A Novel Seduction (22 page)

She bit her lip, looking from the notebook in which she should be outlining to the book. Reading was part of the work she needed to accomplish in order to write the piece, she reminded herself.

She opened the book and turned to the first page.

Axel had finished setting up his camera in the corner of the empty snug. He would do some standard shots with the tripod, but he thought he might try some free lensing too. With the darkness of the bar behind the women, he’d be able to catch a real sense of liveliness and movement—that is, if any of them were willing to brave the downpour.

He was glad he had eaten. Not only had the fish been fantastic, but he’d been feeling a tad lightheaded. He’d probably dosed himself too high, which had made his blood sugar drop like a lead weight and could have sent him into a potentially life-threatening insulin shock if he hadn’t eaten.

He looked over at the hearth. The chair wings obscured his view of her, but he knew what he would find: the focus in her eyes, the slim, self-assured line of her back as she wrote, the curl of her leg beneath her.

He was glad to think she
was
writing. And since it sounded like she was willing to let him look at her draft,
he wouldn’t have to tax Black’s patience much longer. Axel might be leaving New York, but he wasn’t leaving photography, and those who defied Buhl Martin Black could find themselves on the outs in the magazine world.

He considered the incident at St. Paul’s, remembering with a niggling guilt the pleasure he’d felt holding her even though he had no idea why she’d been crying. Women were a confusing lot, and Ellery more than most. Trying to understand one was like trying to catch a piece of shell in a bowl of raw eggs: The more you tried, the more it slithered away. At least, that’s what Jemmie had said, and Axel certainly agreed.

As for the rest of Ellery’s mixed signals…

He didn’t know what this afternoon in the hotel room had meant to her, but that had always been the trouble with the two of them. There was magic in those haughty blue eyes, but too often they hid more than they revealed.

He grabbed a camera and focused on the chair. He liked the contrast between her poised arm and the foot moving unconsciously to find the warmth of the fire. He got off six or seven shots; then, catching Simon’s eye, he held up his empty mug and made his way to the hearth.

“Eeee!” she shrieked, startled.

“Sorry, I was just—” He saw the book in her hand. “I thought you were outlining.”

The door opened. A portly woman of about fifty with orange-red hair, a cheery smile and flushed cheeks entered. She had a book in her hand.

Axel met Ellery’s eyes.

“That’s not all of them,” Ellery said.

“All of them, is it?” He accepted a new mug from
Simon and nodded his thanks. “I didn’t realize that was part of our bet. How many readers are we expecting tonight, Simon?”

“Six. Here’s two more now.”

Axel chuckled at the look on Ellery’s face, unfolded himself and clapped her on the shoulder.

“Let’s get to work.”

The two new arrivals turned out to be sisters, Marabel and Isabel. And fortunately both they and Ginger, the older woman, had already read and loved
Kiltlander
.

“But wait,” Ellery said under her breath, stealing a glance at Axel to ensure he was out of earshot. “Cara’s married back in the twentieth century, right? To a decent guy?”

“Yes, she is, lass,” Ginger said, grinning.

“But she’s being forced to marry Jemmie in his time.”

“Indeed.” Marabel giggled.

“So she’ll be married to both of them?”

“I could imagine worse,” Ginger said. “Especially if you had a husband who only put the boots to you the odd nights Fulham wins.”

The women laughed and Ellery blinked. She’d never been pulled into a story like this. She couldn’t believe Cara was going to sleep with another man while she was married to someone else. In Philip Roth, sure. But a romance? Part of her was shocked, part of her was turned on and
all
of her wanted to see the scene when Jemmie took off that
kilt. She knew she should be asking questions like “When did you start reading romances” and “What do you think romances do for women,” but first she had to satisfy her desperate need for information on Jemmie and Cara.

“What exactly is Cara going to do about it?” Ellery demanded.

“What can she do?” Ginger said. “If she doesn’t marry him, both of them will be put to death. It’s her only choice.”

“But is she going to
sleep
with both of them?” Cara had fallen back in time after climbing the hill of an ancient burial mound in Scotland called Cairnpapple, and Ellery could imagine—she could hardly
stop
imagining—that although Cara was being held prisoner in the past, she could conceivably figure out how to get back to her own time, and then where would that kilt scene be?

“You’re going to have to read it,” Isabel said. “More happens after the wedding night.”

“Then there
is
a wedding night?”

The women met each other’s eyes, sharing a secret so heady they looked like they’d each swallowed a Roman candle.

“What?” Ellery said. “What?”

“It’s a good scene,” Ginger said enigmatically. “One of the best.”

“Ever,”
Marabel added.

Ellery felt a strange electricity racing from her heart to the tips of her fingers, like she wanted to grab the book and run to the ladies’ room. She could hear the people in the bar talking around her, but she wasn’t processing the words. Her ears were buzzing, and she wondered if this
was what Axel felt when he’d taken some amazing drug.

“But I
have
to know. I mean, is it like”—Axel appeared at the edge of Ellery’s vision, fiddling with his lens—“other forms of genre writing? Does romance do something different for you than, say, mysteries do for mystery readers?”

