Chapter Three

Fintan rose to his feet as Andra left. All thoughts of dining in with Beth were now a thing of the past. He didn’t dare be alone with Beth. Not at least until he could tame the dark urges pushing toward his surface. He needed somewhere public. Someplace Brigid couldn’t observe, and someplace where simply being alone with Beth didn’t tempt him with thoughts of how soft, how sweet, her mouth was.

“Let’s go down to the village and get a bite to eat.”

Puzzlement filled her compelling green eyes. “I thought—”

He flashed a smile before she could finish. “I’ve been cooped up in here all day. I need some fresh air. Besides, if I remember right, you don’t particularly like pork, which is what my cook put together.” He didn’t have the slightest idea what his cook had made for the night. Chances were it wasn’t pork, since he’d specifically reminded Lachlan that Beth couldn’t stomach it. But right now, he’d take any excuse to escape the suddenly claustrophobic confines of his office.

When Beth stepped toward the door, rote habit lifted his hand to the small of her back. Like liquid fire, heat shot through his system, taking root in his groin. Beneath the confines of his comfortable jeans, his cock stirred to awareness. He bit back a silent oath and ushered her through the door, where he gratefully dropped his hand and gestured at the long hall, indicating she should go ahead.

Putting her in front of him, however, solved nothing. Her hair might be different, her shoulders might stand more erect, but her ass hadn’t changed a bit. It was every bit as mouth-watering as it always had been. More so, if he allowed himself to acknowledge how her suit pants complimented the gentle curves, as opposed to the way her bulky, tattered jeans tried to hide them.

Fintan bit back an inward groan. He’d been a fool to invite her to stay three days with him, especially with the Sabot so near. While Beth had always affected him powerfully, the rising energy of Imbolc only compounded her effect. He ached to explore that spark of passion he’d unwittingly discovered in her long-ago kiss.

For a man who’d ignored his base urges, rarely indulging in the pleasures of the flesh, that spelled imminent trouble.

He sought to distract the wayward nature of his mind through benign conversation. “So how have you been, Beth?” Better yet, what caused this transformation into a cool-as-rain woman with too-harsh lines to her designer clothing?

“Good. A lot better than the last time I was here.” She laughed softly as they stepped through the front door. “I got things together and finally carved Dan out of everything. Opened my own practice too.”

Though enthusiasm filled her voice, a sharp pang lanced through Fintan. She didn’t belong in law. Maybe she was good at it—he really didn’t know. But Beth’s passion lay in painting, and her controlling ex, Dan, along with her mother, had carved that passion out of her. Fintan held in a sigh. “That’s good. Are you painting at all?”

From the corner of his eye, he noticed her stiffen. She shook her head, sending her long hair cascading over her elbows. The faint scent of honeysuckle wafted to his nose. He breathed it in, savored the sweet scent.

“I really don’t have much time for many hobbies. I had to rearrange a court date just to get over here for three days. If I’d waited, my next break would have been in November.”

He frowned as he opened the passenger’s door on his charcoal Mercedes. If she were willing to rearrange an appearance before the judge just to come to Scotland, didn’t that tell her anything?

As she slid into the seat, the perfect picture of professional composure, regret pulled slowly through him. For one fleeting instant he longed for the softer, struggling woman he’d come to know. This one could stand-in for a cover model and likely stand toe-to-toe with the president, but that Beth was more endearing. More genuine.

He rounded the front bumper and ducked behind the steering wheel before she could observe the frown that pulled at his brow. It shouldn’t matter. She was only staying three days, and he damn sure didn’t need to be considering anything but the upcoming ritual. Certainly not the many ways he’d like to peel off those wool slacks and pluck open the dainty pearl buttons on Beth’s sheer blouse.

The drive to the quaint mountainside pub passed in unusual silence, a quiet Fintan couldn’t logic. What had happened to the Beth who chatted so freely, who didn’t hesitate to gasp at the high purple peaks or drill him over the history of Scotland’s native people? She seemed so far from the sweet-smelling woman who sat beside him. Like a dream he’d once imagined that shattered with the brilliance of first light.

“Beth?” he finally asked as they eased into the narrow parking space. “Is something bothering you?”

For one all-too-brief instant when her gaze flicked to his, he saw the memory he had held close. Her eyes sparked with brilliant, curious light, and softness touched her face as she gave him a genuine smile. “I’ve missed Scotland.” She reached across the center console and squeezed his hand affectionately. “I’ve missed you as well, Fintan.”

That damned familiar gesture stoked yearning that had been buried for centuries. His innards ground down like a vise, and the swelling of his cock intensified to near painful limits. He sucked in a sharp breath, summoning every last vestige of willpower he possessed to keep from leaning across the distance that separated them and drawing Beth into his arms so he could lose himself in her unforgettable kiss.

