Page 8 of Dark Seduction

Claire nodded. “Yes, I do.” They were having a conversation that was almost normal. She debated how to innocently make that phone call without his becoming alarmed. There was no way to avoid it.

He was incredulous. “And who’s t’ protect ye in danger?”

“I protect myself.” She smiled weakly.

He made a sound. “With that weapon?” He nodded disparagingly toward the hall, where her Beretta lay on the floor.

“I also have Mace, pepper spray and a Taser.”

His eyes narrowed. “More weapons?”

Surely he knew what Mace and pepper spray were, at least. “I am hardly the only single woman in the city.”

“A woman needs a man to keep her safe, lass. ’Tis the way o’ the world, the way o’ men.” He was firm.

Claire was briefly speechless. This man spoke as if he were from a past century. “It’s not the way of my world,” she finally said. “And you’re scaring me. I admit it. I’m a wuss and you need to get out of character.” Her cheeks were hot.

“I dinna wish to frighten ye, lass,” he murmured. “But what man in his good mind would leave ye to yerself?”

She couldn’t help being flattered. And the way he was regarding her now, from beneath thick black lashes, left her in no doubt that he was oversexed. Claire swallowed. She couldn’t just sense the sexual tension coming from him, she could actually feel it. It was almost a third presence there in the room with them. She had not a doubt he would be an amazing lover.

“Ye need a man, lass,” he said softly. “’Tis a shame it willna be me.”

She stiffened. Was he reading her mind? Was that a rejection? She was only thinking about what was terribly obvious!

She stared at him and he stared back. “Why not?” Her tone was hoarse. She could barely believe herself. She had never even had a casual affair.

And his gaze intensified. “Ye be intent on seduction, lass? Ye wish to seduce me?”

Claire was mortified. “No.” She couldn’t think, so how could she even begin to know what she intended?

He smiled—a soft, heartbreaking smile—and then he spoke with vast regret. “In another life, momhaise, I would gladly accept such a beautiful invitation.”

Only this man could make a rejection so utterly sexual. His words should have hurt her. Instead, she stood there aching.

He turned away. Claire glimpsed the very evident ridge of his arousal beneath the tunic and she almost expected her store to go up in flames.

He spoke brusquely now. “I need the page afore another takes it. It belongs in the shrine with the Cathach. I expect yer help an’ then I’ll be gone.”

It was another moment before Claire came to her senses. “This isn’t a joke, is it? My cousin didn’t send you here. You are from Scotland.”

His gray gaze was steady. “Aye.”

She began to shake. “The Cathach is in the Royal Irish Academy. Every scholar knows, because it’s the oldest illuminated Irish manuscript that anyone has ever found.”

As emotional as she was becoming, he was as calm. “The Cathach be enshrined on Iona, lass.”

Claire shook her head. Was he a nut after all? “There is no shrine on Iona—it is nothing but ruins!”

His face settled into hard planes and taut angles. “Maybe in yer time.”

“What the hell does that mean?” she cried.

“It means I ha’ been to the shrine many times. I have guarded it meself.”

She swallowed, backing away. “I believe you are a true Scot, but why the costume? Why the absurd story—the lies? And who is the woman who broke into my store?”

His eyes flashed. “Dinna accuse me o’ lies, lass. Men ha’ died fer less.” He shook his head. “I dinna ken what book is in yer academy, but ’tis nay the book o’ wisdom, which I ha’ seen with me own eyes.”