“I can do this. I can do this.” Sarah watched herself in the mirror as she repeated the words like some deranged cheerleader.
She would not be intimidated by that man. She’d lived through marriage to him, she could certainly live through a dinner party with him. What could he possibly do to her? Other than call her names, question her sanity and generally embarrass her. She could survive that. She’d survived it before.
She was stronger now. No longer a dewy-eyed girl to be disappointed by what she had seen at the time as his betrayal of her. He meant nothing to her now. There was nothing he could say that could wound her anymore.
Unless he told Ian about her. About how different she really was. About the things she felt.
She didn’t want Ian to learn about her. Didn’t want to see him look at her as everyone always did when they heard her secrets. The disbelief, the pity, the avoidance.
She shook her head. Brad would have no reason to do that. Surely he wouldn’t go out of his way to create a scene in front of the people he worked with or his young wife.
Would he?
Or had he already spoken to someone about her? A conversation that little Will had overheard?
The child’s knowledge of her feelings still rattled her. There had to be some logical explanation. She had only to discover what it was.
Another glance at the mirror assured her that at least she wouldn’t have to worry about being dressed inappropriately tonight. Ian had excellent taste in clothing. She wore the less formal of the two dresses he’d chosen for her, this one a snug green silky dress under a shimmery gossamer covering that flowed around her body with each movement. She was a little uncomfortable that it followed her curves quite so closely, but even she had to admit it looked pretty good.
“Is there no some classic American joke about how long it takes you women to get dressed?” Ian’s voice drifted up from the lower level of the cottage.
“Several of them,” she called back, turning from the mirror and starting for the stairs. Pep rally was over. Time to head out to the big game.
She came to an abrupt halt at the bottom of the stairs as Ian emitted a long, low whistle.
“And worth every minute of the wait.” He nodded appreciatively. “It looks even better on you now than it did in the shop. You’re a vision tonight, Sarah.”
“Thank you.”
She was sure he would have complimented any woman he escorted, but his words warmed her. And the look on his face when he took her arm at the door made her feel as lovely as he claimed she was.
Her flattery-induced euphoria lasted until they reached the terrace and the party already in progress. She wasn’t sure whether she was more uncomfortable with the angry daggers shooting their way from Brad or the looks of unabashed curiosity coming from his baby-faced wife.
“Wait here.”
The words Ian breathed in her ear triggered a moment of near suffocating panic when he dropped her hand and walked away. But he returned carrying two glasses of champagne before she could react.
I can do this.
He placed his hand low on her back, and once again his breath brushed against her ear as he leaned in close.
“Relax, luv. Dinna let him get to you. You’ve nothing to fear.”
She stiffened. “He doesn’t frighten me.” Technically true. It was only what he might say that frightened her.
“Of course you dinna fear him.”
Ian’s light chuckle against her ear sent chills down her back and heat rushing to her face. Was it even possible to feel hot and cold at the same time? Possible or not, she did.
From the quickly averted gazes of the other guests, Sarah realized how their actions were being interpreted. Ian was doing this intentionally, to foster that impression, to help her. To bolster her self-confidence in dealing with her ex-husband and the others.
Why was he doing it? It didn’t matter anymore. Just as she’d given herself permission to relinquish control to whatever higher powers were responsible for her “feelings,” she now gave herself permission to enjoy this moment in her life. An opportunity to have a man like Ian pretending to be attracted to you came along more rarely than…what? More rarely than Will’s imaginary Faerie ancestors showed their faces. She’d be a fool not to take advantage of the adventure.
She turned her face to his and smiled.
“Thank you,” she whispered, closing the small gap between them, brushing her lips lightly across his.
Her own actions might have shocked her had she not found his unexpected response so astonishing. Astonishing and thoroughly enjoyable.
His eyes widened in surprise a second before the grin forming on his mouth traveled to them. The hand at her back pulled her tightly to him and he turned the kiss from the light touch she had intended into something else altogether—something that stole all thought of where they were until the sound of a throat clearing next to them brought her back to reality.
“Bravo, old man.” Danny stood next to them, grinning. “But perhaps you could hold off until after dinner is served?”
