A Time & Place for Every Laird (23 page)

Nichols shook his head for another reason.  “You’re wasting time on her, Jameson.”  The INSCOM agent raised a brow to the nervous Marshall.  “Anything to connect her yet?”

Marshall swallowed tightly.  “No, sir.  Not yet.”

“Anything solid on J42 at all?”

“Still attempting to track him down, sir.”

With a g
runt of aggravation, Jameson slapped his palm down on the desk. “Get me something!”

Nichols rocked back in his chair and considered Jameson levelly over his Styrofoam cup as he sipped his coffee once more.
“Jameson, I mean no disrespect here,” Nichols said softly, “but this is bullshit.  You have no grounds to push to this extent.  Watching her house, her family … tapping her phones and email based on a hunch?  Did you even bother with a warrant?”

“And what have you got, Nichols?”

“I’ve got confirmation that nothing leaked and nothing is missing from the lab.  Anything so problematic that it might have been questioned has been rounded up or disposed of, besides those two men.”

“They are not men.”

Nichols snorted rudely.  “Look who’s talking.  They are nothing in the big picture.  We get them, fine.  We don’t, who cares?  They will never last out there either way, and they know nothing that can threaten the project if they are exposed.  We have done our job.  You should relax.”

“You should shut the fuck up,” Jameson snarled.

“Going off half-cocked like this will only land you knee-deep in shit if Colonel Williams finds out you’ve been jacking with agency resources without cause,” Nichols warned.

“I have cause!” Jameson said.  “She is helping him.  I know it.”

Nichols only laughed at that.  “You don’t know shit.”

Three
days later…

Claire mentally shook herself and forced her attention back to the book in front of her, only to realize that she had no idea what had been said on the page before her.  Turning back a page, she scanned that one and then the one before it, only to realize that she hadn’t absorbed a word of the book in almost a dozen pages.  Closing her eyes with a groan, she opened them again in time to see Hugh crossing the deck outside the window with yet another load of firewood.  His T-shirt was damp with sweat, clinging to his muscular body.  She could see the bulge of his pecs, the movement of his lats as he walked.  His biceps stretched the short sleeves tightly.

Had the definition of flirtation somehow changed in the past 250
-plus years?  Because this was beginning to feel more like payback.

Admittedly Claire hadn’t
finished that first kiss with the intention of slipping right into bed with Hugh, and it was true that she was lacking recent experience in the whole arena of romance, but she had expected something … more.  That extra edge that transformed playful interaction into flirtation.

But
ever since leaving the Crab Pot, nothing more significant than that single kiss had taken place.  When they had returned to the house, the evening had followed the same theme as others before.  They talked, ate and cleaned up together before retiring to the library, where Hugh had built up a fire to ward off the chill.  Hugh had then taken up the monstrous
A History of the World
to read, but instead of ensconcing himself alone in the cocoon of the library’s big armchair, had taken a space on the couch a few feet from where Claire had curled up with the thick file Danny had printed for her.

The evening had been pleasant but
not at all what she had expected after Hugh’s confident assertion of his flirtatious skills and after his demonstration at the restaurant.  He was close enough to tease her with his presence, for her to feel his body heat and to hear him breathe, but far enough away to deter any of the touching he had been allowed by their new agreement.  When the clock had struck midnight, he had banked the fire and led her upstairs to her bedroom door.  There he had bid her goodnight and turned away to his own room, leaving her to wonder when it would all begin.  To her, their casual camaraderie had turned to intimacy.  It was that shift when friends were not merely friends any longer, when awareness overrode friendly interaction.  The attraction had been there before their departure that morning, but by that evening it had increased tenfold.

Surely, given license to proceed, Hugh meant to act on it?

Still, the next day had delivered only more of the same.  After that single embrace and intoxicating kiss, Hugh had been nothing but courteous, charming, and humorous company as they were confined inside throughout the rainy May day.  They had played games and read with Robert’s collection of classical music CD’s streaming in the background, and through it all, Claire had laughed freely, worrying less about the world outside the haven they had created and liking him more with each minute that passed.

But it wasn’t enough.  Nothing was enough.  Life wasn’t enough for her any longer.  She wanted more. 
More from life.  More from herself.  More from Hugh.  But Hugh—self-acclaimed king of courtly flirtation—was not giving it to her at all. 

