Page 26 of Unpredictable Love


  It was terrifying. It was arousing.

  When she saw her breath turn white in the air, she shivered with cold. She had been so deep in her thoughts she didn’t notice that night had arrived.

  The sounds were quieter now. The chirp of insects. The subtle cracks of tree limbs splintering overhead. Little rustlings that betrayed nocturnal creatures burrowing in the underground.

  A heavy, gray cloud hovered over the tall, dense trees and partially blocked the moon. A wild wind whipped, carrying with it a few tired autumn leaves and the earthy scent of winter mold.

  She huddled herself in her coat, blowing on her hands, and she quickened her pace, taking a shortcut through the park.

  A bright flash caught her eye, like a distant bolt of lightning.

  It was then that she glimpsed a man standing under a willow tree, looking at her house. He is just a man strolling in the park. I’m overreacting. Her pulse tripped over itself before racing off so fast it made her light-headed. Yeah . . . and I believe in the Easter Bunny.

  The soft light that passed through thinner clouds showed his profile: he was not tall or broad or ugly, but there was an air of menace surrounding him. If he were a trick to scare her, he was a cruel one. He looked as if he was not from this century. Or from any century at all.

  He wore a black leather coat, which flapped against the wind, and his hair was completely white, his skin pale.

  Suddenly he turned, and Laetitia stepped back. And if he truly wanted to hurt her, there would be little Laetitia could do about it.

  “Don’t be afraid. I was waiting for you.”

  His voice, hoarse and deep, with a commanding tone, carried on the breeze, giving her cold shivers.

  “I have been waiting for you, for many years. Laetitia.”

  The words hung about her, rang in her ears, threatening to choke her. She inhaled loudly, raspy. The things that happen in dreams have no bearing whatsoever on reality. She raised her chin. “Stay. Away. From me.”

  He stood there, staring at her, making no move to approach any closer. He nodded slowly in compliance and stepped back, until he was nothing more than a shadow. “If you wish.”

  The little laugh she gave surprised herself. It smacked of arrogance and a new self-assurance.

  “Go home,” he commanded quietly.

  To Ireland? Backing away slowly, her eyes fixed on him, she answered loud enough for him to hear. “Never!”

  Then with the corners of her eyes, she saw a shadow began to move, split in two, and slither over trees, surrounding her from both sides. Laetitia glanced around, but there was no one she could see, and the man had disappeared.

  And yet the two darknesses moved toward her.

  Quickly—too quickly.

  Weighing her chances of continuing to her house, going back to the ruins, facing the retreating apparition, or being surrounded by those shadows, she decided to follow none. She did a half turn on her heels and sprinted into a frenetic run toward the gates.

  She heard loud footsteps coming from many directions and male voices shouting, but she was much too panicked to determine their paths or their words as she tore blindly through foliage and tree branches.

  There was a loud buzz in her ears—no room in her mind for any form of rational thought. She only wanted to get away from him—them—whoever they were.

  Her ankle turned as she stepped on a root, but rough hands grabbed her by the waist, hoisting her onto a hard male chest. “Hello, puss.”

  Oh, God! She could do little harm, but she would not go without a fight. She elbowed his stomach, but it was a futile waste of energy. “Get off me, Alejandro!”

  Alejandro’s arm banded like steel around her ribs and squeezed hard. “If I knew you were worth so much money—”

  She jerked back her head with all her force; the sound of cartilage breaking gave her a bit of added energy. A gush of viscous substance wetted the side of her neck and shoulder.

  “You fucking bitch!” Alejandro slammed her against a tree, stunning her when hear head impacted with the hard trunk. “You’re going to pay for that.”

  He pulled her toward him, preparing to slam her head a second time, when a dry, loud sound echoed in the forest. Alejandro lost his grip on her and collapsed to the ground.

  Laetitia screamed, and with a rush of adrenaline to help her fight the dizziness from her head injury, she ran away, sprinting toward a light.

  But it blinded her when she came closer.