Ian pulled away, but continued to hold her gaze. “Perhaps.” Turning to his friend, he mirrored Daniel’s grin. “But dinner had better be spectacular.”
The hand at her back loosened, guiding her across the terrace.
Sarah breathed deeply, working hard to keep her trembling legs moving forward. She was keenly aware that the tremors racing through her body had nothing to do with the open stares of the other guests and everything to do with what she had just experienced.
Ian’s response to her had been honest and open, clearly transmitting his emotions. He hadn’t been acting. His kiss was filled with desire. Desire for her.
I can do this?
Her cheerleader seemed to have deserted her.
* * *
“Dammit, Ian, you’re not listening to a word I’ve said.” Daniel slammed his glass down, the contents spilling out onto the gleaming cherrywood of the old desk.
“Aye, Danny, I am.” Ian turned from the glass doors to look at his friend. “Dallyn says there’s movement in the Nuadian energy field.” He turned his gaze back to the terrace, pausing to open the doors a crack. With only a little effort he’d be able to hear the conversation he watched so intently.
“This is important,” Danny grumbled as he wiped at the spill on his desk.
“Important, aye, but it’s no unexpected. Dallyn has said all along that one of the Nuadian High Council is involved. Sooner or later, we knew there would be movement in the energy field.” He glanced back again for a moment. “It means our wait is almost over. Soon we’ll know who it is we’re facing.”
“Yes, well, not at the rate we’re going. That assistant, O’Dannan, arrived earlier this evening, but sent word down claiming he was too tired to join us tonight. And then he announced that the chairman, this Ray Servans, is bringing his brother with him. I’m telling you, Ian, it doesn’t feel right. It’s not any of the men we’ve interacted with so far, I’d bet my estate on it.”
“You dinna have to bet anything. We already know it’s none of them. When our man shows up, I’ll feel it. I know my own kind.”
Ian only half listened to Daniel’s continued discussion of the possibilities. He believed in concentrating his efforts on what was real, what was at hand. Possibilities meant nothing until they materialized, until they were on his field of battle. And once they were? Then he’d deal with them, neutralize them as he always had.
For now, he was much more interested in what Brad Tanner was saying to the small group gathered around Sarah. He didn’t like the looks of that. Opening the door wider, he slipped through, listening intently before he approached.
“I don’t care what it looked like, princess.” Tanner leaned into his wife, speaking loud enough to be heard by the whole group—loud enough that Ian didn’t need to use any special effort to hear the slurred speech.
“She’s a cold fish, completely frigid. And I, of all people, should know. Shouldn’t I, Sarah?” He turned, lifting his glass in salute, sloshing the contents over the side. “My Ice Queen, I called her. My Virtual Virgin.” He shook his head. “Not an actual virgin, mind you. I saw to that, and pretty damn well, too, I might add.” He chuckled and lifted his glass for a drink, looking surprised when he found it empty.
His wife tugged at his sleeve, casting apologetic glances at Sarah, who stood still, frozen in place, as the others looked on in obvious embarrassment.
“No, Nicki here can vouch for me on that count. I’m damn good in bed, but this one”—he swung his glass toward Sarah—“this one is like screwing the dead, completely incapable of enjoying sex.”
“Oh, Sarah, I am so very sorry.” Nicole moved toward her, hands lifted helplessly. “It’s the painkillers he took for his poor back. I warned him not to drink after taking the meds, but I’m sure you must remember how stubborn Brad can be.” She shrugged.
“So I wonder what excuse she uses for his being an ass all the rest of the time,” Marlena Stephenson murmured to her husband, who looked down, attempting to hide the smile on his face.
“It’s why she writes those freakin’ romance books,” Brad interrupted. “Because she can’t do it, she writes about it. Fiction all the way in her case.” He snorted, laughing at his own joke, and turned toward the bar, snagging a filled glass.
Ian reached her then, putting his arm around her shoulders. He’d expected trembling, but found nothing. She felt as frozen as she looked, staring straight ahead at Tanner, her cheeks a flaming red.
Rage grew, dancing through his blood, causing his hands to curl into fists. With effort, he relaxed them. The man was thoroughly intoxicated, barely able to stand on his own.
