Call of the Highland Moon

“Well, I was kind of leaning toward a dog anyway.” Although, she supposed, her last experience with anything canine might have been some kind of omen … and damn it, could she please not think about that man for five minutes? “Although a cat is always a possibility.”

“Well, caveat emptor, as they say, dear.” Celestine unbuttoned the coat partway and scuffed off what she could of the melting snow on the mat in front of the door before she started towards the bookshelves. “I thought I was getting a quiet, self-sufficient, and most importantly, low-maintenance companion. Instead I got a miniature cow masquerading as a feline who specializes in property destruction.” She shook her head. “And yet I do adore him, which is why I haven’t had a hat made out of him. Who needs a husband? I have enough aggravation between Reg and the occasional boy toy.”

Now it was Carly’s turn to shake her head, albeit with a smile. Celestine’s last “boy toy” had been short, sixty-ish, and balding. He had also been smitten and very, very rich, lavishing her with gifts and taking her on one globe-trotting adventure after another until the two of them had burned one another out and parted, as most often happened in her case, amicably, continuing on as friends.

Carly didn’t know how she did it, but she was beginning to think Celestine had the right idea after all. It had to be better than feeling like you’d just been run over by the dump truck of love. Not that she knew him well enough to actually love him or anything. Not that there was anything like love at first sight … or touch … or semi-mauling … that existed outside of her beloved books. And anyway, no love at first sight that she’d ever heard of had involved nausea, even though that’s what she felt every time she thought of Gideon’s face. The desire to throw up in no way equaled any sort of love. That, at least, she was sure of.

Almost.

“Now then,” Celestine continued, wandering over to the new releases and pulling a pair of cat’s-eye glasses, framed in small, glittering red rhinestones, from her inside pocket to slide on so that she could peruse the titles, “why don’t you tell me about your man troubles while I decide what to take home with me?”

Carly opened her mouth to speak. Shut it. Opened it again. “I … why would you think I was having man troubles?” God, did she have it written across her forehead in marker or something?

“Carly, dear, you look tired, slightly ill, and you have opened your shop nearly two hours early on a day when you would have been well within your rights not to open at all. Add to it that I have been around that particular block quite enough times to know, and the answer is rather obvious. So,” she looked back at Carly with a sympathetic smile before turning back to ponder the covers, “who is he, what has he done, and do I or do I not hate him eternally on your behalf?”

“God, that’s sweet, Celestine,” Carly sighed, grateful for the offer of a shoulder even though she was still too stuck in the “mortification” part of the program to even begin to know what to start with. “But since I’m not sure how to answer any of the above, I don’t even know what to tell you.”

Celestine turned again to Carly, her interest obviously piqued. “A man of mystery, hmm? How intriguing!”

Visions of Gideon in a tight velvet suit driving a garishly painted Mini Cooper danced unbidden through Carly’s mind at that, and she didn’t know whether to laugh or wince. As a compromise, she did both. “He’s not Austin Powers, Celestine. He’s …” A dangerous creature of the night? A lying Scottish sex god? Was there any sort of answer to this that wasn’t going to make her sound like a complete idiot? A quick inventory of her possibilities gave her the answer to that soon enough. Well, then, she supposed she’d have to settle for semi-idiot and be done with it. “He’s sort of indefinable.”

All that earned Carly was an eye roll. Oh God. She was going to be spilling her guts within minutes, and she knew it. Why, Carly asked herself, weren’t there self-help books on the art of understatement, fabrication, and general avoidance of stuff you didn’t want to get into? Of course, she’d probably need a shelf full of them before she got any benefits, but still.

“Carly Silver,” Celestine admonished, shaking Angela Garrity’s newest Georgian masterpiece at her (and she should know, Carly thought, because she’d practically devoured the damned thing last weekend … lavish parties, tight breeches, and clandestine affairs were all right up her alley, and no way was she acknowledging the fascination as part of her general problem), “I’ll have you know that I have been married five times and dated half the eligible male population of the world, and never in my life have I encountered a specimen who was absolutely, indescribably …”

The bell above the door rang again, but Carly’s attention remained focused on Celestine, whose mouth was now hanging oddly agape. Carly figured she hadn’t meant to spill about the ex-husbands, since that was news to her, and would have been, she knew, to anyone in town. Who would have thought that their Celestine was working on becoming the next Liz Taylor? She wasn’t going to blab, but she sure as hell was going to press for the juicy details. After Celestine got herself back together, that was. Which she still hadn’t quite managed to do.

“Um. Celestine?” Carly frowned, concerned, and slid off the stool to go to her.

