Logan (23 page)

She was no coward, but she tended to work with people, negotiate. Her parents had taught her from an early age to be diplomatic. So, it was a complete surprise that the urge to push him further, question
his
integrity and make him slip over the edge of control, almost overwhelmed her.
 

Before she could stop herself, she stepped closer to the desk. His expression shifted, turning from anger to something that resembled…lust? Her heart tripped over itself, and her nipples tightened against her cotton bra. His nostrils flared. A charge filled the air, drifting over her, heating her. Bloody hell, every drop of moisture in her mouth evaporated.
 

Something primal that she’d never experienced before leapt in her blood. Her breath tangled in her throat. All she could think of was touching him, moving her hand over his flesh. Bare flesh. Thankfully, before she could embarrass herself, Angus interrupted her thoughts.
 

“
Callum
.”
 

The rebuke in his cousin’s voice reached the dark leader. He shook his head as if to clear it, and that was enough to bring Phoebe to her senses. She needed to keep her head straight or she would surely give herself away.
 

Drawing in a deep breath, she dropped back into the chair, her body still humming from the confrontation. Callum abruptly turned to face the window.
 

“Since Phoebe is here for at least a week, why don’t we get her settled in her room? She can freshen up and then we can discuss the particulars of our working relationship,” Angus offered.
 

Her unprofessional behavior shamed her. She could blame it on Callum Lennon, but she knew better. Shaken to her core, Phoebe nodded. Unwilling to make eye contact with Angus, her gaze drifted to Callum. He nodded, once.
 

Fletcher stepped in, trying to ease over the tense moment. His voice was gentle when he spoke. “I’d be more than happy to show you to your room, Dr. Chilton.”
 

Fletcher offered her his arm.  Releasing a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, she accepted and rose from the chair. Unable to meet the gaze of either of his cousins, she said nothing more before leaving the room.
 

Once Fletcher closed the door, he motioned with his hand down the hall. Without a word, she stepped forward, losing herself in her thoughts. She needed to recoup, pull herself together for her next confrontation. And there
would
be one. Callum Lennon struck her as a man who wouldn’t give an inch unless forced to. She admired that, even though it irritated her.  It wasn’t a situation from which she would shy away.   
 

As they walked, their footsteps against the polished wooden floor were the only sounds echoing down the hallway. No servants or workers peeked out of doorways. It reminded her of a museum. The atmosphere would have been oppressive to some, but she took comfort in it.
 

As she mentally put aside her confrontation with Callum Lennon, she noticed artifacts hanging on the walls she had missed on her way in. There was a magnificent collection of weaponry that looked to be from the eighteenth century, not to mention a multitude of oil paintings depicting what she assumed where Lennon family ancestors. She’d love to get her hands on several of the pieces, including the jeweled dirk she spied. It was a testament to just how harried her trip to Edinburgh had been that she hadn’t noticed them.
 

“I hope you won’t worry about my cousin.” Fletcher’s relaxed tone soothed her.
 

She glanced at him. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. I’ve been handling domineering men most my life. Your cousin doesn’t worry me.”
 

 “So you like domineering men?” he teased, gesturing to a staircase that led up.
 

She started to climb the stairs. “No. In fact, I have a feeling I was seen as a bit of a ‘fish wife’ when I was married.”
 

Simon had loved using that term for her, and it still bothered her. He’d employed it whenever he sought to make her feel guilty, which was often. Of course, at the time, it had worked. Now…it no longer had the power to hurt her.
 

After stepping up on the last step, she moved aside to wait for Fletcher. “But in my academic career and line of work, I’ve become familiar with men like your cousin.”
 

Fletcher stepped up then edged closer, smiling down at her. There was a hint of approval in his gaze, along with a dash of sexual interest.
Oh, bother
. She was sure he didn’t fancy himself in love with her. And he probably wasn’t even interested in her. Men like him flirted as easily as they breathed. They weren’t interested in her—not without another reason.
 

“I don’t think Callum has had someone stand up to him like that in...well, ever. Not since he took over the family business.” He gestured with his hand to the right. “Your room is this way.”
 

“I can’t believe that you and your other cousins don’t give him a hard time about other matters. From what I understand, all of you have some say in the company.”
 

He tossed her a smile that would likely melt most women. “There is that, but family is different.” He shrugged. “We all know that when it comes down to it, Callum will do what is best for the company.”
 

“How long has he been running Lennon Enterprises?”
 

His shoulders tensed ever so slightly, the only indication she had tread on hallowed ground. Curious. It fit right into the strange absence of information on the Internet about the family. In all the research she’d done on the Lennons, Phoebe had not been able to find out how the company had been started. Stranger still, there hadn’t been one news story outlining when Callum Lennon took up the reins.
 

She knew from Fletcher’s reaction that she wouldn’t get much information from him. It was only a moment or two before the lazy sensuality returned to his face again, like a smoke screen.
 

“For too long, if you ask me,” Fletcher finally answered. “But it’s what drives him, what he craves.”
 

“I take it he had a lot to live up to?”
 

He looked at her blankly.
 

“With it being a family company, I assumed that he’d been trained by his father or maybe an uncle?”
 

“From birth, Callum always seemed to be ready to take control.”
 

Which wasn’t an answer. “I just thought it odd that you didn’t have any pictures of board members or of Callum out and about at charity events.”
 

Fletcher shrugged. “Callum isn’t that photogenic.”
 

He slowed down and opened the door to a room, his gaze roaming down her body, then back up. Instead of arousal, a dash of irritation, along with a helping of amusement, stole through her. That he thought he could flirt with her and make her stop sniffing around their company was both insulting and funny.
 

