A Highlander's Obsession (Highlander's Beloved) (6 page)

Paisley screwed her cup back onto the thermos and stood. “She’s getting ready to finish delivering this one. Then we’ll begin the process again, but it should be shorter and less terrifying for her.” She stepped to the head of the mare and with her hands on both sides of the horse’s head, she stared into its eyes.

Creighton couldn’t take his gaze off the two of them. It was as if the American poured strength into the animal. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear waves of celestial energy shimmered between them. What was going on here? Was he as tired as all hell and hallucinating? Or so enthralled with the golden-haired lass he was visualizing his own attraction to her?

An hour later, Creighton carried Paisley into the warmth of the kitchen, using the layer of ice on the ground as an excuse to hold her in his grasp. With her expert help, two healthy foals were born. She’d worked hard on delivering the second, smaller one. Both the scope of the complications and the strength of Paisley’s skills impressed him. Dark circles on her pale face proclaimed exhaustion.

“I’ll carry ye up to yer suite. Ye look dead on yer tiny American feet.”

She yawned. “I’ll need a shower.”

His footsteps faltered and he stared at the verra tempting female in his arms.

A blush spread across her cheeks and she looked at the ceiling, the floor, her hands … everywhere but at him.

Her hand fluttered to her hair in a nervous gesture. “I … I didn’t mean …”

“Oh?” Lord, she was an appealing woman when she was flustered. He fought a smile. “That’s a service we dinna provide here at Matheson Lodge.” He climbed the stairway. His thoughts snagged on the image of her in the shower. Truth be told, he would love to step under a hot spray of water with her, run his hands and soap over her smooth skin until he’d lathered every inch of her body and then, God help him, he’d gladly lick off every tiny bubble.
Christ, can a man climb the stairs with a feckin’ hard-on?

At Paisley’s door, he set her down and asked for her keycard. Once he’d opened the suite door, he ran his fingertips down her silky cheek. “Good night, lassie,” he whispered, not wanting to waken his family or their guests. “Sleep well. ’Tis a good thing ye’ve done tonight. We willna
forget yer kindness nor yer impressive skills with animals.”

Her palms rested on his chest and her sky blue eyes tugged at his soul. “Thank you. Tonight was an experience I’ll never forget. I enjoyed getting to know you a little better. I was afraid of you before, but I’m not now.”

Something primal in him snapped. While her hands resting on his chest stirred his loins to the point of bursting, his fingertips itched to stroke the soft skin he longed to kiss. The urge to inhale her beguiling scent until he lined his lungs with it, so he’d always breathe in her essence, was so strong his male instinct overrode his restraint. The bear in him roared.
Take!
He backed her against the wall, his arms caging her forearms over her head. “Is that so, lassie?” Chest to chest, thigh to thigh, his gaze bore into her shocked eyes. “Aye, ye’d do well to be afraid of me, for I want ye naked, beneath me like I’ve never desired another woman before.”

A squeak escaped and her eyes widened for a beat before she ducked beneath his arm and scurried into her suite of rooms, slamming and locking the door behind her.

Paisley’s eyes flickered open. Her cheeks were stiff from the cold. She exhaled and vapor wafted from her mouth in the early morning light. Hadn’t Fiona said to keep the bedroom doors open to get heat from the fireplace in the sitting area? Paisley burrowed into the warmth of the down comforter. Heat was the last thing on her mind when she dashed into this room last night. Protection from Creighton had been uppermost. Or had she fled to hide from her own desires? She pinched her eyes shut as if to block out all her musings.

Something about the man fascinated her, excited and made her feel possessed all at the same time. New emotions she wasn’t sure she had the experience to handle without appearing like a bungling woman. She worried her bottom lip, her teeth rasping its corner. Besides, she had Alex to consider.

Dreams had haunted her throughout the night. Every one of them involved the Scot doing sensual things to her. Her forehead wrinkled. One of the sex-infused dreams even included a bear.
Ew. How sick is that?
Jet lag, combined with the exhilaration of helping Heather Mist foal during a howling storm, surely caused those heated dreams.

Of course, Creighton’s remarks after he carried her up the steps early this morning certainly added fuel to her nocturnal fantasies. He had a commanding air about him; he was what romantics and those in the animal-care realm referred to as an alpha. Strong. Self-assured. Aggressive. Protective of those he cared for.