  The last thing she heard was the sound of tires loudly slipping on gravel.

  Beardley Park

  7:18 p.m.

  “You shot me,” Alejandro whimpered.

  “It’s just a scratch.”

  He had been so patient. He should have waited longer instead of scaring her away. He had promised himself he would introduce himself in a calm and ordinary way, but the words never made it out.

  Now, he had ruined everything.

  His foot pressed down on the head of the pompous man who dared put his hands on her. “Who sent you?”

  “I don’t know. All they asked was to take her to a meeting in London.” Alejandro whimpered. “Don’t hurt me, please. I’m rich—”

  He laughed out loud and kneeled on the younger man’s back. “Hurt you? No, I’m not going to hurt you. You are going to tell me who paid you to hurt her.”

  “I don’t know. Please,” Alejandro begged.

  “Let me help refresh your memory.” He hammered the rifle butt on Alejandro’s head.

  “Please, don’t hurt me. Don’t hurt me.”

  “Was it Callaghan?”

  “No. Kinsella. The name is Kinsella,” he said, between gasps and sobs. “Please, let me go. Please.”

  “Johansen Kinsella?” He was surprised by the answer.

  “Yes, that’s it. Kinsella. He wanted to meet her. Just that.”

  “Where?”

  “Some place in London. I have the address and date here, in my back pocket.”

  “Thank you.” He took out the paper from Alejandro’s jeans and stood up. “You can sit now.”

  Alejandro obeyed awkwardly, grabbing his bleeding shoulder, and looked up. He gasped. “Who are . . . you?”

  “Let me introduce myself.” Laetitia’s male older version bowed, mockingly. “Air Chief Marshall Sir Leon Camden. I’m her grandfather. And the man who is going to kill you if you ever—ever—touch her again.”

  Lakeside Manor

  Thursday, September 25, 2014

  1:34 a.m.

  “So, this is your Snowdrop. I always thought you would fall for another amazon like Johanna, never a tiny woman,” Richard said.

  The three men were having a cold supper in the kitchen, which Martha had ordered Richard to prepare, after having shooed a hovering Tavish from the bathroom, saying she was the one who was going to help Laetitia wash.

  “I didn’t fall for her. I can admit to some feelings for her, but we are still getting acquainted.”

  “If you want to call mooning over a woman for weeks and spending your weekends and business days in this part of the world getting acquainted”—Richard made quotes in the air and smiled—“feel free to fool yourself.”

  “Fine, fine,” he conceded. “We have many interests in common. We are trying to establish a relationship that is not in conflict with our having business together, and we are . . . sexually compatible.”

  Richard had the gall to give him a mock smile. “No fucking shit.”

  Tavish rolled his eyes at his friend. “Combustible. That just about sums it up.” He craved Laetitia with an insatiable hunger that he sensed would plague him for the rest of his life. Regardless of how long or short that life might be.

  “Will.”

  Hugh’s voice cut through Tavish’s thoughts, which were solely focused on the woman who lay in a room above him with a sprained left ankle, bruises on her chest, a lacerated right hand, two stitches on her head, and a concussion.

  “What happened?”


  “I don’t know yet. And I didn’t want to pressure. You saw when she arrived. Even if the concussion is small, it wouldn’t have helped if I kept hammering her with questions.” Running his hand over his hair, Tavish leaned back in the chair. He had taken Laetitia to the hospital, and the doctor had only released her after being certain the concussion was not dangerous. She didn’t even question his decision to go to his friends’ house instead of hers.

  “Did you call the police?” asked Richard.

  “Nae.” He crossed his muscled arms over his broad chest.

  Hugh caught his eyes. “Really? Why not?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “You brothers MacCraig like complicated women.” Richard put a plate of sandwiches on the table and sat on a chair next to him.

  “Seems so.” He munched on his sandwich. Questions swam in his head, even more now than previously, just as he instinctively knew he wouldn’t get the answers easily. When Martha entered the kitchen, he immediately got up. “How is she?”

