A Midsummer Night's Romp (11 page)

Life focused to a tiny little moment filled with Gunner, and I was about to totally lose myself in that moment when he stopped kissing me.

A group of tourists had wandered into the garden and, upon seeing us, immediately began tittering.

“That,” I told Gunner, refusing to admit that I was shaking from the intensity of the kiss, “is never going to happen again.”

His answering smile was slow and seductive.

Merciful heavens, I was
so
over my head with him. And yet . . . damn, it was good to finally meet a man who didn't trigger all my inner warning systems. And one who
loved his daughter. And who had a sense of humor, and pretty eyes, and a chin that made my mouth water, and . . . I shook my head to stop categorizing everything about Gunner that I liked. I turned my back and headed for the field where we would be walking, deliberately setting a pace that I knew his scooter would be hard-pressed to maintain.

“You can run from me, but you can't hide,” he called after me, adding, “Don't think you can get rid of me this easily, Lorina. You're going to have to be by my side today, and every other day of the dig, and I'm not going to be happy until I get to the bottom of your supposed attraction to that wolf in man's clothing. Dammit, I promised Cressy I'd take her to her riding lesson in a few minutes.”

I hurried off, my emotions in turmoil. I wanted desperately to continue interacting with Gunner, the first man I'd felt safe with since . . . well, ever, to be honest. But at the same time, he posed a massive threat to blowing my cover. “Just because he's sexy and nice, and evidently I'm as sexually frustrated as they come, doesn't mean I'm going to throw over my plan,” I said aloud as I marched back to the tent camp. “Look, but do not touch—that's going to be my new motto. Until I've dealt with Paul, I'll simply practice some self-control where Gunner is concerned. I mean, how hard can that be? I'll focus on what's important: the plan with Paul. It'll be a piece of cake to keep Gunner at arm's length.”

Dr. Anderson would not have been very pleased with how persistently I ignored the obvious, but she wasn't here, and I was.

I forged onward.

“G
unner, you must be thrilled to have been the one to discover such fabulous artifacts as the medieval jug rim and bit of a storage vessel. What are your feelings upon seeing tangible proof of Ainslie Castle's past?”

Gunner looked up from where he sat on a small, three-legged metal stool. The director, Sue, was standing behind him, with cameraman and sound person in tow, the same two who had been in the garden with Lorina and him. He gave them a nod of recognition before he held up to the camera a dirty bit of broken pottery that had the archaeologists extremely excited. “Well, it's nothing I'd donate to the British Museum, but the archaeologists seem to think it's a good start. Actually, though, it was Lorina who uncovered it.”

“Only because you told me to,” Lorina murmured, ducking her head so that she was out of frame.

Sue ignored her. “As a member of the noble Ainslie family, you must be thrilled to know that so many hidden treasures lie buried in your ancestral home. How do you think finds like these will affect your life?”

“Not a great deal, I'd say,” he said, gesturing with the potsherd to Lorina, who was now on her knees scraping with a trowel. “I was just explaining to Lorina that this is the rim of a common drinking jug, and although it's fascinating, it doesn't say a whole lot about the history of the castle itself.”

“And does it open up new avenues for you?” Sue asked, waving the cameraman, Tabby, forward. “You're obviously a natural at archaeology—do you have any plans to switch careers?”

Gunner gave Sue a long look before answering. Although he was used to being the center of attention due to his family and, to some extent, his appearance, he had an aversion to being used, and there was something about the way that Sue ignored Lorina that set his teeth on edge.

“It is definitely a life-altering moment,” he said gravely, smiling to himself when he heard Lorina snicker. “But I'm happy to leave the archaeology to the experts.”

Sue gestured toward the film team, and they obligingly stopped filming. “Excellent job with the commentary, Gunner,” she said with a glint in her eyes that was all too obvious to him. “I know most photographers prefer to be on the other side of the lens, but you're a natural at this. I can't wait until we can get some action shots of you. I just know the viewers will be thrilled to see that.”

“Thank you. I'm not sure how much actual digging I'll be able to do once the boot is off, but Lorina takes instruction very well, and has been extremely useful by digging in my place.”

“Ah. Yes. Lorina. I understand that your first pieces to the camera were filmed. How are you getting on with your familiarization?”

“Just fine.” Lorina kept her head down, scraping carefully and with much attention around what Gunner hadn't the heart to tell her was just a rock.

“Unfortunately, it's not going as good as I would like,” Gunner said in seriousness. “I tried flirting with Lorina, but she seems to want none of it. I can only hope that an invitation to a late supper at the castle will help matters along.”