“I believe it’s time, Mrs. Tanner, that you help yer husband retire for the evening. Allow the alcohol to work its way out of his system.”
Either that, or he wouldn’t be responsible for what was about to happen to Bradley Tanner.
“I’m not going anywhere, Lord Boy Toy.” Brad threw his glass to the ground, where it shattered, pieces scattering around his feet. “Unless you think you can make me go.” He leaned toward Ian, belligerently thrusting out his chin. “You want to try to make me go?”
“Daddy,” Nicole shrieked as she turned to an older gentleman standing quietly on the edge of the group.
Alexander Storey stepped forward, putting an arm around Tanner’s shoulders. “Why don’t you let me help you back to your room, Brad?”
“No. I’m fine. I’m enjoying myself. I can take him. I work out.” He stumbled against the older man.
“Paul?” Storey motioned to Stephenson, who hurried forward. Between them, they managed to assist Brad inside, Nicole trailing in their wake.
Marlena Stephenson reached out a hand, touching Sarah’s arm to get her attention. “Don’t pay any mind to him. He’s always unpleasant, although I don’t think I’ve ever seen him quite this bad.” She patted Sarah’s hand. “Do you truly write romance, my dear? I love romance novels. I simply devour them. Have you been writing for long? I wonder if I might have read something of yours.”
Sarah stiffened and then sighed before answering, as if resigned. “I’ve been writing for several years.”
“I find her writing to be quite good.” Ian smiled down at her as she turned to him, a surprised look on her face. She hadn’t realized he’d bought the book she’d dropped in that little shop. “Of course, I am only reading my first one and I do admit to being a wee bit prejudiced.” He looked back at the women. “She writes as S. J. Douglas.”
“No,” Nessa squealed, grabbing Sarah’s hand. “I have your latest book on my nightstand right now. I can’t believe you’ve been here this long and I didn’t know who you were.” She glanced accusingly at Ian. “And you didn’t say a word to me.”
Marlena stood back and nodded appreciatively. “I’m impressed, Sarah. As a matter of fact, I have all your books back home. I love your heroes. They’re so…”—she gave a little shiver—“alpha male.” She smiled mischievously, tilting her head. “I guess now that I’ve met the prototype for them, I can understand why.”
“Oh, no, I—” Sarah started to protest, but Ian cut her off.
“Why, thank you, Mrs. Stephenson. I appreciate the compliment. And now”—he dropped his hand to Sarah’s waist—“I think my little author and I will hit the buffet table. I seem to have worked up quite an appetite. If you’ll excuse us?”
He guided her to the opposite side of the stone pond, where the buffet had been arranged. He’d filled their plates and found a bench at the far edge of the terrace for them before she finally spoke.
“Thank you for coming to my rescue. Again.”
He shook his head slowly as he sat down next to her. “I dinna do anything that any other man would no have done in my place.”
“Oh really? Because I could swear there were other men standing around, and none of them stepped forward to stop Brad.”
“Well, I did say ‘any man in my place.’ None of them were lucky enough to be yer escort this evening.”
“You and I both know that doesn’t have anything to do with it. You would have stepped in to prevent any woman from being treated that way, wouldn’t you?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps I’m simply no as tolerant as other men.”
“No, that’s not it.” She tilted her head, narrowing her eyes. “There’s something terribly gallant about you. Something old world. As a matter of fact, now that I think about it, I can see why Marlena would assume that I patterned my heroes after you.”
“And why is that, luv?”
“Well, just like my heroes, you’re a pretty take-charge kind of guy.”
He nodded. “Go on.”
“You’re chivalrous, considerate and extremely helpful.”
Another nod. “Continue.”
She sat back, a confused smile on her face, as he’d expected. “More? What else would you have me add to that list?”
“Well, so far you’ve described every boy scout in the country. But according to what I’ve read in yer book so far”—he raised an eyebrow—“if I’m just like yer heroes, then I’m also quite handsome, verra strong and verra brave.” He paused, looking to her for confirmation before continuing.
“Yes, I suppose those are traits I could attribute to you as well.”
He couldn’t hold back his mischievous smile as he picked up where he’d left off on the list of his supposed qualities.