His dark looks and muscular body were appealing, although she had no business noticing—or desiring him the way she did. Not with a fiancé waiting for her back home, even if their relationship so often billowed in the wind between balmy friendship and frigid exploitation. Alex demanded more and more from her professionally, trying his best to convince her she should cash in on her abilities. The fact that he was her boss only heightened his control over her, something she was coming to resent. Office romances, even when surrounded by caged animals, weren’t conducive to happiness when one of the participants sought to exert control. Whenever she thought to break off the engagement, the stability of her job came into play. How difficult would working with Alex become? Knowing him, unbearable.

How could she make him understand she hated being in the limelight? She feared taking
her gift into the public realm; worried that it would make her a laughing stock, the person people scoffed at. Joke fodder for the late-night TV shows. “Hey, did you hear about the woman who claims she can communicate with animals? Tell me, where do you go to learn to speak skunk or giraffe?” No, she couldn’t bear it. She preferred a more private existence, where potential clients, concerned over their animal’s health or behaviors, contacted her through her website or Alex’s veterinary office.

No use dwelling. She had a new day to face. Could she convince Gram to spend most of it in bed? She seemed so fatigued last night.

Paisley stretched under the blankets’ toasty weight. What time was it? She groped for the windup alarm clock. Wrapping her fingers around the metal timepiece was like holding ice cubes. It was 7:10. She’d barely gotten three hours of sleep. Her gaze dropped to the antique wooden planks, thankful for the rug leading to her bathroom. At least the soles of her feet wouldn’t freeze to the floor. She flung the covers off and shivered. Her first order of business would be to get the fire roaring in the sitting room.

Her hurried footsteps faltered. A small wreath of heather hung on her doorknob. Someone must have entered her bedroom while she slept. Unease lifted the hairs at the back of her neck. She’d locked the door. Lord, she’d been so frightened of Creighton’s sexuality and her reaction to it, she’d checked it three times. Each time she had, she didn’t know whether it was to keep him out or her in. When he backed her against the wall and leaned in, she’d been more turned on than ever before. Her hormones, traitorous devils that they were, cried out for him to kiss her. Wasn’t that why she’d bolted from him? To keep from pulling him toward her and making a complete fool of herself?

After all, Alex had told her repeatedly she wasn’t the kind of woman to whip a man into the throes of passion. Her geekish, bookworm appearance, in his opinion, made her the best friend type, nothing near the hot status most men preferred.

Her fingers trailed over the brass key. It was still secure. Chills, not entirely from the frigid room, danced across her skin. How had someone gotten into this room and not wakened her? Had her jet lag been that bad?

Her gaze shifted to the wreath in her hand. The subtle fragrance of its small, blue, cuplike flowers was woodsy, yet reminiscent of honeysuckle. The entwined stems were tied together by a strip of plaid.
How
had it gotten into her bedroom? How? Was it there when Creighton carried
her upstairs last night? Surely she’d have noticed it. She turned the key and opened the door to the sitting room, then glanced toward Gram’s bedroom. Had she gotten one?

The sitting room was considerably warmer. Maybe she’d dress in here. She added two more logs to the low-burning embers. “Gram, are you awake?”

“Half. Come in, sweet pea.”

Her grandmother snuggled under the covers. There were dark circles beneath her eyes. Her pink curls stood up on one side of her head as if they were raising their tips toward the sun for warmth.

Paisley sat on the edge of Gram’s bed. “How did you sleep?”

Gram sat up, stretched, and yawned. “Like a rock. I was so tired of traveling. You’ve no idea how I’ll hate getting back on a plane to go home.” She flopped back against the pillows and winked. “Let’s just stay, shall we? We could open a kilt-making business. You sew. I’ll be in charge of measurements.” She waggled her silver eyebrows.

“You’ve got a kilt fixation.” Even with exhaustion etched into her features, her grandmother was in good spirits. “Think you could be happy here away from all your friends?” She yawned. “Sorry, I only got three hours sleep last night.”

Gram’s hand touched her arm. “Why couldn’t you sleep? Is your mattress lumpy?”

“I was in the stables delivering two foals. A filly and a colt.” And being charmed by a compelling Scotsman.

“Oh? How did that come about?”