He cleared his throat, disentangled his hand, and opened his car door. “Let’s eat. I’m starved.”

****

Beth pushed aside her bowl of stew, more full than she could remember being. Beyond the plate glass window, the mountains that cradled Fintan’s home rose to majestic heights, their snow-capped peaks now deep lavender as the sun sank. Across from her, Fintan finished off a warm cherry tart. A dab of icing clung beneath his full lower lip, prompting her to giggle.

“What?” he asked.

“You have icing…” She touched the same area on her face.

He used his teeth to retrieve the bit, curling them over to scrape it in, then swiping his lip with his tongue. Her heart tripped erratically. She couldn’t stop thinking about how right his mouth would feel against hers—had felt. And she’d stopped trying to rationalize the intense reaction his simple presence provoked inside her. Just as she’d stopped fighting the contentment Scotland itself brought.

She liked Fintan. Always had. Being with him contented some unnamable part of her existence. She just couldn’t allow attraction to steer her off-course, or once again succumb to someone else’s vision of herself.

Which made it all that more necessary to get the answers to the document, see if it related to her heritage, and return to Manhattan, because Fintan could easily sway her down another false life-course.

“How old is that journal, Fintan?”

He swallowed a mouthful of coffee with haste and just as quickly set his mug down. “Let’s not talk about that here. There are people who would very much like to get their hands on something like it.” Reaching across the table, he picked up her hand and folded it between his large palms. “Why don’t you tell me why you went back into law? The last I heard, you weren’t happy there.”

The feel of his slightly roughened hands against the back of hers shot thrills up and down her spine. She tamped down the urge to squirm in her seat, to splay her fingers so his would slide between the gaps. We’re just old friends. Just because you’re attracted to him, doesn’t mean he’s attracted to you.

Law. She steered her mind back to conversation, away from the fantasy of what it might be like to spend three days indulging in a brief, no-strings-attached affair. “I’ve always liked law. I didn’t like practicing with my ex. Now that the divorce is finalized, and I have my own office, my own clients, I’m loving every minute of it.”

Most of the time, that was true. The long hours, long nights preparing, and endless research into case law often made her yearn for an assistant. Jumping-to for bitchy clients made her nerves raw as well, but she accepted the demands, certain things would change when she’d built her reputation up enough that she could be a bit more firm.

“And your mom? What’s she say about it?”

Beth chuckled. “Mom couldn’t be happier. She says it’s about time I put my degree to good use and stopped letting Dan run me over.”

“Mm-hm.”

The sharp downturn of the corners of his mouth held censure that made Beth uncomfortable. She tugged at her hand, sliding it from between the protective hold of his. “What’s mm-hm mean?”

Fintan shook his head. “Nothing.”

“No, it meant something. What?”

He leaned back in his seat, his contemplative stare even more unsettling. She held his speculative eyes, determined not to yield her insistence for answers. She’d faced off more intimidating men than Fintan McClaine, attorneys that could make a historian crawl on his knees and beg.

“I think your mom has more to do with opening your own practice than you do.”

His blunt observation made her blink. Defensiveness set in. “What makes you think that? I always wanted to go to law school, always wanted my own practice. She just saw how Dan controlled me and is glad I’m not stuck working in his seedy firm.”

“If you say so, Beth.”

“I do say so.” Indignation sharpened her voice.

“Wasn’t your father an attorney?”

“Yes,” she snapped. “One of the best in New York. What’s that have to do with my mother?”

He shook his head, and his long brown hair dusted over his shoulders. Instead of answering, he gave her a charming smile. “It has nothing to do with your mother. Why don’t we head back and talk about what you came here for?”

What she came here for—why did that phrase sound like it came with a double meaning? And why had his simple question about her father turned her belly into one iron-tight knot?

Because he was digging again. Pulling out childish dreams that he thought meant more than they ever had. Trying to steer her in the direction he saw for her, not what lay within her heart. Damn it, she needed to get back home.

When she didn’t immediately slide out of the chair to join him, he hunkered down at her side and took her hand in his once more. His gaze held hers intently. “I apologize for offending you, Beth. Let’s go back, have a glass of wine, and come up with some answers for you.”

Wine and Fintan—bad combination. But he crouched so close the scent of his spice-laden aftershave played havoc with her senses. She didn’t fight when he rose, allowed him to gently pull her to her feet, and kept her hand tucked in his as he led her out of the pub.

“Do you think the scroll has answers, Fintan?” she asked as she ducked into the car once more.

“It absolutely does.”