“Is this my room?”
 

He blinked, his smile dimming just a bit. Poor Fletcher wasn’t accustomed to a woman ignoring his ploys. If she wasn’t sure he’d take it the wrong way, she’d kiss him.
 

“Uh, yes, this is your room. Your bags have already been brought up.”
 

She brushed past him and stepped over the threshold. Before he could follow her in, she placed a hand on his chest and smiled. “Thank you so much for escorting me.”
 

He looked down at her hand and frowned. “I can show you around your room.”
 

She laughed. “I can handle it myself. I’m used to travel. Thank you once again.”
 

Before he could argue with her, she closed the door directly in his face. She needed a break from the testosterone of all the Lennon men for a few minutes. If she didn’t get it,
there was a good chance she would faint from the overload—if not the embarrassment of her behavior.
 

She took a good look at the room. She stood in a small sitting room that opened up into the larger room. As she stepped into the bedroom itself, she sighed.  A massive bed, with a mattress so thick there was a step stool beside it for her use, dominated the room.  When she stepped further into the room, she noticed the high vaulted ceiling. With it painted in celestial blue, along with the lighter, almost airy quality of the furnishings and bed linens, it felt as if she were walking through the heavens. Still agitated with Callum, not to mention with herself, the atmosphere was a calming influence, bringing her back to her goal at hand.
 

Phoebe approached the bureau and noticed that her bags were indeed sitting by the foot of the bed. When she looked up, she saw herself in the mirror and groaned. No wonder Callum Lennon had thought she was an idiot. Her suit was a mess, wrinkled and still damp from the rain. Half of her hair was still piled on top of her head, while the other half hung down in a mess of tangled curls. What makeup she had worn was now either smudged on her face or was gone. Good God, she looked like she’d rolled through a ditch before coming to meet them.
 

Knowing there was nothing she could do about it now, she grabbed her toiletry bag and headed to the bathroom to clean herself up. At least when she met the remaining two cousins, she would look professional, and with her armor back in place, she could better deal with Callum Lennon.
 

Before she could start cleaning up, her mobile buzzed. The familiar number made her groan. She’d forgotten to contact Kenneth McWalton, the head of the grant board, after she arrived. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with him. However, his say would carry a lot of weight when the grant she needed was given out, so she’d best put up with his blustery impatience and answer. Besides, he would continue to ring her until she did. This was inconvenient enough, but she definitely didn’t want him to ring her when she was with the Lennons.
 

“Hello.”
 

“Dr. Chilton. I thought you said you would ring me up when you landed,” McWalton chastised.  
 

Phoebe took a deep breath before answering. She hadn’t had to answer to anyone for over eighteen months, and she refused to do it now.
 

She kept her voice calm and businesslike. “We were fogged in and took off later than usual.”
 

There was a pause, as if he were weighing her every word, trying to decide if she were telling the truth.
 

“Hmm. Well, I was worried.” His tone had turned solicitous enough to agitate her.  “I thought you might have had second thoughts.”
 

“I haven’t even had time to freshen up, let alone look over whatever artifact they have for me.”
 

Another pause. “You
are
going to try for the grant, aren’t you?”
 

“As I told you before, I’ll make that decision when I have a chance to evaluate what this is.”
 

“I was just wondering because Sir Wendell Farthington has contacted me about the grant. Seems he has something he thinks might win over the committee.”
 

A wave of apprehension washed over her at the mention of her arch rival from college. Whiney Wendell was still annoyed she’d beat him out for valedictorian—especially since he had ten years on her. If he’d contacted McWalton, there was a good chance he knew she was interested.
 

“I’ll let you know as soon as I can be certain if I’m onto something that will fit what the grant committee is looking for.”
 

As soon as she reassured McWalton twice more, she rung off and sighed. She’d felt more than a little twinge of guilt for being a bit deceptive. Okay, she felt a lot. She’d built a reputation on being fair and honest. This could tarnish that image. Greatly. But, this was the most important leap of faith in her career, one that could leave her reputation in tatters or give her the recognition, independent of her parents, she had always craved.
 

Before she could get back into the bathroom, her mobile rang again. When she noticed Isabel Totaro’s number, she immediately answered.
 

“Where the hell are you?” her former assistant asked.
 

“Hello, Isabel. How are you?” She laughed.
 

“I’m fine. I’m always fine. You, on the other hand, were supposed to have lunch with me tomorrow and your new assistant—who has the manners of a goat—called me to cancel.” All of this was delivered in a mixture of heavily accented English and Spanish. When irritated, Isabel had a habit of slipping in and out of different languages.
 

“She doesn’t have the manners of a goat. She’s efficient. Besides, you quit.”
 

“She was rude and wouldn’t tell me where you were. I was worried you went back to Egypt with Barbie and Ken.”
 

Phoebe sighed. She wasn’t used to this, although she should be after three years. Isabel had bounced into her life during the horrific last months of Simon’s illness. Five-foot two of dynamite that one was. She’d refused to allow Phoebe to wallow in self-pity. Her resignation last month had been bittersweet, but she’d fallen in love with an Italian businessman and they were moving back to the continent. It was hard to lose your only friend.
 

Phoebe smiled, but she still felt she should admonish her friend. “I wish you wouldn’t call my parents names.”
 

“You know you like it. So, tell me where you are.”
 

“Scotland.”
 

“What the bloody hell are you doing there?”
 

“I’ve thrown caution to the wind, and I’m having a mad affair with four Scotsmen.”
 

“About damned time.”