Isabel, clearly the older and more reserved of the sisters, frowned, confused at the sudden change in topic, but said, “Well, mysteries seem to be about serving justice and—”

“You know what?” Ellery said. “I forgot I have to make a call. Why don’t you go ahead and start the book club. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

She slipped
Kiltlander
and her phone under her arm unobtrusively and slid out of the chair, though she caught the look of interest on Axel’s face.

She flew down the hallway to the restroom and was thrilled to discover a well-lit three-stall setup, which meant she could curl up on one of the toilets without inconveniencing anyone. Years of training had made Ellery an extraordinarily fast reader, and soon the book was ringing out a steady
shhhp
every thirty seconds or so. The wedding scene was fifteen pages. She could get through it in under ten minutes.

Cara, it seemed, realized that she and Jemmie had no other choice but to marry. She believed Jemmie was equally as pragmatic. But while Jemmie was more than willing to do as their captors required, he told her frankly that he wanted her, that the marriage was not a hardship for him but something that he truly desired.

Cara couldn’t deny she had feelings for Jemmie. He had saved her from a marauding clan and had been willing to give his life for hers when they were captured.
Even if they were able to escape, Cara had no confidence that she’d ever be able to make her way back to Cairn-papple or even that Cairnpapple’s magic could be prevailed upon to work for her return. She fretted as the priest was called.

Beyond the stall door, sounds of footsteps came and went but nothing could induce Ellery to stop.

As the ceremony began, Jemmie pledged his love to Cara and swore that he would protect her with his life.

Ellery made an involuntary sigh. That is what was at the heart of true love, wasn’t it—between a man and woman, a parent and child? It was as simple as that: the knowledge that you would give your own life to protect another. And here was this young Highlander, able to understand that sentiment and voice it.

Dammit, what was Cara going to do? Jemmie pulled out a knife and cut a line across his palm.

Ellery gasped, and someone in the adjoining stall said, “Are you all right?”

“What? Yes, yes. I’m fine.”

A blood oath was what he proposed. Cara looked at her hand uncertainly.

Oh, do it, Cara. Do it.

Cara agreed, and after a second quick cut, they held their palms together, blood intermixing, while Jemmie said a prayer in Gaelic.

Ellery could hardly breathe. She wanted things to work out between Jemmie and Cara, wanted their love to triumph, but how could there be any hope for their relationship when they came from two entirely different worlds and Cara’s world was calling to her?

Cara made it through the ceremony and found herself alone with Jemmie in the small room their captors had provided. They talked until they had exhausted all the conversation they had. Jemmie told her that from that day forward, his primary obligations in life were to keep her safe and make her happy.

Ellery wondered what it would be like to feel such protection. Heck, the closest she’d ever been to such a feeling was… She straightened. The closest she’d ever been was when she lay in Axel’s arms at the Warhol that first night. Oh, why couldn’t life do a clean sweep of a memory like that once you moved on, sort of the way a new profile picture replaces the old one in each old Facebook post?

Jemmie’s kilt was warm and thick, and Cara’s fingers shook as she found the belt buckle that held it around his body. Jemmie asked Cara if she was ready. She was, and they kissed.

“The plaid will warm us, lass,” he said, and threw the heavy wool over both their shoulders, tucking it around them until she could feel the warmth of his body. Then he asked her if she would be patient with him and revealed his shocking secret.

Ellery banged the door of the restroom so hard exiting that Axel, who had just turned down the hallway, was afraid for a moment she’d taken it off its hinges. He saw the impending path of the freight train and jumped out of the way, but she swerved to a stop and jabbed her finger into his chest.

“Is there a plaid for Clan Mackenzie?” she demanded, eyes as bright as candles.

Flustered, he took a second to respond. “You mean a tartan? Yes.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, just continued her mad rush down the hall, calling as she went, “Whatever you do, don’t interrupt us! I’m at a key point in the interview!”

He picked up his phone, which he’d dropped when she’d slammed the door.
Well, I’m glad to see she’s taking the article seriously.

“Jemmie’s a
virgin
?” Ellery cried when she reached the snug. The women, now numbering five, stopped their conversation and laughed.

“Ha!” Ginger said. “And you said you were on the phone.”

“
Kiltlander,
right?” one of the newer arrivals said, smiling. “God, I love that one.”

“Isn’t Jemmie amazing?”

“Told you it was something.” Marabel grinned.

“He’s a
virgin,
” Ellery repeated, barely able to contain her fascination. It was inexplicable. It was titillating. It was
mesmerizing
. Her brain was like a bottle of champagne that had been shaken too hard. If she didn’t get someone to uncork her, she was going to pop.

“How could he be a virgin?” she said. “He knew how to kiss Cara well enough to make her toes wiggle?”

“My boyfriend in the fifth form could make my toes wiggle,” Isabel said, grinning, “and I know he was a virgin
because in sixth form we took the plunge together.”

Ellery laughed. Suddenly she felt almost as close to these women as she did her friends at work.
I guess the shared experience of a romance novel can be the same kind of bonding experience.

But Jemmie a virgin? She could accept this on an intellectual level but not on the revved-up emotional one she found herself on. “Jemmie’s a warrior. He’s fought in battles, led his clan. Surely there were women clamoring to sleep with him when he returned.”