  “Sleeping.” She sat in front of him with a frown marring her forehead. “They did a poor job cleaning her at the hospital. There was a lot of blood still in her hair.”

  Minutes ticked by in silence.

  “She was pretty shaken, Will,” Martha added, probing for information.

  Tavish cleared his throat, measuring his words as he explained, “She has been receiving strange calls. This attack today didn’t help.”

  “From the same man who attacked her today?” Richard asked.

  “I don’t believe so.” He rubbed a hand on his nape and rose. “I better go see her. I can’t thank you enough, Martha.”

  “Will,” Hugh called. “Don’t think you’re going to get away without some explanations.”

  I didn’t think I was. Tavish put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Later, Hugh. I’ll tell you all later.” This will be a hell of a night.

  2:56 a.m.

  “Little Elf.” Tavish shook Laetitia’s shoulder. “Laetitia. Wake up.”

  “Hmm?” she moaned. “What do you want now?”

  He held his partially closed hand in front of her face. “How many fingers do you see?”

  “Let me sleep,” she mumbled. “I’m tired.”

  He frowned, worried. “How many fingers, Laetitia.”

  Her eyelids were heavy, but she managed to open them. “If I tell you, you’ll let me sleep?”

  “Aye.”

  “Eighteen fingers.” She grabbed his shirt and pulled it.

  Unexpected as the movement was, he fell from his sitting position onto the bed and stopped his crashing over her with a hand. “Jesus, Laetitia.”

  “Get in bed with me. Please?” she asked. In spite of how much she had tried to be brave, her emotions were out of control. She felt the ominous oppression that had shadowed her life was back again.

  He opened his mouth to say he shouldn’t lie down with her but hadn’t the courage. After shedding his shoes, he put his arm under her head and got comfortable in the bed. She closed her eyes, curled into him, and whispered, “Hold me tight, Barbarian. Don’t let me go.”

  “I won’t. I promise.” After all she had undergone, it impressed him that she reacted so well. With a sigh, he stretched out beside her. He rubbed a hand over his face and exhaled. He hated to admit it, but he was tired, too.

  He traced his knuckles over her jaw and the shell of her pointed ear, her skin reminding him of the petals of the fragile Scottish snowdrop, white as milk and soft to the touch. His fingers dipped in her hair, thick as mink pelt, shades of the palest gold and white, long enough for him to imagine her covered only in it. So delicate, so fragile. I won’t let anyone hurt you, my Little Elf.

  By the first light of the morning, after he had woken her a couple of more times, and she had given him groggy, sweet answers, using his chest as a pillow, her hand over his heart, trusting him with her security, she drove him into a state of arousal.

  With a throbbing erection, he could barely breathe normally, his brain in lockdown mode. He disengaged her from the sprawling position over him and jumped into an icy-cold shower.

  After, he adjusted her foot on the pillows again, climbed back in bed with her, pulled the coverlet over them both, and let exhaustion take over.

  For the first time in years, Tavish felt like himself again. There was something about having her near, her teeming sweetness, that sparked inside his soul and made him feel somewhat human again.

  He didn’t know why, and he didn’t know if it would last. But he liked it.

  Maybe he liked it too much for his own good.

  CHAPTER 32

  Laetitia woke to bluish-gray light in a quiet room. She stretched groggily, barely realizing the cloth under her face wasn’t her pillow.

  Undecided if he should laugh or keep quiet, Tavish struggled not to clench his muscles as her small, soft palm ran over him. With her eyes closed, Laetitia’s hand groped at the cotton until it found smooth skin, ropes of muscle, and a soft trail of hair. Still sleepy, she nuzzled her nose in the hollow of his neck and moved her lips against his skin, as if giving him a good-morning kiss.

  He lay there wishing her hand continued downward on its exploration. But it headed north and to his tortured delight found his nipple, playing with the even-softer texture. Unable to contain himself, he exhaled a groan.

  The soft rumble shook her fully awake.