Lorina gawked at him over her shoulder.

Sue frowned, and shook her head, saying gently, “No, no, I meant familiarization with the archaeological process.” She allowed her gaze to drift over to Lorina, busily at work excavating her rock. “Not . . . er . . . the diggers. Actually, I was going to suggest that you stop by my caravan later, so we can go over some presentation ideas I had for you. Naturally, if you'd like to eat, I can have a meal prepared—”

“Thanks, but I already have plans for the evening,” Gunner replied.

“Not with me, you don't,” Lorina said sotto voce.

Gunner ignored her. He gave Sue one of his most benign smiles. “But I do appreciate the invitation, and look forward to hearing your presentation ideas later. Shall we say tomorrow? After lunch?”

Sue agreed, albeit hesitantly, and obviously would have stayed to continue her not very subtle assault on him if her radio had not at that moment squawked, and she went running off trailing explanations behind her.

*   *   *

Gunner watched her amble off, then considered the woman working so diligently in front of him. The number of mysteries was beginning to mount. First it was her
pretended interest in Thompson, then a belief that she wasn't a journalist, and finally awareness that she had only a scant working knowledge of photography. Crowning all those unknowns was the suspicion that at some point in her life, she'd suffered from some form of abuse, and it was that, he decided, that made him feel like Lorina needed him. She needed a protector just as Rupert had.

Lorina snorted again and gave a particularly vicious stab into the dirt, distracting him from his introspection.

“Thank god they're gone,” Lorina said softly, releasing her breath as if she'd been holding it the entire time they were being filmed. Her shoulders slumped in relief.

Gunner was a bit taken aback by such a reaction to what he thought of as a perfectly nice film team. “Don't care for Tabby and Matt, I take it?”

“On the contrary, I think they're both quite nice. Did you know that Tabby has been twice widowed? Her first partner died of ovarian cancer, and the second was killed while she was doing some humanitarian work in Bosnia. Imagine losing two loves of your life and still having the strength to go on. I don't think I could do that.”

“And yet you're happy to see the back of her,” Gunner pointed out.

“Not her—it's her camera I'm glad to see out of sight.” Lorina slid him a look out of the corner of her eye, giving her a mischievous quality that pleased Gunner.

“Now, that is guaranteed to make me want to know more.” Carefully, he edged himself off the campstool and onto the grass at the edge of the trench, sitting with his bad leg stretched out before him. He'd been confined to using the screens to sift through the dirt dug out of the trench, one eye on the dirt as it drifted through the screen to the ground, the other on her. “I don't know
what I've done to give you the impression that I'm so lofty I wouldn't understand something that embarrasses you—indeed, given the reason for my accident, I would have thought the opposite would be likely—but I assure you that if there is something about being filmed that bothers you, I will do my utmost to address the problem.”

He sounded pompous even to his own ears, but there was little he could do about it once the words left his lips except offer her a friendly, supportive, “perfectly happy to hear your inner secrets and fears” sort of smile.

Lorina was silent for a few minutes, bent over some stones as she scraped the dirt around them. “I bet you're eating all this up with a spoon,” she finally said.

“Dirt?” He curled his lip. “I can't say that I have that habit.”

“No, the attention from Sue. I bet you love women fawning all over you.” She straightened up and gave him a long, cool look. “If you're expecting that from me, I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed.”

“Because you're so desperately interested in Thompson?” He knew full well she wasn't, but hadn't yet figured out why she pretended she was.

“This has nothing to do with Paul, and everything to do with you.”

“Indeed. This wouldn't be about the flirting reference earlier, would it?” he asked, somewhat confused. “Are you angry because we shared a perfectly delightful kiss?”

“No. Yes. Not really, but possibly just a little bit. It's mostly about you looking like you do, and not being worried about doing things on camera, and everyone going gaga over you because you're handsome and you have a nice accent, and a chest that would make a nun perspire.”

“Doing what sort of things on camera?” It took him a few seconds to work through her sentence, but he settled on the one thing that she seemed to be truly distressed about. “You don't suffer from stage fright, do you? I don't see how being filmed while I talk to you about archaeology would make you feel like you were onstage, but I suppose—”

“No, you idiot.” She made an abrupt gesture,
tsk
ed at herself, and apologized. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to call you an idiot. It's just that . . . that . . .”

“That I'm being an idiot?” he suggested, something inside him warming at the flash of laughter that was gone from her eyes before he could comment on it.

“Possibly.” She bent over the rock again for a few minutes before adding, “Why do you keep trying to flirt with me? You know I'm interested in someone else.”

“I know you
pretend
to be interested in someone else.”

