’re in a rush to get back to your friends.”

Slipping onto the barstool with feline agility, he hailed the bartender—a dark-haired Scot named Robert who, for the past hour, had kept her company and her glass full. “What can I get for you, my lord?”

“A dram of Oban—neat—and another of whatever the lady is having.”

The bartender knew him—not surprising given his station. Callum Lyon was Baron Barrogill, the laird of a nearby castle of the same name. She’d done her homework before coming up here—on the handsome baron and his castle. Judging by his looks at the book signing and his eagerness to reconnect, securing an invitation should be the work of a moment.

Vanessa set her elbows on the bar to steady herself. She’d had a couple of scotches and was feeling a bit tipsier than she’d like.

“What am I drinking, Robert?”

“Macallan’s, miss.”

“Is that expensive?”

“A bit.”

As the barkeep refilled her glass, she beamed at Baron Barrogill. “Can you afford me, do you think?”

“That remains to be seen,” he said with a knickers-warming smile of his own. “But I can certainly cover the cost of the odd posh dram.”

He definitely had the leonine good looks characteristic of his sign. Did he also have the enormous ego, fierce temper, and suffocating possessiveness typical of Leos? Not that it mattered. She’d come to Scotland to investigate rumors of a vampire, not to hunt for a husband. Besides, even if Baron Barrogill did turn out to be her one true love—assuming such a one existed, which she seriously doubted—she was moving to another continent soon to chase a more realistic dream: her career as a paranormal investigator.

According to the accounts she’d read, the Vampire of Barrogill lived in a hidden chamber whose location was disclosed to the first-born son of each generation of Clan Lyon on his sixteenth birthday—the age of legal capacity under Scots Law. The baron, therefore, being almost twice that legal age, had to be privy to the secret. Since he was unlikely to disclose it over a couple of drinks with a stranger, however hard that stranger might work to winkle it out of him, she’d best get inside Castle Barrogill to have a look around for herself. Not that her attraction to the gorgeous Leo wasn’t genuine—a good thing because she drew the line at being a cock tease.

“Do you live near here, my lord?”

The less he thought she knew about him, the better.

“Aye,” he said. “Up at Easter Head.”

Easter Head, she’d learned from her research, was the true northernmost point of mainland Great Britain. It lay a few miles northeast of the village and, on a clear day, allegedly afforded exquisite views of the Orkney archipelago.

The bartender set the baron’s drink down hard enough to spill some.

“He’s the laird of Castle Barrogill, lass,” Robert said, looking dashed.

She feigned an expression of surprise. “You own a castle?”

“Aye,” the baron replied.

Now, how to charm him into inviting her to spend the night?

She batted her eyes at the baron, hoping he’d take it as flirtatious, not that she had something in her eye. “Do you ever take your conquests there?”

He gave her another bone-melting smile. “Why do I get the feeling I’m the conquest in this scenario?”

Uh-oh. Was he onto her? Perhaps she’d better ease up a bit. Being a Leo, he’d want to do the chasing. If she was clever and played to his astrological attributes, she could have him eating out of her hand in no time.

“Do you mind if I ask a question for a change?” He sipped his drink before looking up at her from under long, dark lashes. “This is beginning to feel like an interrogation.”

Swallowing, she gazed deeply into his eyes, which, to her delight, shimmered with the same desire pulsating in her nether regions. “Ask away.”

“What brings you to John o’Groats? And how long are you planning to stay?”

“That’s two questions,” she pointed out, still smiling.

He gave her a roguish look. “Have I not answered more than two of yours?”

Being a terrible liar, she searched her mind for something honest to admit. Her unfortunate experience with reporters had taught her the best way to sell a fib was to candy coat it in facts. After a moment, smile plastered on, she gave him her carefully worded answer. “I came to hear you speak and how long I stay depends.”

“Oh, aye? On what?”

“Your powers of persuasion.”

He took a long pull on his drink and shifted in his seat so his leg rested against hers. Her focus shifted abruptly to the point of contact. As a thrill pulsed through her, she set a hand on his thigh, playing her card. Would he raise the stakes or fold? Under her fingers, his quadriceps was deliciously firm. God, she wanted this man. If not for her other agenda, she’d be happy to spend the rest of the week rolling like thunder between the sheets with the beguiling Baron Barrogill.

He set his hand atop hers. “At the risk of sounding like I’m handing you a line, what sign would you be?”

She tilted her head. “Can’t you guess?”

“Aye,” he said with a grin that lit up his golden eyes. “You’re Aquarian. Which makes you a wide-eyed idealist who can’t bear to be tied down. A butterfly flitting from flower to flower, never settling on any for long. Am I right?”

The word “butterfly” brought the paparazzi to mind with a surge of bitterness.

“I don’t flit, your lordship. But otherwise, you’re spot on.” She bent to sip her drink, despite feeling woozy. “And what about you? I know you’re a Leo, but what’s your ascendant?”

“Also Leo.”

She nearly choked. “Holy crap. You’re a
double
Leo?”

She was starting to slur her words. She’d better lay off the whisky. It wouldn’t do to get drunk and make an ass of herself.

“Aye,” he confirmed, grinning proudly. “And it behooves me to warn you double Leos are ruthless romantics—a dangerous prospect for a dispassionate water bearer.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m dispassionate,” she said, mildly offended. “I’m very passionate about the things I believe in. Safeguarding the environment, for example, and protecting the rights of animals.”

“That’s very noble of you, my lady. But what about men?”

“What about them?”

Even if she wanted a relationship, which she absolutely didn’t, this wasn’t the time. She was moving to New Orleans in two short weeks, which gave her just enough time to find out if the rumored vampire was real before returning to London to close up her flat.

“Surely we’re good for something.”

As the baron sipped his drink, his warm honey gaze roamed over her, leaving pleasurable pins and needles in its wake.

“I can’t think what you mean,” she said, feigning innocence.

Clasping her hand, which still rested on his thigh, he slid it to his and pressed it against his rather sizeable erection.

“Does that help?”

“My lord,” she gasped, simulating shock. “Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”

“Aye, my lady,” he said, leaning closer and lowering his voice. “And that being the case, I think you ought to maybe call me by my Christian name.”

“All right,
Callum
,” she said, squeezing his protuberance for emphasis. “But only if you take me to your castle.”

“That can be arranged,” he said, pulling out his phone.

Yes! She was in.

She kept her hand on his cock as he placed a call and waited for a party to answer. “Duncan, it’s Callum. I’m in the bar with Lady Vanessa, who’d like to come with me to Barrogill tonight. Will you be much longer?”

After a pause in which she presumed Duncan had given his answer, Callum met her gaze and moved the phone away from his mouth. “Have you got a vehicle?”

She nodded. She’d rented a Land Rover at the airport in Wick when she landed earlier in the day.

“Never mind,” he said, returning to the call. “I’ve made alternative arrangements.