  “Morning,” he whispered, just as she snapped her eyes open.

  She yanked her hand back. “Hmm . . . I was . . . good morning.”

  His deep chuckle filled the room as he rolled her to her back and propped himself on his elbow. With the movement, the cover and sheet fell to his waist.

  With a devious glint in his eyes, he clucked his tongue. “Ms. Galen. Who would have thought? You were groping me.”

  That playful side of him made her smile. “Guilty.”

  And what will be my reward? “Feeling better?” Cautiously and methodically, he searched her face for traces of shock or signs that the concussion had affected her more than he could have predicted.

  She nodded and opened her mouth to yawn, just to clamp it shut again.

  “What?” He looked at her quizzically, and his hand cupped her face, gently probing. “Does your jaw hurt?”

  His mint breath washed over her. Through thinned lips, she mumbled, “Haven’t brushed my teeth yet.”

  He tossed back his head in a laugh. “Not one for spontaneity, eh? I doona mind, Snowdrop.”

  “How do you smell so good?” she asked, licking her lips, wanting a taste of his.

  “I went to bed about an hour ago,” he said with a smile, stirred by her licking. “So, how are you feeling?”

  Afraid. Very much afraid. “A bit shaken yet. Sore here and here.” She pointed to the side of her head and at her cheekbone. “But otherwise, I’m good, thank you.”

  When she put her weight on her hand to sit, she fell back onto the pillow.

  The tears welled in her eyes as she remembered the events of the previous night. She pushed it all away, and with sadness on her face, she whispered, “Ah, well. A hurting hand, too.”

  The fear was written all over her face, but he decided not to press right now. “And the ankle?”

  Focusing her mind on the physical pain to brush away the frightening thoughts, she flexed her foot up and down carefully. “Hurts, but not that bad.”

  He reached up to push her hair away from her face, and his thumb feathered over the scratches on her cheekbone and bandaged stitches on her forehead. “You were lucky. You could have hurt yourself much more if you had fallen on the gravel instead of the grass.”

  “I’m thirsty.” She looked at him warily. “And I have a headache.”

  He picked up the medicine the doctor had prescribed and a glass of water from the bedside table and handed it to her, watching as she drank, keeping her eyes away from him.

  Deflecting will get you nowhere. He knew exactly how to de
al with wariness. He would coach her to trust him more each day, until she opened totally.

  After all those years, all his outer and inner battles, there in his arms lay a woman he intended to have. It wouldn’t be easy.

  Laetitia needed gentleness.

  Understanding.

  Patience.

  All of these were his best traits.

  But when it came to her, they all flew out the window. When it came to her, all his emotions got out of control and engaged in a primitive fight, where temperance argued with dominance—and lost before the first round was over.

  It was her remaining innocence that the most primitive part of him wanted to conquer, to possess, and to protect. And without any more delays.

  Having her lying there next to him, hurt and frightened, trusting him to keep her alive, gave him the insight he wouldn’t have had otherwise. What do I have to give her? His breath was knocked out of his lungs.

  “Thank you.” She handed the glass back to him and gazed up into his eyes. “I’m tired.”

  Before he did or said something he’d regret, he kissed her forehead and pulled her back against his chest. “It’s early. Sleep.”

  9:42 a.m.

  “Little Elf.” Sitting on the bed, Tavish leaned in to Laetitia and nuzzled her ear with his nose. He whispered, “Come on, Little Elf, wake up for good now.”

  “Hmm?” She blinked and murmured, “Just a bit more.”

  “Lazybones,” he breathed.

  She rolled to the middle of the bed and stretched her arms above her head. The movement twisted the white T-shirt around her body, which lifted up to highlight her breasts and her slim waist; when she arched languidly on the bed, elongating, the sheet fell from her ribs, showing the top of her hips, and he remembered she was stark naked under the flimsy shirt Martha had lent her.

  The image made him hard as steel, and he hissed in a breath. “Bloody hell, woman. I came to take you down for breakfast.”