“The man who threatened Maria?”
His gaze was steady and concerned. “Aye. If you don’t need anything further for the moment…”
“Do you have a spare cell phone? I’d like to call Maria and tell her that I’m still here and that after we finish dinner, I’ll be back.”
“Call your friend,” Ian said, “but tell her you are staying the night.”
Just like that, he was giving her another order. She was amused, rather than annoyed, and actually, as long as she had a spare room to stay in, the whole scenario might work out well, she thought. She might be able to take a peek around while everyone was sleeping. But she was afraid he planned to keep her cloistered in his own chamber.
Maybe he didn’t intend that, though. It might be too difficult to explain his actions to his kin. It was one thing to have a human female for companionship but entirely another considering that she was a wolf.
Or would he change his mind once he learned what she did for a living and what she was doing here now?
***
When Ian had told her to stay, Julia’s eyes had widened. She didn’t say anything for a moment, and he thought she was weighing the situation—his pack’s reaction, her friend’s response. Then Julia cleared her throat and ran her hand up and down her mug of tea, reminding him of how she’d brought him to release earlier. He felt his loins tighten.
“You’re a wolf,” she finally said.
He smiled, unable to help himself. It amused him to hear her say so, although he thought she was more concerned about the fact he was a lupus garou and she was, too, and what that meant between them.
He shrugged as if her staying meant nothing to him one way or another. Just a friendly suggestion. She wouldn’t have to return to the cottage. He wouldn’t have to take her. Seemed the best thing to do under the circumstances.
Her hand kept sliding over that damn mug, and his groin tightened further.
“I don’t have a change of clothes,” she finally said.
He glanced down at her soft wool sweater and green trousers, the smooth bra hidden under the sweater that he’d managed to pull away from a breast, the scrap of silk between her legs that had yielded to his touch, envisioning how much he wanted to see her out of all of it.
“Either Duncan can drop by your cottage and grab a bag for you, or we can find something here for you to wear. It’s up to you.” He thought she was really considering staying with him. Or maybe he was just damned hopeful. But it was her choice.
He shouldn’t have wanted it. Not when she was part of the film crew and he hadn’t wanted any of them in the sleeping quarters. But she wasn’t exactly one of them. And that was another reason he shouldn’t have wanted her to stay, considering that she was a sexy, enticing female wolf.
Still, he hadn’t learned what she was up to, another good point for having her stay.
He reached across the table and took hold of the hand that had been manhandling the mug, wanting to show her how much her actions had already affected him. Instead, he raised her fingers to his mouth and kissed them.
“Stay with me.” He meant it to be a command, but it sounded like he desperately wanted her to agree.
“Why?”
She couldn’t have surprised him more. He quickly tried to come up with a good reason. The true reasons—he craved having her close; he wanted to know her secrets—weren’t what he wished to reveal.
“I thought you might like to experience a night in a castle.”
“Ah.”
He thought from the impish expression on her face that she didn’t believe him.
“All right. For the night then,” she agreed.
As much as he didn’t want to let on how much this pleased him, he squeezed her hand in acknowledgment. Their gazes momentarily locked, and then he said, “I must speak with my brothers.”
“I’ll watch the pizza.”
“You sit, stay. I’ll be right back.” He didn’t want her leaving the chair for anything.
When Ian left Julia, he assumed his brothers would still be gathered in the great room, seated about the fire in their usual chairs and doing what they normally did if they hadn’t already retired for the night. But he knew they wouldn’t be. As soon as they saw that he had returned, all attention would be upon him, and the questions about the woman would begin in earnest.
Green eyes narrowed in concentration, Guthrie was reading through a sheath of papers that looked to be something to do with their finances. He stroked his trim red beard for a second, the only one of the brothers who wore one, and then he flipped to another page. He was more studious than any of his brothers, serious and dedicated to the pack finances. And he’d taken this whole financial mess they were in to heart. Ian had been careful not to admonish Guthrie for it, after he had gotten over the initial shock. Instead, he insisted he was at fault for not overseeing matters more. When it came to numbers, though, Guthrie normally knew what he was doing.
Cearnach was whittling away at yet another traditional Scottish handle fashioned out of rosewood for a dirk, although he was now designing the Celtic knot with its interlacing strands over the entire surface. Ian wondered just how many his brother could sell before the market was saturated with his handmade daggers.
