Highlander’s Curse (8 page)

“I wouldn’t have missed it, Abigail.” Their server appeared at the table, check in hand, and waited as Jonathan signed the slip. “Let me walk you out to the car.”

The trip from their table outside to the waiting limo was a blur. Abby’s only real awareness was of the
sensation of Jonathan’s hand against her lower back, the gesture one of familiarity, almost possessive in nature.

As the driver hurried to open the door, Jonathan grasped her fingers and lifted her hand to his lips, flipping her palm up at the last second.

Abby fought the urge to pull away as his lips grazed over her wrist, lingering for what felt like the longest second of her life.

“We have many more dinners in our future, Abigail. Of that you can be sure.”

Forcing her mouth into a smile, she ducked inside the limo and scooted back in the seat, feeling a modicum of relief only when the vehicle pulled away from the curb.

She wiped a hand over her forehead and laid her head back against the soft leather. Maybe she was coming down with something. That might explain the bizarre way she’d felt back there in the restaurant.

Here she’d had the perfect evening. An evening women the world over would kill for. Chauffeured around in a limousine, wined and dined at maybe the most exclusive place in town, accompanied by an exceptionally attentive and handsome man; what more could she ask for?

As if in answer to her question a picture formed immediately in her mind. Auburn hair, not blond. Blue eyes instead of green. A rolling Scot’s brogue instead of a cultured British tongue.

It seemed that not even a Perfect Evening with a Perfect Man could drive that damned Highlander from her thoughts.

*     *     *

Flynn O’Dannan raked his bottom teeth over his tingling lips as he stepped back from the curb, watching the limo disappear into traffic. It was as though he could still feel the steady flow of blood through the delicate skin of Abigail’s wrist.

He brushed back a lock of hair from his forehead, smoothed one hand over his chest, and turned to reenter the restaurant, heading straight to the bar this time.

The Bloodlust gripped him like an addiction. An addiction he fully intended never to indulge in again.

“Cognac,” he demanded as he slipped onto the high padded stool.

He’d spent the last three years carefully planning, setting up the intricate web necessary for him to assume the identity of Jonathan Flynn, to put together this excavation. Finding the likely candidates, locating an abandoned stone circle, obtaining the proper papers and permission; all of it had cost him a small fortune.

Money accumulated over several lifetimes. Money well spent.

Of the women he’d chosen to be part of this so-called archaeological expedition, Abigail Porter seemed the best candidate on which to concentrate his time. Her actions tonight demonstrated that she would be pliable and easy to manipulate through her emotions. Though she had resisted his best attempt to place a Compulsion on her to eat the foods he knew from his background investigations she least liked, that meant little.

Two of the others had failed that step. They wouldn’t be joining his team in Scotland next week.

Unfortunately, her resistance wasn’t proof in itself. There were a few strong-willed Mortals who had the ability to resist, though they were rare.

Just a taste. Her blood can’t deceive.

No! He pounded back the useless alcohol, enjoying the burn in his throat. Signaling the bartender for another, he slammed the glass to the bar with shaking hands. What he wouldn’t give for a draught of Faerie Nectar.

No. Control returning, he denied the Bloodlust more calmly now, knowing all too well the effects of tasting blood. Indeed, through the blood it would be impossible to hide any trace of Faerie heritage from him. The sweet tang of Magic would pulse through his veins even as it flowed through hers.

Giving in to the craving would provide the knowledge he sought, but there would be a price to pay. A heavy price. Ingesting blood resulted in the loss of his invincibility. The loss of control. And as desperately as he desired the exotic caress of the Magic, he equally despised feeling the vulnerability of a mere Mortal. It was a trade he was unwilling to make. He was strong enough to fight the addiction’s siren call. He wasn’t a power-hungry monster like the masters he’d served all the years. His only desire was to go home.

Soon enough he would know for sure. If, as he suspected, Abigail was a Faerie descendant, she’d locate the Portal he sought and he’d be well on his way back home. Back to Wyddecol, the home of the Faerie, where the Magic would flow through him for the rest of his days without any negative consequences.

He was a patient man. After waiting all these centuries, what did a few more weeks matter?

S
COTLAND
J
UNE
P
RESENT
D
AY

T
error slithered up and around Abby, spreading and tightening until it covered her like a second skin. It seeped deep inside her body, oozing in a foul black sludge as it merged with her bloodstream, polluting her river of life.

Horror tingled through her, holding her captive as she fought for her next breath until, at last, she forced herself to break free. To run.

Harder and harder she drove herself, one heavy footfall after the other, pounding down onto the ground she covered. The sound hammered against her ears before echoing away, lost in the endless black emptiness through which she traveled.

The terror was close now. Gaining on her. So close she could feel its icy fingers graze her shoulder, feel its fetid breath waft across her cheek.

“No!” she screamed, pumping her arms to force herself to run faster through the disorienting black void.

Running away.

Running toward that distant patch of light. Toward her haven of safety.

Toward him.

She could see him in the distance, the mysterious Highlander who haunted her dreams. Dreams that had turned to nightmares of late.

Even the realization she dreamed did nothing to lessen the grip of the hideous terror.

