Dawns Everlastin' (former title: Dusk Before Dawn) Book 2 (10 page)

"I returned as soon as I
could," Lachlan said calmly. "Suppose you fill me in over some
scotch."

Roan's expression went
deadpan. "Scotch?"

"Aye."

* * *

An icy cold, internal caress
snapped open Laura's eyes. For what seemed a long time, she lay
perfectly still, staring into the darkness. She couldn't fathom
what had awakened her, or why gooseflesh covered her arms, despite
the fact they were tucked beneath several quilts. At first the
house seemed unnaturally quiet and still, but an inner sense warned
her that something was amiss. Somewhere within the walls of this
bizarre mansion, there was physical movement. It was not something
she could hear or see, but she knew without doubt that something
was happening.

Her stomach in knots, she
eased out of the bed so to not awaken her nephews then tiptoed
barefoot in the direction of the door. She groped in the darkness
until she found the doorknob and cautiously stepped into the dim
grayness of the hall.

Two gas wall lamps were all
that provided light. Remaining on tiptoe, she slowly made her way
toward Roan's room, casting fearful looks at the sideboards and
antique tables she passed, as if expecting something hideous to
spring out from them and grab her.

Then a feminine voice
stopped her in her tracks.

"You weigh a ton, you big
ox."

A warble of a laugh
followed. "Tis ma heart-filled joy to have you back, weighin' me
down."

"Cut the blarney," the woman
said on a sigh.

“Blarney is the
Irish!”

Laura lit into a run, but
stopped again when she reached the staircase. Her heart rose into
her throat. A woman's white gown and a pair of man's black boots,
were all that she could see ascending to the third
floor.

"Wait!" she called out, then
was given a jolt when a piteous groan caught her attention. She
looked up to see that the couple was no longer in sight. Another
groan beckoned her from somewhere below, and the thought of Roan in
some kind of distress, lanced her through the heart.

Moving in swift descent, she
stifled a cry at the sight of him sprawled on the floor at the
bottom of the staircase.

"Roan!" she gasped, turning
him onto his back. Her trembling hands framed his ashen face.
"Roan, what happened? Are you hurt...or ill—"

He belched, and she
unwittingly caught a whiff of his breath.

Amid a stomach-churning odor
of eggs was a distinct vapor of whiskey. Her head reeling from the
fumes, she stared down into his face for a long moment.

He moaned again. Laura
smacked him on the chest.

"You're drunk!" Taking him
by the shoulders, she tried in vain to draw him into a sitting
position. "Roan, wake up! You'll catch your death if you stay like
this in this drafty hall! Damn you, Roan—" She slapped him twice on
the cheek. "—wake up!"

Anger heightened the color
in her cheeks as she looked up the staircase. Part of her wanted to
leave him as he was and let him pay the price later, but she
couldn't bring herself to abandon him. However, she was damned if
she was going to sit beside him while he slept off a drinking
spree.

She ran to the kitchen and
returned a minute later with something clutched in one hand.
Kneeling beside him, she took a moment to search his face. A
fluttering sensation swirled around her heart. Never had she met a
man so utterly masculine, and it was more than his rugged face and
muscular build. There was something about him she couldn't quite
put her finger on, something in the way he took charge that
gratified a primitive need in her.

She'd never allowed a man to
try to dominate her in the past. She thought, prior to this
Scotland experience that she'd never allow herself to give up even
a small portion of her independence. So why did she, in her heart
of hearts, gladden whenever he blocked her threats to
leave?

Was it because she had
subconsciously known she was being irrational, or was the actual
reason, she didn't want to leave before getting to know
him?

Uncurling her fingers, she
took a pinch of the dark ground substance, but stared down into his
face for a time longer.

Had she not been in such a
state—or so damned proud!—she would have enjoyed further
exploration of his
preeing.

She focused on his sensuous
lower lip and sighed.

Such a wonderful, beckoning
mouth. She knew in her heart, she would never work up the nerve to
tell him how devastatingly charming was his burr. Part of her
initiating their confrontations was to listen to him, although it
caused her to inwardly ache to hear the enchanting lilts his tongue
created out of the simplest words.

"I've got to purge my system
of you," she said in a solemn, low tone, her gaze drinking in every
detail of his features.

Heaving a throbbing breath,
she sprinkled the black substance beneath his nostrils then clamped
the same hand over his mouth. Anxiety began to work its
strangulating fibers through her conscience when long moments
passed.

Then he sneezed. His hands
clumsily tried to pry hers from his mouth.

Laura scooted back as a
sneezing fit fully snatched him from unconsciousness. Rolling over
and getting onto his hands and knees, he conceded to the paroxysms
until they finally began to wane.

Pain sliced through his head
with each movement. Numbness tingled through his limbs. His stomach
heaved, settled then heaved again before he began to gulp in
draughts of air.

"Are you all
right?"

His head slowly turned and
his bloodshot eyes strained to focus on her.

"Wha' did you do to me?" he
moaned.

"I couldn't revive you," she
replied nervously, scooting back further until her spine met with
the bottom step.

Roan gingerly turned on his
hands and knees to face her. "Wha' did you—" He sneezed again,
groaned, grimaced, and narrowed his eyes on her. "—do to
me?"

She held out a trembling
fist, then uncurled the fingers and exposed what lay in her
palm.

Closing one eye, Roan stared
at the substance. "Pepper? You made me snort
pepper?"

The wounded, incredulous
look in his eyes racked her with guilt. "It worked, didn't it?" she
asked in a small voice.