“Let’s see, I’m also unbelievably sexy, and—what was that other one? Oh yes…absolutely irresistible to the heroine.”
She lowered her eyes to the plate in her lap as color crept into her cheeks. “Yes, well, but you must remember, my heroes are only fantasy.”
Ian took the empty plate from her hands and put it on the ground next to his. When he turned back to her, he placed a finger under her chin, lifting her face to look into her eyes.
“That, sweet Sarah, is what a good hero excels at—fulfilling yer every fantasy.”
Her eyes widened as they fixed on his and he felt the slightest tremble against his fingers. Hard to believe in this moment that he had ever thought her anything less than the most beautiful woman he’d ever met.
When she spoke, her voice held the same light tremor as her body. “If I didn’t know better, Ian McCullough, I’d think you were flirting with me.”
“What makes you think I’d no be flirting with you?”
She lifted her chin from his grasp and looked back down at her hands clasped nervously in her lap before once again meeting his gaze. This time it was defiance he saw there.
“Well, for one thing, because I’m too old for you.”
As if that would matter, even if it were true. He threw back his head and laughed, drawing looks from the other couples around the terrace.
“I’m serious, Ian.” She stood and looked down at him. “I’m too old for you to be considering any kind of romantic…anything with me.”
“I dinna care. Yer age disna matter to me.” He rose to stand.
“It does too matter. I’m…” She paused, drawing in a deep breath and closing her eyes for moment. “I’m thirty-eight, Ian. You’re a full decade younger than I. That’s an enormous difference.”
“It’s only numbers, Sarah.”
He pulled her close and lowered his head to hers, nuzzling his lips against the spot under her ear that he’d already discovered sent shivers through her body.
He should stop this game quickly, while it was still a game, but she was vulnerable now. Not only the kind of vulnerability he saw in her eyes, but the kind that came from everyone watching. She couldn’t pull away when this was the behavior the observers expected, and he knew it. Counted on it. Used it.
“Meaningless numbers, and some unreasonable obsession you have with age that we’ll revisit at another time.” He straightened and slid his thumbs to either side of her neck, moving them in the small circles that seemed to relax her. “That’s a promise.”
He knew she felt the truth in his statement when her eyes widened and her mouth opened slightly as if she would protest.
“But for now, we’ve a little boy we’ve pledged to tuck into bed.”
She nodded and he tightened his grip, bending over her again and pulling her close to gently kiss her lips.
Somewhere along the way, what he’d intended as no more than playful banter had turned entirely serious. He’d only thought to build her self-confidence, to help her feel more sure of herself, but to his surprise, he found he’d meant every word of what he’d said.
“And like yer heroes, my sweet, I never break a promise.”
Instantly she tensed and pulled from his grasp. He allowed her to go, to reclaim her distance.
Ian didn’t actually consider himself to be hero material as she’d suggested. He did, however, think of himself as an excellent warrior. And, like every good warrior, he understood the importance of choosing his battles wisely.
He would wait for the right time and the right place to engage in this particular battle.
* * *
“What were you giggling about?”
Sarah tucked her feet under her as she settled into the enormous leather sofa in the great room of the cottage. She watched the muscles beneath the tight silk T-shirt Ian wore ripple across his back like the famed Nessie in her loch. All the while, she tried not to remember that this sofa was currently doubling as his bed.
“I dinna ever giggle, woman. It’s no a manly thing to do.” He rose from the hearth and dusted off his hands, leaving the fire he’d just lit. “I laugh or I chuckle, but never giggle.”
He grinned and picked up the bottle of wine he’d retrieved earlier from their little fridge, holding it up for her inspection.
She examined the label, a task made more difficult since the only illumination in the room came from the fire and a shaft of moonlight glinting through the massive French doors that flanked the fireplace on either side.
“What am I looking for?”
“It’s Danny’s own vineyard he stocks our icebox with. Cheap bugger.” His grin turned to a huge smile as he uncorked the bottle and sniffed. “Ah, but lucky for us, the people he hires to tend the place and make the wine know what they’re doing.”
“I didn’t realize people had vineyards here in England.” She reached out to take the glass he handed her.