She looked up sharply, then glanced around just as if she was afraid of them being overheard. How very curious. He looked around, too, pleased on the one hand to note that no one was near enough to hear them, but still wondering why she worried about it.

“Look, I realize it's a blow to your ego to find someone who isn't susceptible to your charm—”

“On the contrary, there are quite a few women who are immune to me,” Gunner admitted. “Far too many for my sense of self-worth, but at least those women are—” He was about to say “honest,” but decided that would be too insulting. “They are quite clear about their disinterest.”

“I'm being as clear as I know how!” Lorina protested. “That kiss wasn't my fault!”

He thought of pursuing the subject, but it was obvious she was almost as distressed by this conversation as she
was by discussing photography. Yet another aspect of the mystery, he mused to himself as he sifted the spill.

“You didn't say what you were doing later tonight, and whether or not the idea of dinner in an authentic, historic castle could sway you into dining with me despite your preference for another man.”

She started to say something, stopped, and then gave herself a little shake of the head. “Paul asked me to stop by and see him later.”

“Does that appointment preclude you having dinner with me?” He felt a little pressure was allowable. If she really was disinterested in him, he'd back off, but her body language was at such odds with what she said that he couldn't help but ask. “Dinner won't be a fancy affair—I'm shifting for myself while my family is away doing various exciting things without me, but I'm told I make a tolerable spaghetti. I can have it ready whenever suits you.”

She glanced at him from under her eyelashes, a gesture that oddly delighted him. And aroused him. He shifted, suddenly and painfully aware of his penis.

“I suppose . . . Paul didn't say anything about dinner . . . and I do love spaghetti . . . but . . .”

He waited, having learned from his experience with Rupert the value of patience.

“I suppose that would be all right.” Her lips tightened momentarily. “But I should warn you that I've had a couple of self-defense classes, so if you're one of those men who don't understand that no means no, then you will be doing a whole heck of a lot more than limping around on a broken ankle. I am not a victim, and won't ever allow a man to make me one.”

He sensed an unspoken hurt again, but said nothing about that. It took Rupert years before he would speak about what he had suffered before he'd been adopted.
Instead, Gunner said, “You must have quite the opinion of me if you think I'd attempt to ravish you in front of my daughter and her grandmother.”

“What?” Lorina's mouth sagged open for a moment while she blinked rapidly. “Oh, you mean Cressy and Salma will be there?”

“Yes, Cressy will be at dinner tonight. And every other night while she's here. I don't get to see her very often, and I don't intend to waste any of the time she's here. I enjoy Salma's company almost as much as I do Cressy's, so if you don't care to dine with them—”

“Oh, lord, no! I like them both very much.”

To his secret delight, she turned pink with embarrassment, her words tumbling over one another as she tried to explain. “I thought you were going to try some moves on me, what with the proposition, and kissing in front of the camera.”

“That was a delightful kiss.”

She slumped down, ducking her head in that shy way she had that he found almost as charming as the through-the-lashes look. “Great, now I sound like I'm an egomaniac who thinks all men are trying to get into her pants. Can we just forget about the conversation of the last five minutes and go back to you explaining how I can tell the difference between a plain old boring rock and a piece of ceramic?”

He laughed, and leaned down to take her hand in his, intending on giving it a friendly squeeze, but instead, he dusted off her knuckles, and pressed his lips to her fingers. “There. That was a bona fide kiss, so you can stop worrying about whether or not I find you attractive.”

Immediately, she bristled, pulling her hand back. “I am not worried about anything so ridiculous. You really can't go for a minute without flirting, can you? Sheesh.” She bent over her precious rock, scraping around it with
far too much vigor for a trench. “I bet that gets old really fast.”

“You must not have experience flirting if you imagine that to be the case. And no, that's not pottery. It's a bit of rock. See the edge on it? Pottery would have a sharper edge. Ah, it looks like Roger is calling an end to the evening's digging.”

As if on cue, Roger strode by them, waving a hand toward the stable and saying, “We're closing up for the night. Put away your tools, and get something to eat.”

“Rats.” Lorina looked disappointed. “I was just getting into it, too. Oh well. Gunner, would you mind if I did a little more digging tomorrow? Finding that bit of a beer mug was really exciting, and I'd like to have another go at digging up something else.”

He grinned at her, pleased that she'd taken to his favorite hobby so quickly. “It's addicting, isn't it? I don't mind at all if you help dig tomorrow; actually, the opposite is more appropriate, since I'm limited to what I can do with this cast on, and it's nice to have my trench produce something. Although I'd hate to interfere with your schedule.”