Crawling to the newel post
and hoisting himself onto his feet, he issued a guttural, "I'm
feelin' a wee wabbit."

Laura sprang to her feet, a
look of horror masking her face. "Are you going to throw
up?"

His eyes narrowed on her as
he strained to steady the tottering of his large frame. "Twould be
fair play." He sneezed and nearly keeled over.

"Don't fall, please!" Laura
pleaded, wrapping an arm about his middle. "The owners have
returned. I'll get them to help—"

"Leave 'em be," he growled,
placing his brow on the rounded post in front of him. "They're
probably makin' love."

Laura's cheeks reddened as
she peered up the staircase.

"They've it comin', lass,"
Roan murmured, looking up as well. "Lannie's okay. No' the devil I
thought him to be."

"The two of you got drunk.
By any chance, did you talk about my predicament?"

As if to move was
excruciating, he placed an arm about her shoulders and stared down
at her upturned face. "Aye, we talked abou' you and the
laddies."

"What did he
say?"

Roan scrinched up his face.
"Can't it wait till the morn?"

Taking a fortifying breath,
she nodded. "All right. I've waited this long."

"Can you help me up the
stairs?"

"I'll do my best," she
replied with an edge of skepticism.

The ascent was slow and
tedious, Roan's legs threatening to buckle beneath him about every
other step. By the time they reached the second floor landing,
Laura was winded and her shoulders ached from the strain of trying
to support him. She led him into the bedroom he'd been using,
through the dark, to the bed, and helped him to sit on the edge of
the mattress.

"I'm going to get you a cold
cloth. Don't move."

A grunt was his
response.

Frustration unnerved her as
she stumbled around the room in search of a bathroom. When it
finally occurred to her that this room did not have a private bath,
she went into the hall and ran to her room. She stopped only long
enough to assure herself the boys were still asleep then, by memory
alone, went into the dark bathroom. Something strewn across the
floor nearly caused her to trip. Ignoring it, she removed a towel
from the rack, and soaked it beneath the tap in the
sink.

Careful of her footfalls
this time, she exited the bathroom.

After closing the bedroom
door behind her, she ran back to Roan's room, saying as she passed
the threshold, "Good, you have a light on— Where are
you?"

Panic settled in her brain
as she ran to the far side of the large, decorative oak bed. Her
breaths roared in her ears when she found him not to be on the
floor as she'd thought. Trying to reason where he could have gone,
she cast a wild look about the spacious room.

The towel in her hand
dripped on her bare feet, drawing her attention. Feeling
lightheaded, she pressed the cold wetness to her face and held it
there for a time.

"Somethin' crawled inside ma
brain and died," said a guttural voice.

Laura looked in the
direction of the door. An instantaneous stupor wrapped about her at
the sight of Roan staggering into the room, an index finger
inserted into his mouth, rubbing a blue substance on his teeth and
tongue. Perhaps at another time she would have thought the scene
comical, but his nakedness shocked her. He staggeringly padded
across the room. Lifting a hand over her pounding heart, she
watched him with wide wandering eyes.

His masculine physique
caused her mouth to go dry. Never had the sight of a man affected
her so poignantly—not that she'd seen many in the nude. Still, she
couldn't imagine another man having this same effect on her sexual
awareness.

He spared her a disgruntled
look as he made his way toward the bed. A shiver coursed through
him. "Damn the drafty house! And damn the scotch cloudin’ ma
mind!"

By the time he reached his
destination, the thundering in his head had worsened. "I'm dyin',"
he groaned, crashing face down atop the quilt covering the feather
mattress.

Barely able to breathe past
the tightening in her throat, Laura again buried her face in the
towel.

If she didn't get away from
this man soon, she was positive she was going to get involved in
something she would later regret. Just what she needed. Another
complication.

Wasn't it enough that she
had the boys to worry about?

What good could possibly
come of her succumbing to a whim to make love with this crude, dour
Scot?

Silently groaning, she
lowered the towel just enough to peer down at him.

Thank God he was too drunk
to test her willpower!

C
hapter 4

Laura had never thought of
herself as a prude until this moment. She resented his unabashed
display of nudity, resented her weakness to stop herself from
gawking at him. Incendiary sensations moved over her skin and
coiled within the pit of her stomach. Sparks of desire ricocheted
inside her skull. Though the lighting in the room was soft, the
image of his physique would always remain clearly branded in her
memory.

Clothing did not make the
man in Roan's case.

She was thirty years old,
and unable to cope with the sight of a naked heinie!

No...not just
any
naked heinie. Roan
Ingliss' in all its raw glory.

He'd strutted toward the bed
as if she hadn't been in the room. But he had spared her a brief
glance, telling her that this scene had been a deliberate move on
his part to rattle her again.

The thought evoked a reserve
of her pride, and she slowly lowered the towel. Rigid, she slowly
ran her gaze down the length of him then dwelled on the firm
curvature of his buttocks. Most of the men she'd known couldn't
fill the seat of a pair of jeans two sizes too small. Not Roan,
damn him.

Muscular thighs and calves.
His back and shoulders and biceps. He either vigorously worked out
in a gym, or owned of the most incredible genes.

Laura gulped, her gaze
traveling over him once again. Her palms itched. It had
been—what?—more than a year since she'd made love. Actually, love
had had nothing to do with it. She'd known Dan Faradey for four
years. They'd been working at her place late one rainy, damp night,
and for the first time in a long time, she'd found herself needing
physical comfort.

She'd approached the idea
with the same directness she used in all her business
relationships. Dan had been divorced a little less than a year.
Obviously lonely. It seemed natural at the time.