“His vineyard’s in France.” At her look of surprise he continued. “Aye, he’s been a busy boy over the years, with interests all over the continent. And still he’s managed to snag himself a lovely wife and have that fine son.”
“Will is such an unusual child. But very loving, isn’t he?”
The boy had hugged her neck and kissed her good night before they’d left his room tonight. He’d also taken the opportunity to whisper a reminder to her that she was special and should be happy.
“Aye, that and quite advanced, too. Sometimes you’d think him an adult trapped in that small body. He’s verra intelligent, that lad.” He grinned again as he sat close to her on the sofa. Very close. “He is, after all, my godson, so I like to think I can claim some of the credit.”
“He does seem unusually mature at times. And he certainly has a vivid imagination.” She sipped her wine and tried to convince herself that she could not feel the heat of Ian’s body seeping through her dress where his leg touched hers.
“A vivid imagination? What makes you say that?”
“This afternoon I spent some time with him in his playground. We had a long talk, and he told me he’s descended from Faeries.” She ran her finger around the rim of her glass, wondering why the boy’s comments had disturbed her so deeply.
“He told you that, did he?”
“Yes. And that I am as well.” She turned to look at him. “Quite an imagination, huh?”
“Did he tell you what makes him think yer both descended from the Fae?” Serious dark eyes caught and held hers.
Ian had asked earlier tonight why she believed a relationship between them wouldn’t work. It was time she was completely honest with him. Then he’d have his full answer.
“Because we both can…um…feel things, sense things. Things about other people. About how they feel.” She watched him, wondering, fearing, how he would react.
“And can you, Sarah? Can you sense things about how other people feel, what they think?” The dark gaze still didn’t leave hers.
She paused, trying to determine what censure might lurk in those beautiful eyes, waiting to pounce if she answered honestly.
“Yes,” she whispered, though her mind screamed for her to deny it. It was time for honesty. She had to know what he really thought of her.
“Then perhaps you truly are a child of the Faeries.” He smiled and placed his glass on the table behind the sofa, then took hers from her hand and placed it next to his. Turning back to her, he lifted both hands to her face, cupping them there, just below her ears.
“In this light, I could easily mistake you for a Faerie goddess.”
“I meant it, Ian. I can sense things. Don’t you think I’m odd, or weird, or crazy, or…”
“Shhh.” He moved his thumb over her lips. “I dinna think yer anything but enchanting.”
He pulled her close, replacing his thumb with his mouth—a light brush across hers at first, then something more insistent, his teeth nipping at her lower lip.
“No.” She put her hands on his chest and pushed him away. She couldn’t do this. He couldn’t possibly want her—not the real her. Not once he stopped to think about their differences. Not once he realized she was serious about what she’d told him. “I told you before. This can’t work. We’re too different.”
She started to wrap her arms around her middle but he caught her hands, moving them to his chest, where he held them trapped. Trapped over his rapidly beating heart.
“Because of what you feel or because of the numbers, Sarah? Is that it? Is that why you think this won’t work? Then now’s the time I promised. The time to revisit yer age obsession. Why does it matter to you so? Would you care if I were older than you?”
“But you’re not.”
“Answer my question. If I were fifty or sixty or even older, would it make any difference to you?”
“It’s not the same with men, Ian. All men want younger women. And they all want women who don’t go around sensing what everyone feels.”
“Not all men want that.”
“All the men I’ve known.”
“Then all the men you’ve known have been bloody great fools. And I assure you, Sarah, of all the things I am, I’m no bloody great fool.” He tightened his grip on her hands. “I dinna have a problem with what you feel. And I’ve told you before, yer age is of no consequence to me.”
Sarah watched, mesmerized, as he transferred his grip on her hands so that he held them both tightly with one of his, while with his other he tugged his shirt free from his pants. Then, reclaiming one of her hands in each of his own, he placed them on his chest, under his shirt and held them there against the warmth of his bare skin.
“You said you can sense things, things about how people feel. Then feel me, Sarah. Feel me and know that I tell you the truth. I dinna care about the numbers. And I dinna worry about yer ability to sense my thoughts. I welcome it.”
