The Dark Highlander

“Do you wish to? I’m leaving on the morrow. ’Tis now or never, lass.” He waited, watching her. “Some chances come but once, Chloe, and swift are gone.”

Chloe stared at him in silence, feeling utterly divided. Part of her was resolutely digging in her heels, ticking off on her fingers a thousand reasons why she absolutely could not do such a crazy, impulsive thing. Another part—a part that both horrified and intrigued her—was jumping up and down, shouting, “Say yes!” She had the sudden, strange desire to get up and go look at herself in the mirror, to see if she was changing outside as well as in.

Dare she do something so patently outrageous? Take such a chance? Put everything on the line and see what came of it?

On the other hand, dare she go back to her life the way it was? Go back to living in her tiny one-room plus bathroom-the-size-of-a-matchbox efficiency, making her solitary way to work each day, gaining solace only from playing with artifacts that would never be hers?

She’d tasted more, and—damn the man—now she wanted it.

What was the worst that could happen? If he had any intention of physically harming her, he could have done so long before now. The only real threat he posed was one she controlled: whether she would let him seduce her. Whether she would risk falling for a man who was, without question, an inveterate lone wolf and bad boy. A man who made no apologies and offered no comforting lies.

If she didn’t fall for him, if she was a smart girl and kept her wits about her, pretty much the worst that could happen was that he might leave her stranded in Scotland. And that didn’t strike her as completely unpalatable. If he did, she was confident that, with her waitressing experience in college, she could get a job in a pub over there. She could stay awhile, see her grandda’s homeland, her trip over paid for. She would survive. She would more than survive. She might finally live.

What did she have here? Her job at The Cloisters. No social life to speak of. No family. She’d been alone for years now, ever since Grandda had died. In fact, more lonely than she’d cared to admit. A little lost and rootless, which she suspected accounted for her determination to visit Grandda’s village, in hopes that she might find some remnants of roots there.

Here was her golden opportunity, coupled with the promise of an adventure she’d never forget, at the side of a man she already knew she’d never be able to forget.

Oh, God, Zanders, she thought, marveling, you’re talking yourself into this!

What if he was leaving tomorrow and hadn’t asked you to go with him? a tiny inner voice pressed. What if he’d made it absolutely clear that he was leaving, and you would never see him again? What would you have done with this last night with him?

Chloe inhaled sharply, shocked at herself.

Under those hypothetical circumstances, hypothetically, of course, she might have taken her one incredible shot at a man like him, and let him take her to bed. Learned what he had to teach her, eagerly allowed herself to become the focus of all that smoldering promise of sensual knowledge in his exotic eyes.

Looked at that way, going to Scotland with him didn’t seem quite so crazy.

He’d been watching her intently, and when she lifted her wide-eyed gaze to his, he rose abruptly from the couch opposite her and moved to stand before her. Impatiently, he pushed the coffee table aside and slipped to his knees at her feet, wrapping his hands around her calves. She felt the heat of his strong hands through her jeans. His mere touch made her shiver.

“Come with me, lass.” His voice was low and urgent. “Think of your Scots blood. Doona you wish to stand on the soil of your ancestors? Doona you wish to see the heathery fields and moors? The mountains and the lochs? I’m no’ a man who oft makes promises, but I promise you this”—he broke off, laughing softly as if at some private joke—“I can show you a Scotland no other man could ever show you.”

“But my job—”

“To hell with your job. You speak the old languages. Two of us can translate faster than one. I’ll pay you to help me.”

“Really? How much?” Chloe blurted, then flushed, appalled by how quickly she’d asked.

He laughed again. And she knew that he knew he just about had her.

“Select a piece—any piece—from my collection.”

Her fingers curled covetously. He was the very devil; he had to be! He knew her price.

His voice dropped to an intimate purr. “Then choose two more. For one month of your time.”

Her jaw dropped. Three artifacts, plus a trip to Scotland, for one month of her time? Was he kidding? She could sell any one of the artifacts upon her return to Manhattan (she made a mental note to choose one with which she could bear to part), go back to school, get her Ph.D. and work in any darned museum she wanted to! She could afford to take fabulous vacations, see the world. She—Chloe Zanders—could lead a glamorous, exciting life!