Forged in Dreams and Magick (Highland Legends #1)(5)
“Iain . . . I . . .” The loss of words marked a first for me. Nothing had ever thrown me as off-balance as he’d done at that moment.
His right hand abandoned my hip. Light fingertips traced along the curve of my waist, the swell of my breast, and up to my neck, where he pulled my hair aside. Warm breath followed by soft lips brushed my collarbone. He trailed gentle kisses up to my ear.
“Don’t fight it, Isa. I know you want me.”
Evidently I did. Or at least my body did. Confusion rattled my brain, which was seriously devoid of proper blood flow. I tried to push back off the desk to no avail. He must have sensed my panic, because he eased back, put his hands gently on my shoulders, and slowly turned me around. I swallowed hard, tilting my head back so I could see his eyes. Those olive pools told me everything I needed to know. While his actions and words sent lustful messages, his eyes conveyed caring and warmth. They invited trust. He arched a dark brow in question while his lips lazily curved into a smile.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” he whispered. The command fell on my ears as a gentle challenge.
I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t tell him, because he spoke the truth. Agreeing with him, however, wasn’t a remote possibility. I didn’t want my first time with him—my first time ever—to be sprawled across MacLaren’s desk.
Trapped between wanting to open myself to someone who cared for me and uncertainty about whether he would safeguard my heart if I gave it to him, I stood there, staring deep into his soul, searching for some answer. I needed to know if Iain craved me for the woman he suspected lay deep and protected on the inside, or if he merely saw me as another conquest—a tempting treasure he desired. But my meager social skills failed me in providing words to my question.
Panic and confusion forced logic back into the driver’s seat. “The box. I need to show you the box,” I replied in a soft plea.
He laughed and leaned back, touching the tip of my nose with his fingertip. “Okay. Show me this important prize of yours.”
When he turned, breaking our gaze, I regained my composure. It occurred to me how na?ve I’d proven to be in the presence of the first man to give chase to me since . . . well, ever. I’d folded like a fragile flower in the scorching heat of the midday sun. His enormous ego in thinking he could have me simply by wanting me fostered an inner determination to deny him the pleasure. Incredulousness at his bold actions replaced lust. Fear took me the rest of the way. Arriving late to the dating party didn’t mean I had to surrender to the first interested man, even if he was, without any doubt whatsoever, the finest male specimen I’d ever encountered.
I’d invited Iain here to assist in my identification of the artifact, and I intended to obtain the information no matter his objective. I took a deep breath, reaching again toward the box. I wondered if he would see the relic for its true value or if he’d become so firmly entrenched in the Hollywood life of glamour that he’d lost sense of his roots.
“Here it is.” I touched the gleaming corner. His attention shifted to the side of the desk.
I hadn’t randomly invited Iain. The metalwork on the box held secrets within its design. Many things about Iain remained a mystery to me as well, including the uniqueness of his tartan weave and one very unusual crest on an heirloom brooch he used to fasten his plaid. The box had a nearly identical emblem hidden in the metal leafing beneath the latticework, but the resemblance between the two hadn’t clicked until my mind relaxed during the flight back to the States.
His silence as he studied the details of the box lent credence to my theory. He didn’t touch it. He revered the object as he circled the desk, viewing it from every angle. With hawk-like eyesight honed from years of battlefield training, he performed his examination from a respectful distance.
After several heavy minutes, he asked, “Where . . . did you say you found this?”
“I didn’t. I found it buried in peat.”
His reply came with firm conviction. “I think it found you.”
The statement surprised me. As a scientist, the idea of an object beckoning its discoverer, as if it wielded supernatural powers, held so little weight it bordered on ridiculous. Laughter bubbled out of my mouth at the absurd suggestion. “The box found me?”
My mocking tone landed me a hard stare. When his deadpan expression made it clear he saw no humor in my statement whatsoever, my laughter fell away.
“You just happened to be strolling around in a peat bog?” His question held validity. What would anyone be doing wandering across a blanket of spongy, decomposing vegetation?
“No.” My crappy stick-shift driving nearly mowed through sweet little lambs blocking the road. After I careened wildly off into the countryside, I got out of the death trap, tumbled down a ravine, and landed into subarctic water ass first.
What came out of my mouth sounded much less pathetic. “I explored an interesting stream that fed into one. On my way back to the car, sunlight gleamed off one of the box’s corners, and I dug it out.”
He swung his focus from my face back to the box. His brow furrowed slightly. “Well, Isa, I cannot tell you exactly what it is, for I do not know. All at once it feels like an old friend and a stranger, but I cannot explain why. That it bears the ancient symbols of my clan tells me I have something in common with it. I’ve nothing more I can say.” He shook his head, crossed his arms, and stepped back, distancing himself from the desk.