She relaxed her hands against his chest, and he let go of her. Her fingers explored the unfamiliar terrain, settling in the crisp hair. She closed her eyes and reached out with her mind, searching. Determination hit her first, followed by honesty. Her age really didn’t matter to him at all. More important, he didn’t think her strange. He found her fascinating. She continued to reach out and suddenly she found a well-spring of emotion, one so strong it swept the others away until only it remained, flooding her, flowing through her.
Her eyes flew open in surprise. “You want me.”
“Aye.” His hands moved to her shoulders. “More than I’ve ever wanted any woman.”
There was no doubt this time that he was going to kiss her and for a moment she froze.
“Wait. I have to warn you, Ian. Brad always said I should come with instructions. I’m not very good at…I can’t…” She struggled for the right words. She was terrible at this. Brad had told her so. The staggering emotions of her partner would inundate her mind, paralyzing her. If they went any further, she’d disappoint him and she desperately hated that idea.
“Bugger Brad. I’m no a man who needs instructions.” His eyes sparkled with his intent.
He crushed her to him, his mouth coming down on hers, tender but demanding. The tip of his tongue danced against her mouth, darting side to side until she willingly parted her lips.
Her hands, still caught against his chest, moved up toward his shoulders, her fingers filling her with delight at the tactile sensations they fed her mind as they made their journey upward.
Waves of frustration rolled over her, and she realized with a shock they were her own. Frustration at having her hands stopped in their travels, trapped in Ian’s shirt, unable to reach those magnificent shoulders she longed to trace with her fingertips.
A tiny moan and Ian pulled back from her to search her face.
“I’m caught,” she breathed.
A grin, the grin, spread over his face as he leaned away from her long enough to pull his shirt over his head and toss it to the floor.
“Better?”
“Oh my. So much better.”
His chest was wonderful, like a fantastic unyielding landscape, undulating in the firelight with each movement he made. It should be photographed.
“So very much better.”
It should be studied, it should be…She lowered her head to that sumptuous chest and sucked his nipple into her mouth, running her tongue round and round the dark little nub.
“Holy Mother of God,” he groaned.
Clasping his arms tightly around her, he rolled them from the sofa to the floor, cushioning her drop with his body, a move that plastered her to the length of him. Her head cradled to his chest, she could feel the proof of how much he wanted her pressing against her stomach.
His hands slipped under her arms and pulled her up the length of his body until her face met his. He kissed her mouth briefly before burying his face in her neck, alternating kisses and tiny, painless nips with his teeth in the sensitive area where her neck met her shoulder.
Her long skirt had tangled and slipped up in the tumble from the sofa. His hand, slowly skimming up her thigh, encouraged it higher and higher until at last her legs were free of the restrictive material, allowing her to slide a leg to either side of his body. Straddling him, she used his chest to push herself up to a sitting position.
The long, hard length of him pressed against her intimately. She could feel movement as, locked away from her by only a few thin layers of material, he grew larger still. She felt tension in the muscles of his chest as she ran her hands from his stomach to his shoulders and back again.
He watched her, their eyes locked on one another.
His hands, which had stilled when she’d straddled him, started moving again, skimming over the shimmering material of her dress, up her stomach, and across her breasts, where they lingered just long enough to draw a sharp moan from her when his thumbs, his magic thumbs, slowly circled her nipples.
They continued on then, moving to her shoulders, as he used his unbelievably spectacular abdominal muscles to sit up. Pulling her to him, he lowered his head, encasing the tip of her breast in his mouth, sucking through the silky material of her dress and bra. His tongue moving back and forth, his teeth gently nipping.
He was a wonder to her. She’d never felt any of this, anything like this in her life. There was none of the pounding need and self-absorption she’d experienced in the past. None of the greed and contempt she had felt in Brad. There was only warmth. The warmth that came from desire and caring. She was surrounded by it, immersed in it, floating in it.
She closed her eyes and burrowed her hands into his hair as she’d wanted to since the first night she’d seen him. She buried her nose against those same dark locks and inhaled deeply, taking in the clean, masculine scent of him. She kissed the top of his head as he continued to spark feelings in her body with his mouth at her breast.
She felt as if she might explode at any moment—a feeling so good—she feared she might scream.
When she opened her eyes and saw the grinning face staring at them through the glass door, she did scream.
Her figment was back.