Duncan was sharpening his two-handed claymore, and Ian mused that at least two of his brothers looked to be preparing for battle. The wolfhounds trotted beside Ian, their nails clicking on the floor, and all eyes shifted to watch Ian cross the room to join them.
His brothers all raised brows and waited for him to speak. He sat down on his comfortable recliner and said, “Maria, Julia’s companion, believed the accident was no accident.” He explained the gray wolf sighting and the phone call Maria had received. From their dark expressions, his brothers looked ready to do someone bodily injury.
“They could have been killed,” Duncan said.
“Aye, and that’s why I want him or, if there are more of them in on this, all of them found.” Ian gave Guthrie his attention and waited for his news about Julia Wildthorn.
“She’s a romance writer.” Guthrie’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “She’s all over the Web. Author photos, interviews, blogs, you name it.” Before Ian could wrap his mind around that, Guthrie added, “A werewolf romance writer, as in she writes about werewolves.”
“Hell,” Ian said. Of a million different scenarios he could have come up with, that was not even close to being one of them.
No one said anything for a moment, and then Cearnach smiled. “I’d say we have a houseguest.” He shrugged. “Someone has to change her mind about what she writes. Might as well be you, since you’re the most persuasive of any of us, Ian. At least, I’m sure, in regard to the lassie.”
And then it dawned on Ian. That was probably why the little red wolf had been taking such copious notes concerning the castle and the surrounding lands. Hell, would she write about him? His people? Not in his lifetime.
More than ever, he wanted to see that notebook of hers. A werewolf romance author?
“Because of our money difficulties, I was thinking… since she is everywhere on the Internet, why not exploit the fact we have a famous author staying with us?” Guthrie said.
“Is she famous?” Ian asked, surprised as hell. Werewolves didn’t need the attention.
“Well, no, but she is all over the Internet.”
“And that helps us how? We’re not advertising our castle so that tons of guests can stay here. We’ve already had the discussion about opening the place up as a bed-and-breakfast. No museum tours. No gift shops. No wedding showers or baby showers or any other kind of parties.”
“Flynn would be upset,” Duncan agreed. “He’d throw a fit and do his ghostly bit and have visitors running for the exits.”
Ian saw the expression on Guthrie’s face, deep in calculated thought. “No ghost shows,” Ian further clarified.
But he was considering another possibility. Was the woman as intrigued with him as he was with her, or was it all a ploy? The enthusiastic trip to the falls. All that had happened between them once she’d arrived. He kept telling himself that what they’d shared meant nothing but a much needed release to quell the growing intrigue they had for each other. But even so, the notion she would use him for her book-writing venture soured his stomach.
“All of this is on the Internet, you say?” Ian asked Guthrie.
“Aye. Just put in her name on any of the more popular search engines, and there it is, page after page. A couple of her books were even made into films,” Guthrie said.
“Films.” Ian eyed Guthrie with suspicion. “The movie Sunset Productions is filming here isn’t about Highland werewolves, is it?”
“No, it’s strictly a fictional historical piece.”
“You’re sure?”
“Aye. I’ve seen the script. The Highlanders are precisely that. No wolves among them.”
But that didn’t mean the red wolf sitting in the kitchen wasn’t writing her own version, featuring Ian and his kin, that would be made into a film.
“One other thing, Ian. I recognized her voice when she spoke in your solar. She’s the woman who first conferred with me about using the castle for the film production. She used a different name. Iris North.”
Ian ground his teeth. “Is Julia Wildthorn her pen name then?”
“I couldn’t find anything about an Iris North. That may have been an assumed name as well.”
Hell. “All right. Learn everything you can about the man who called Maria and threatened her, the truck that hit their car, and the gray wolf that’s roaming our lands.” Ian rose and headed for the stairs.
“You’ve left Julia alone in the kitchen?” Cearnach asked. The unspoken question was: shouldn’t one of them see to her? Maybe watch her?
But she wouldn’t be going anywhere. Not with her ankle bothering her so.
“Aye. I’ll be right back.” After he checked out the woman on the Internet, whatever her name truly was. “She’ll be fine until then.” As in, leave her alone. He didn’t want his brothers romanticizing about her like he’d done, and he didn’t want her writing them into her next story, either.