That night, Claire had lain in bed staring up at the ceiling, unable to find rest
, but had realized somewhere between one and two in the morning that the anticipation of waiting for something to happen had only made her more attuned to Hugh’s every move, more aware of him.  The feel of his body next to hers, the restrained passion of his kiss …

All she could think about was Hugh.  When would he touch her?  How?  Where?

God, he
was
good, wasn’t he?

The following day, as if knowing Claire was onto him, Hugh
had changed tactics and the casual touching had begun.  He had brushed his fingers over her hands while they were cooking, stroked her hair or cheek when passing by until Claire was tensing with delicious anticipation whenever he was within arm's length. It was as much a tease as his withholding of the same had been.  That afternoon, as the rains had continued, Hugh had offered to read aloud to her and surprised her by lying on his back and putting his head in her lap. 

Hugh
had read aloud superbly, and the continuous soft purr of his brogue had made for a heavenly evening. It was surprising for her to realize that where she had barely understood him at all when they had first met, she no longer needed to concentrate on deciphering his words.  Instead, she only listened to the words with half an ear as his rich brogue flowed through her, sending her senses quivering.  Claire had rested her head back against the couch and closed her eyes as he read, stroking her fingers through his hair, trailing them around his earlobe, and spreading a trembling hand over his shoulder and across his chest.

He had looked up at her then, blue eyes
on fire, and had reached up to caress her cheek. Claire had been sure that he was going to kiss her, but instead Hugh had pulled away and announced that the rain had stopped and that he was taking a walk on the beach.

The tension between them was thick and heavy by that time.  Claire waiting.  Hugh restrained.  Claire was
acutely aware of every move he made, every breath he took, every muscle that contracted, and in an attempt to provide a distraction—any distraction—had suggested a movie. A nice violent action movie to cool her shameless thoughts.  Since Hugh had become more comfortable if not friendly with the TV, he had agreed, and Claire had put on one of her favorites,
Mr. and Mrs. Smith
. Settling comfortably next to him on the couch, she had launched into a technical explanation of movies and their history that had calmed her nerves and mind until …

How she could have forgotten that scene when the figh
ting stopped and the sex began, Claire had no idea.  But one minute, Brad Pitt was shooting at Angelina Jolie and the next he was throwing her up against a wall for reasons that had very little to do with violence.

Hugh, who up until that point
had been brimming with questions about everything from the concept of a movie, to the reality of it all, to the weapons they used, fell silent as the sex scene played out.  His warm, relaxed body was suddenly tense next to hers.  “Stop this, please,” he had said quietly, and Claire had hit the pause button, looking at him curiously and waiting for him to say something.

“I am nae voyeur,” he had growled.  Though Claire had awkwardly tried to explain to him that it wasn’t real
, she couldn’t argue with his point that it had looked real.  With Hugh in the room, pressed up next to her, it had felt real.  Arousing.  Undeniable. 

That’s when the wood chopping had begun. 

Why he had chosen to vent the tensions on the chopping block rather than on Claire, she had no idea, but she couldn’t help but watch him move, always moving.   Prowling.  Flaunting that big, heavenly body before her until Claire’s thighs would clench together involuntarily.  It had been so long.  Too long. 

Lust had never been a problem before.  Claire reasoned that it must be the isolation that was driving her insanity.  There was no one to talk to but Hugh. 
No one to look at but Hugh.  But that was a lame excuse for what she felt.  Even if it hadn’t been three years since a man had touched her, Hugh was undeniably physically magnificent. 

And
he wasn’t just a hunk of manly flesh.  He wasn’t defined by that twelve-pack of abs or by biceps so bulging that she couldn’t wrap both hands around them.  Or even by a dazzling smile that made his face so beautiful that the ancient gods would have been envious.

Hugh was intelligent, challenging. 
Confounding in his ability to complete puzzles of all kinds.  After finishing
The History of the World
, he had completed an entire book of Sudoku in just an hour after Claire had explained the objective, and Robert’s jigsaw puzzle in just a couple more, before destroying his effort and rebuilding it to the point where Robert had left it.  On top of that, he was learning about the twenty-first century with amazing speed.