Paisley replayed last night’s events for her grandmother, from the midnight phone call to Creighton carrying her up the steps. The details of her story were interspersed with Gram’s remarks about how romantic it all was, and how blessed Paisley was to have this gift of talking to animals.

“Did he kiss you good night?” Gram’s silver eyebrows rose. A wide smile wrinkled her cheeks and she rubbed her hands together. “Do tell.”

“No. Although he threatened to and part of me wanted it.” The heat of a blush spread and she shifted her shoulders. “How can I be so attracted to someone I just met?”

Gram’s cool hand covered Paisley’s cheek. “Maybe because you two are meant for each other.” Her eyes twinkled. “Kismet. Serendipity. Just like me and Morris.”

“When you met Grandpa Morris, you didn’t belong to someone else. My attraction to
Creighton is wrong. So unfair to Alex. I feel terrible for the pull I feel for Creighton. Just terrible.” She glanced at the wreath in her hand.

“What’s that?” Gram reached out and took the heather in her twisted, arthritic fingers.

“It was hanging on my bedroom door this morning. I came over to see if you’d gotten one.”
How
had someone gotten into her locked room?

Gram flashed a sly smile. “Looks like a gift from an admirer.” She fingered the piece of plaid. “A Scottish admirer. Lucky you. You shouldn’t feel guilt for being attracted. Alex isn’t the man for you with his sickly green and black splotched aura, but I do like the looks of the Scot’s. He’s got a great aura.” Gram pursed her lips. “It’s a deep, strong red, which means power and passion. There were also swirls of brown which indicate a strong connection to Mother earth. I like him.”

“You called him a galoot.”

Gram waved her hand through the air as if to dismiss the thought. “I was tired. My behavior wasn’t at its best.” She handed the wreath back to Paisley. “Wasn’t our suite locked last night? How did someone get in?”

“I thought it was. Maybe it wasn’t.” She couldn’t tell her grandmother someone accessed her locked bedroom. As tired as the older woman looked this morning, Paisley didn’t want anything upsetting her. “It’s probably something they do for every guest. No doubt they’ve got dozens of them in a storage room somewhere.”

“Let’s play a game, shall we? Take the piece of plaid and pin it to your clothes and see which man gets nervous when he sees it.” Gram’s eyes twinkled with excitement. “We might just see a Scotsman blush.”

She shook her head. “No. I’m not doing that.”

An hour later, when they walked into the dining room, a tiny, red-haired dynamo rushed to greet them. “Hi, I’m Colleen. I … I’m the official cheery greeter here at the lodge. Are ye from America?” She tilted her head. “Where’s yer cowboy hat and six-shooter, then?” She made a gun-drawing motion with her small hand.

“Ye will have to excuse me daughter. She watches too many
auld
cowboy movies from the States. We’ve got quite a movie collection here at the lodge.” Bryce scooped his daughter into his arms and set her back in her chair. “Finish yer porridge, ye wee rascal.” He kissed the top of her auburn curls.

Colleen pointed at Paisley. “Look, Da, she’s got a piece of our tartan on her sweater.”

Great! Foiled by a kid
. “Do you like it? Someone tied it to a wreath of heather and put it on my bedroom door.”

“Not me.” The little girl shook her head, a spoonful of porridge halfway to her mouth. “I … I got a skirt made out of our tartan. ’Tis for special parties, though.” She filled her mouth with food.

Gram sat across the table from Colleen. “I bet you look beautiful in it.”

She nodded, her auburn curls springing in mad abandon. “Da says I look beautiful in everything.” She flashed her father an adoring smile. “Me da is the best in the whole world.”

“Good mornin’, ladies.” Creighton, dressed in a navy thermal knit shirt, kilt, heavy stockings, and work boots with the laces untied, sauntered into the dining room and sucked out all the oxygen, or so it seemed when Paisley looked at him. Muscular, hairy legs grew from the hem of his dark-green and navy kilt like thick branches on an oak.

Creighton strode to the large brass coffee urn and filled a mug with the fragrant brew. With the mug in his large hand, he passed behind Coleen’s chair, stopped and leaned down to plant a kiss on his niece’s locks. “How’s me wee sweet bairn this beautiful Scottish mornin’?”

“I’m
not
a wee bairn, Uncle Creigh. I’m a big girl.”

He tapped a large finger on her pert little nose. “Och, and what did I tell ye about that, me little luv?”