Mad About Plaid (5 page)

For a moment, Lucy blindly obeyed. Then it dawned on her. It was always the girl left behind who got the ax first. Forget that. She wasn't about to be monster meat.

As Ian crouched next to an open door, Lucy crept up behind him, placing her hand on his shoulder and leaning over him to peer into the dark room. When he glanced back at her with a perturbed look, she ignored him.

Her eyes were glued to the room. There were faint outlines of furniture, and she could make out old rockers, cribs, and wooden toys littering the floor. Old trunks sat in corners and more furniture had been stacked against the back wall. The sound came again, from the back corner. Her fingernails dug into Ian's bare shoulder.

"Looks like an old nursery," she whispered the obvious.

"You think so?" he asked tightly, trying to sound nice, but failing to keep the sarcasm from his tone. He sighed. "And would mind not clawing me to death?"

"Maybe it's a burglar, or a really, really big mouse."

"Are you serious?" he growled out.

"Serious as it gets, buddy." Lucy nudged him into the room, and for that he tossed her an exasperated look.

Her fingers curled around the door frame as Ian approached the back corner. She came to a quick conclusion. If something jumped out at him, sorry MacLaren, but she was turning tail and running like hell. The big shirtless brute could take care of himself.

A cold breeze traveled through the door. She saw Ian rub his arms. She remembered Gram telling her that cold spots indicated the presence of ghosts.

This wasn't good.

Ian disappeared around the furniture. Her heart beat wildly. A bang made her jump.

Finally he poked his head around the boxes. "Pane in the window is broken and the shutters came unlatched," he called. "Nothing to worry about."

Nothing to worry about, Ian repeated darkly to himself.

He'd let that crazy Yank convince him it might be something more. Ian pulled the wooden shutters closed and found an antique silver baby spoon to slide through the handles until he could come back tomorrow and fix the latch. When he had more time, he'd clean out the room just to see what treasures and family heirlooms could be salvaged. But right now there was a more pressing matter to attend to. Riley, Call-Me-Lucy, Brooks.

It was one fiasco after another when it came to her, and it had to stop now. As he walked toward her, his mood turning black, he realized she wore very little. A thin cotton T-shirt, a size too small, with—Good God—he nearly stumbled—no bra underneath. The short boxers she wore made her long legs seem even longer. That body had molded nicely against him in the hallway. Her hair had even smelled good, with just a hint of lavender. He saw now that it spilled over her shoulders in waves...

The picture she presented, and the fact that he responded to it, only fueled his anger. He did not do married women. Literally and figuratively.

"What was it?" she asked, her big brown eyes growing wider as he approached.

He wasn't happy at all. Whenever she was near, it felt like everything was out of control, everything was falling apart, and he couldn't seem to act normal.

Lucy stepped back and he strode by.

She hurried after him. At the top of the steps, she grabbed his arm, the heat of her hand feeling like a goddamn brand. "MacLaren, would you wait a dang minute?"

He swung around, tension pouring off him, and grabbed her by the shoulders. For a long moment he didn't speak, didn't know what to say or if to say anything at all. "I need to go down and trip the breakers. The storm must hav—"

She kissed him.

On the tips of her toes, she pressed her sweet lips against his as he spoke, drowning out his words. In fact, he couldn't remember what those words were. He couldn't think, couldn't seem to access his will, couldn't move as his body was flooded with senses.
God, her lips are so soft.
Her hands gripped his waist lightly. The clean, floral smell of her skin and hair scrambled his senses.

His pulse thundered.

She stepped back, looking up at him with those wide eyes. Shocked eyes. A blush climbed up her neck and into her cheeks. "Oh God," she muttered in a desperate, embarrassed tone. "I'm so sorry."

He wanted to move, to speak, to not stand there like a bloody idiot. He wanted to push her against the wall and turn that sweet innocent, impulsive kiss into something hot and needy.

The candlestick slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a loud clang. It seemed to spur her into action. She hurried around him and disappeared down the stairs.

Chapter 5

Lucy's pulse flew as fast as her feet could carry her. What an idiot! What was wrong with her? She
never
did stuff like that. Never. And here of all places, where she was supposed to be helping Riley. Oh, no. What if Ian called Byron? Riley would be fired. All because Lucy was a hard up dummy who couldn't keep her lips to herself.

Shutting her door and flipping the lock, Lucy paced the length of her room, and then dropped into the chair. She was so embarrassed. And stunned by what she'd done. Ian MacLaren was like those little sugary flowers on cakes, the kind that everyone fights over at birthdays. She
had
to have it, had to risk it.

It was craziness, but in those few seconds that her lips touched his and she felt the warmth of his skin and breath, she had a moment of pure clarity where she knew it was right. She felt free, felt the joy in going for it, in not staying safely on the sidelines like she always did.

Oh, he wanted to kiss her, every cell in her body knew it. No man had ever looked at her that way, and the knowledge gave her more confidence and power then she'd ever known.

Once chaste kiss with Ian was better than any heavy duty make-out session with her ex—any of of her exes for that matter.

Though she knew she never should have kissed Ian, her heart rose from the depths and soared. She, Lucy Jane Walker, the five-foot-ten-inch pet groomer and photography enthusiast, the girl who dreamed big, but repeatedly wimped out when it came to doing anything risky in life, had done something sexy and impulsive. And a whole lot risky. She'd taken a chance. And it felt really freaking good.

Of course, she'd done it masquerading as Riley…

Her smiled dropped a notch. Riley was married. She wasn't a cheater. What must he think of her, of Riley? Smile gone now, Lucy flopped back in the chair, her joy deflating. Figures. The one time she took a chance, the one guy who could make her do it, and it happens to be the worst situation possible.