Claire had gone full immersion on him, lecturing Hugh on the importance of
being technologically savvy and forcing him to become familiar with the online world … or at least more familiar than a fifth-grader’s grandparents.  She had made him use the computer for his history lessons and to show him how the world worked today on a global scale.  They focused on the economy of the United Kingdom, so that he would know what to expect when he got there, and Hugh absorbed it all like a sponge, going so far as to read Robert’s entire backlog of the
New York
Times
.

And Hugh was f
unny and entertaining.  He had made her laugh as she hadn’t in years.  They walked for hours up and down the beach, with each minute filled with stories of his time or coaching on life in her world.  He had lightened her heart and her mind until Claire was able to forget her heartbreak and years of loneliness, and she thought she helped him to do the same.  Though Hugh went to great lengths to be constantly entertaining—a talent he claimed was a necessity at court—he sometimes fell into spells of pensive reserve, standing on the deck and staring blankly out at the sound. 

The loss he
had suffered was an enormous one, but since Fielding’s research had been uncovered, Hugh hadn’t again broached the subject of his feelings and the world he clearly pined for.  Since he steadfastly refused to speak of his feelings, Claire did everything she could to offer her silent support and lure him from the darkness where she had dwelled for so long, back into the light.

He had brought her spirit back to life
… and apparently her hormones as well.

Ye
t her hormones were much farther ahead in the game than her mind was.  For all that she wanted and desired him with almost overwhelming urgency, her mind was still at war.

D
enying her body’s urges left Claire with energy of her own to expel, and so she had gone for a run the previous morning, a practice that had long been her habit but had been neglected since she had met Hugh.  In the misty dawn, she had run for over an hour along the windy back roads of Bainbridge before returning to the house, pleasantly exhausted.

Concerned by her
unexplained absence, Hugh had been pacing the kitchen when she returned, and Claire had told him that she had gone running.  The humor that his bafflement had wrought had buoyed her mood considerably, and a lighthearted argument had begun. 

Hugh had stated that a man might run from an angry bull but not for sport.
She had pointed out that clearly he must exercise regularly.  There was no way he could look like that without it.  Oh, there was no chance that Hugh was a runner with that big body but clearly he did something to bulk up.

After finding out that he
fenced, rode, and helped his tenants in their fields and in repairing buildings, Claire had argued the finer points of cardio fitness, pointing out that it was good for heart health, and that good cardio would be essential when the zombie apocalypse came.

That had led to an explanation of pop culture and an offer of a movie to explain the zombie phenomenon.  Hugh had quickly rejected the idea, now clearly wary of the medium. 

But the balance had been restored between them … at least for a brief time.

Until last night.

The day had been fine and sunny, so Hugh had offered to build a fire on the beach after dinner.  Claire had run to the store and purchased the fixings for s’mores and had showed Hugh how to toast the marshmallows and create the heavenly treat.  As with all the sweets he had availed himself of thus far, he had loved it.  The atmosphere had been playful, and the laughter plentiful as they talked and ate them all, right down to when Claire had held the last bit of chocolate and Hugh the final marshmallow.  She had playfully tried to keep the chocolate bar out of his reach while he lunged for it.  He had caught her about the waist and thrown her down on the sand, laughing down at her.

Hugh had wrestled the candy away from her and popped it in his mouth before dropping down on the sand next to her with a grin.  Relaxing back on the beach, Claire had just been
entranced by his joy and her own in the moment until Hugh had bent his head and pressed a hard kiss against her lips.  As unexpected as it was, Claire had had only a moment’s impression of warmth and chocolate before he had lifted his head, his eyes suddenly serious on hers.  Resting on one forearm, he had lifted a hand to twist a lock of her hair around his finger as he stared down at her.

She had been sure he meant to say something or do something
, but in the end, Hugh had only stretched out next to her and folded an arm beneath his head as a pillow.  Wrapping an arm around her waist, he had pulled her close against him with a satisfied grunt.  “Sugar coma,” he had whispered in her ear, drawing another round of low chuckles as they relaxed against each other in the warmth of the fire under a canopy of stars.

It had been as
disappointing as it was lovely.  Claire hadn’t wanted to let the moment end, and it hadn’t.  This morning she had awoken with the dawn, still in his arms on the beach.  Hugh’s big body had been curled around hers, warding off the chill of the night after their fire had burned to embers.  Claire had relished the feel of his body against hers, gloried in the body contact she had been missing for so long.  She had felt exposed yet sheltered, free yet ensnared.  Alive.  Loved.