“Indescribable,” murmured Celestine, her eyes faintly glazed and fixed on a point over Carly’s shoulder. Carly wondered if she was having some kind of spell, or if she ought to just go ahead and call an ambulance, because she’d never seen her friend just shut down, knocked on her ass like this. She turned, though, to see what had so captured her attention, and stopped dead in her tracks herself. She thought she made a noise. Some sort of stupid, female yummy noise. But she couldn’t be sure, because the mere sight of him had melted her brain into mush.

He’d gotten clothes that fit him somewhere, some small, still-functioning part of her mind noted. Fit. Yep. They sure did. Her eyes skimmed slowly up Gideon’s massive frame, from the new-looking boots to the faded blue jeans that hung loose on the leg and were just tight enough everywhere else, to the long-sleeved tee beneath what looked like a new ski jacket, and then just a bit further up to his face. Carly didn’t want to look. She was already in enough trouble. But her good sense was overridden by the rest of her with unfortunate ease.

He still hadn’t shaved, she saw. His angular jaw was covered in rough stubble. The loose waves of his hair were pushed back from his face and tucked behind his ears, not that that was doing much to contain it. And as for the rest of it … Carly’s belly tightened into a hot ball of lust as his gaze connected with hers, slamming into her with unexpected force. He looked tired, she thought with unintentional sympathy. Tired and unhappy. There were smudges beneath his eyes. Had he even slept? Her guilt tried once again to rear its ugly head, and this time she was less successful at shoving it back.

The moment they stood there staring at one another— he seeming to take up her entire doorway, she pausing in mid-stride on her way to her still-catatonic friend— seemed to spin out for an eternity. There was an unnerving sense of relief at the sight of Gideon, although her heart constricted almost painfully. Her senses were suddenly full of him, the sound of his breathing, the faint, slightly exotic and spicy scent of him.

Oh no, Carly thought, unnerved by the full-body reaction she was having. Hadn’t she already decided there was no such thing as love at first sight? And hadn’t she also just decided that Gideon MacInnes was exactly wrong for her on just about every possible level? Oh no no no no no.

She managed, somehow, to tear her gaze away from him and felt that awful pressure in her chest ease just a little. Breathe, she instructed herself. Celestine looked like she could have used a little instruction in that area herself, Carly saw. “Celestine,” she said softly, ignoring the tingling sensation that ran up her back as Gideon moved up behind her. No response, just more open-mouthed adoration. Carly rolled her eyes heavenward, put a hand on each shoulder, and shook lightly. “Celestine,” she repeated, more forcefully this time, and the glaze cleared a little.

“This is my, um … this is … Gideon. MacInnes.” Carly groaned inwardly. Well, that would tell Celestine just about everything she needed to know, she guessed. That was, if Celestine were still capable of any sort of rational thought, which at this moment was pretty debatable.

“Oh. My.” Her friend raised a fluttering hand to pat at her already perfect hair, then extended it toward Gideon, who, Carly saw, now that she felt she could chance a look, had his eyebrows raised and was wearing an amused smile.

It was infuriatingly sexy.

“Celestine Periwether,” she cooed as her hand was enveloped by his. “My,” she murmured again as her eyes swept the length of him. “You are big, aren’t you?”

“I’ve been told my family’s rather tall,” he rumbled, a hint of humor in his voice. Celestine simply giggled, which was just about enough for Carly. It was one thing to hear about the five husbands and innumerable boyfriends. It was quite another to watch how she’d landed them.

Carly stepped back and shot Gideon the look that had served as a warning shot to her brothers for years. Celestine, she’d forgive. Gideon was, after all, a little overwhelming at first. Gideon, however, should understand how he affected people. Women, specifically. Carly felt the first flames of temper begin to lick at her mood, and she welcomed them. It was a lot more comfortable than helpless misery and pointless lust. Couldn’t Gideon have tried to tone down his ridiculous sex appeal just a little before he’d invaded her space this morning?

“Well, you two enjoy your chat,” she bit out. “I have work to do.” She shot her nose in the air and glided with quite a bit of grace, she thought, back to the stockroom. That was, until she managed to trip over her own foot about three steps from the door. Damn it. Carly pushed aside the red velvet curtain she’d draped across the doorway and slid around the corner, sagging against the shelves that lined the walls, which were interrupted only by a small, neatly organized desk tucked into the far corner. He would leave now, right? She put the heels of her palms to her eyes and pressed down, utterly flustered. She’d made it clear how she felt, and now he’d just … go? ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">