Ian paced his room, his emotions still raging. His gaze lifted to the ceiling, thinking of what had happened up there. Just a kiss, he told himself. Nothing major. Nothing shocking.

But he sure as hell felt a shock. A fucking lightning bolt was more like it.

He needed a whisky.

On the way to the side table, his big toe collided with the chair leg. Pain shot through the digit. Cursing, he grabbed his foot, trying to rub out the sting, then flung himself in the offending chair.

He never felt so out of control. And this wasn't like him. If the guys in his unit could see him now, they'd be stunned. They called him Flatline, a name given years ago, one that had stuck. Ian didn't get riled and if he did, he sure as hell kept a lid on it, didn't act on it or let it show.

Lucy, however, had shaken him up big time.

He leaned forward and poked at the few glowing embers leftover from the fire. Lucy hadn't been here twenty four hours and already it was a disaster. Failure, a word not often associated with his endeavors, suddenly seemed like a real possibility. And though she'd kissed him first, he'd wanted to take it one step farther. Several steps. A giant fucking leap.

Maybe his extended family back in the states was right. Maybe they should have sold the land and been on their way. Ian had no idea what he was doing or how to run a guest house.

No. That wasn't true. He had a plan, a goal. And he'd see it through. No second guessing.

He had to get things back on track, had to turn this disaster around.

The next morning, Ian stood in the old nursery, toolbox in hand, gazing out the broken window. He'd repaired all the shutter latches and now he watched from the window as Dimon ran circles around Devin in the grass below while Dev's German Shepherd, Hildie, trotted quietly next to his brother—always beside him, always waiting for the next command. She was tense, ready, and waiting. Ian understood. He'd been the same after he'd been discharged, and he hoped, now that Dev and Hildie were out of the military for good, that this place could do for them what it had done for him.

He turned away from the window and headed downstairs.

As Ian passed Lucy's room, he noticed the door was open. He slowed, then heard her voice. She was on the phone. As he continued on, a phrase stopped him cold. "I lied to him, Riley."

Silence.

"Well, I didn't mean to. It just came out. It was all happening so fast. They thought I was you and then I said I was you..."

Shock slid slow and cold down his spine. What the hell?

"Well, I don't know, I was flustered, okay?"

More silence as Ian's knuckles turned white and his anger boiled over. She'd lied. She'd been lying all along. And she was talking to the Riley who should have been here, the same Riley who was supposed to write an amazing article on Balmorie.

"Yeah right," Lucy went on. "I know. Of course I'm telling them. How's things going with Mark?"

Woodenly, Ian continued down the hall and outside to the tool shed. Inside he was shaking and stunned. He set the toolbox down slowly, heart pounding, and just stood there in front of the work bench, trying to calm his emotions. What did she think this was, some kind of game? This was his life, his brothers' lives, and, hopefully, their livelihood.

He scrubbed hand down his face, then gripped the counter and leaned forward, cautioning himself to slow down, to process.

A door shut loudly. Ian straightened and turned to see Lucy flounce across the lawn. His eyes narrowed and his jaw went tight. Her hair was up in a ponytail. She wore shorts, revealing the same mile-high legs he'd seen last night, and had a camera hanging from a strap around her neck. He wondered if she even cared. She appeared to be enjoying her vacation, traipsing around his property, playing games, making his life hell.

Well, two could play at that, he decided.

The tables were about to turn on Riley Brooks.

Dimon spied Lucy and loped after her. "Shit." Dev's oath reached Ian's ears as his brother hurried after the big dog. Ian crossed his arms over his chest and watched the chaos, highly satisfied when Dimon jumped up and left two gigantic, muddy paw prints on Lucy's shirt, one over each breast.

Dev paused in front of her, eyes wide and fixated on the sight.

Ian frowned. He was walking forward before he even realized he'd moved. Lucy might look innocent and inviting, but Ian knew better. Best not let her get her hooks into Dev…

"Down! Get down, you big mutt!" Good grief, the dog was heavy. Laughing, Lucy stepped back, regained her balance, and righted her shirt. The shaggy gray giant sat down in front of her, tail thumping the ground, mouth open, and panting. Even sitting, his nose was at her belly button. "You're a big guy who doesn't know he's big, aren't you?" She scratched behind his ears.

"Sorry about that."

Lucy glanced up at the tall, broad shouldered, very good-looking guy. Brown hair brushed his collar and had a slight wave to it. He wore a heavy five o'clock shadow and looked a little bohemian and a lot rugged. But it was his eyes that caught her attention the most. They were hazel, a light shade of brown with some green thrown in, and they were . . .well, haunted was the only word that came to mind.

A well-mannered German Shepherd sat by his side.

"He's a work in progress." The guy's eyes darted to her shirt. Lucy looked down. Two muddy paw prints over her chest. Great. "Sorry. He has no sense of size."

"Typical of big dogs. You sound American," she noted, though he did have a slight accent. He nodded, not offering up anything else, so Lucy fished. "Are you a guest at the castle?"

"No. I'm staying in one of the cottages and helping with repairs." He eyed her thoughtfully. "So you know dogs," he gestured to the Deerhound, referencing her earlier comment about typical big dogs.

"Yeah. It's been a while since I've been around one his size, though. I work with animals." His eyes lit with interest. "Nothing glamorous. My cousin, Kate, runs a pet grooming and sitting business in New York. I work for her."

"All that, and you still have time to write for The Ambler," Ian's voice sounded from behind her.

Her stomach dropped like a stone.

Crap.

Lucy swallowed, plastered a smile on her face. "I like to stay busy," she said carefully, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

Yep. Just as striking as she remembered. She really hoped to avoid him today after her idiotic behavior last night. But no such luck.