Forward she pushed, her chest burning with her effort as she swallowed great gulps of air. Forward, on toward the light. On toward safety. On toward him.

The instant her foot touched the circle of light, relief flooded her body, leaving her weak, drained, as if she’d given all she had to reach this spot.

She pitched forward, falling, falling endlessly into the bright nothingness.

And then she was in his arms.

Strong arms lifted her, enfolded her, drew her against the chest made of steel.

His lips, warm and gentle, grazed over hers, stealing her breath away.

“We must leave this place, Abby.”

No. She struggled to refuse him, not remembering why it was so important to her to refuse. She didn’t want him to go. She wanted . . .

Wait! He’d spoken?

Abby’s eyes flew open, the rolling brogue of Colin’s speech still rumbling in her ears as if she’d actually heard the words.

Though she’d dreamed of the man almost every night
for the past four months since she’d met him, this was the first time he’d uttered a single word in her dreams.

“I’m turning into a total freakazoid.”

She spoke the words aloud as she pushed up to one elbow and swung her legs over the side of her small bed. Something had to give and pretty darn soon, too. Dreaming about this guy every single night was making her crazy. What she’d originally thought was some simple infatuation had lingered until she’d begun to worry that it was morphing into obsession.

How was she supposed to concentrate on her work at the dig site if she couldn’t get more than two or three hours’ sleep without that man running around inside her head? This opportunity was way too important for her to blow it over some guy she’d met only once in her life.

Not even the soothing sound of rain pattering against the window would lull her back to sleep now. She glanced over to the clock, counting the hours backward on her fingers to determine the time difference before she grabbed up the phone. It might be five in the morning here in Scotland, but in Los Angeles, it was barely even bedtime.

“Hello?”

“It’s getting worse.” Without preamble, Abby launched into her tirade, sounding as frantic as she felt and not caring one little bit. If anyone could help her think this through, it would be Casey.

“Abby? Is that you? Damn, girl. Isn’t it like, middle of the night or something over there?”

“Five a.m., not that it matters. I can’t sleep. Every time I shut my eyes, he’s there. I’m losing it, Casey. I’m even hearing his voice now.”

Just over a month ago, she’d confessed to Casey all about the mysterious Scot she’d dragged home after their last Girls’ Night Out in Denver. She’d told her about the dreams, too.

“Is he still in your bed? Still making love to you?”

“Not by the end of this one.” She probably shouldn’t have shared that, in the dreams, Colin was always in bed. Not that it took much effort for her to rationally explain that part away. It was likely only because the first time she’d ever seen him, he
had
been in her bed. What she couldn’t rationally dismiss was that the bed and the room she saw in her dreams were definitely not hers. In fact, they looked like something straight out of a museum re-creation. “And, anyway, I told you, we don’t ever actually
make love
in the dream, it’s more like—”

“Oh, excuse me,” Casey interrupted. “Wild foreplay, then. You and I both know where those dreams are leading, girl. If you ever finish one out, you
will
be making love, trust me.”

Not at all true. She’d just gotten much closer to finishing one and she’d ended up in the mother of all nightmares.

“I’m telling you, it’s that wish we made,” Casey insisted. “I don’t know how, but that has to be it. You ended up with a naked Mr. Perfect in your bed and the day I got home, Sam and I set the date for a Christmas wedding so you’d be back in time and then Lauren called just yesterday to say her doctor confirmed she’s pregnant. I know it’s crazy, Abby, but I’m convinced this guy is haunting your dreams because he’s the one you’ve been waiting for your whole life. You wished for him, you got him, and then you let him slip through your
fingers. Now you’ve got to go hunt him down, girl. There’s no question about it. He’s The One.”

“No way,” Abby muttered halfheartedly, all the while remembering how the lights had gone that crazy green color when they’d made their wishes that night. “Besides, I wouldn’t even know where to begin to look for him.”

Unless she contacted her ex-professor in Boulder, but there was no way she was going to humiliate herself like that again. It had been bad enough calling the woman up the last time to ask her to come get her cousin. Professor Navarro probably already thought she was some sleezy barfly psycho. What would she think if she got a second call?
Hey, remember me? The one who had your naked cousin in my house? Um . . . speaking of Colin, could you tell me where to find him?

Not happening.

“Not a single idea where to look for him,” she repeated insistently.

“Yes you do. Didn’t you say he told you where he lived in Scotland? Think, girl! You’re right there. I mean, the whole country probably isn’t much bigger than Colorado. Hunt him down. Go see him. You have to do this, Abby. It’s like fate or something. It’s way bigger than you. Besides, you want to be able to sleep again, don’t you?”

Abby caught herself nodding along as her friend spoke, knowing from the roiling in her stomach she’d already made her decision. Fool that she was, she was going to do it.

“Okay, fine. I’ll Google him as soon as we get off the phone.”

“Then we’re off the phone now. You call me as soon as you meet up with him again, you hear? I want to know absolutely everything! Now, go.”

“Bye, Casey. Thanks.”

Her words echoed back from the dead line, her friend already having disconnected.

“All-righty, then,” she attempted to reassure herself, crawling out of her bed and padding across the uneven floorboards to the old end table she used as a desk in this little room.