T is for Temptation (24 page)

Those luscious lips curled, and in the soft lamp lighting, her cat eyes twinkled. Head tilted to one side, she chuckled and said, “Sounds very much like boarding school.”

Alex tasted the creamy orange-pink liquid, and hmmned in enjoyment. “Lobster bisque. Amazing, and it is the perfect temperature. It tastes like it’s made with fresh lobsters. I suppose you doctored up a can.”

A cackle, an actual cackle escaped Jake.

“I guess you could say that,” she murmured and shot him a flaming-arrow glower.

“I think this whole situation has gotten to Jake.” Alex frowned and slapped him on the back. “What’s for dinner?”

Hysterical humor surfaced, and Jake continued to laugh so hard he had to wipe his eyes with his napkin.

“Behave,” Tee ordered. “I thought a typical English meal. Roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, new finger potatoes, and green beans. I even found a trifle in the fridge for dessert.”

Managing to stifle his chortles, he ate, contributing little to the conversation, but delighting in the spirited bantering between the other two, the way Tee charmed Alex into revealing what lay behind his playboy armor.

By dessert, an odd languor claimed his limbs, a combination of spreading contentment and happiness. Never had he enjoyed an evening more, his woman, his best friend, and a house that felt lived in, as if goodwill sealed its walls.

Alex ate three helpings of the trifle his witch had conjured. “This is so good. I’m tempted to have more.”

“How on earth do you stay so lean?” she asked. “You eat like a starving man.”

Alex’s countenance sobered and a sad expression crossed his face. He and Jake exchanged glances.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No, babe.” He patted her hand. “Although there was food at the orphanage, it was designed to fill the stomachs of adolescent boys, not to taste wonderful, and the concept of seconds didn’t exist. As teenagers, we often left the table hungry.”

“Then have more trifle.” Tee pushed her chair back, got up, and walked over. She bent, kissed Alex on his cheek, and continued on her way to the kitchen.

Alex rubbed his hand against his face, and he shot a look that could only be labeled envious at Jake. “You’re a lucky man, Jake Mathews. I envy you right now.” He threw his napkin on the table. “I need some fresh air.”

“Where are you going?” Tee called out. “Come back. Guess what I found in the kitchen, gentlemen?”

The pirate chest they’d left at Claridge’s rested in the palm of her hands.

An unassailable sense of doom filled every crevice of Jake’s soul. For the second time that evening, normal body functions ceased, and he couldn’t inhale enough oxygen to stop the light headiness, which made furniture and people dance a tad out of focus.

“How odd. How did that get here?”

“I thought maybe you might have picked it up, Alex.”

For a second, Jake felt like a director on a movie set, present, but un-acknowledged, watching Tee and Alex interact.

“Uh-uh. It was on the table when I left. I clearly remember seeing it when I did a last-minute check of the living room.”

Fear dilated Tee’s pupils, she wriggled her shoulders, and her feet shuffled in his direction.

“You didn’t bring it, did you?” A faint hope lit her breathy, murmured question as she faced him.

The fire snapped and crackled, flames roaring, wood hissing. The noises rented the silence, reforming it into a breath-holding tension.

Unable to speak, lest he voiced the dread seeping into his veins, Jake shook his head.

Tee placed the small trunk on the table in between Jake and Alex. She sat down.

“What’s happening here? You two are looking at that thing as if it held the answers to some magical quest.”

His neck cricked, sending a dagger of pain across both shoulder blades, and he crashed into Alex’s blue eyes, suspicion rearing. “What do you know about the blasted chest?”

“Less than you by that look.”

“I think you should open it,” she said and pushed it his way.

“I agree.”

“I don’t think so.” Jake stared at the wooden trunk.

“It can’t be a bomb. It couldn’t fit a penny, far less enough of any substance to harm us. For Christ’s sake, it’s a miniature trunk, an antique, not a weapon. Open the damned thing.”

Swallowing, Jake approached it with caution, flicking a finger across one of the metal bands on the chest. He checked the room, running a circular gaze around the periphery, eyeing the floor. Nothing. Filling his lungs, he flipped the brass lock and pushed the lid up.

Acrid, dense, black smoke filled the air, blinding his vision. The stifling, dark fumes made his eyes sting.

“What the hell? Tee, give me your hand!” Jake barked out. “I can’t see a blasted thing.”

“Walk to my voice, Tee!” Jake’s shout added to her confusion. “Come to me.”

A cacophony of noise broke out. Hooves thundering, metal clanking, and bellowed voices fractured the stillness. She swiped at the tears streaming from her eyes, coughed, and stumbled over a jutting boulder. The stench of hair burning hit her nostrils, making her gag, a chaotic assault to every sense save touch. Arms outstretched, she corkscrewed sideways, searching, gulping down the traitorous apprehension clogging her throat.

The wind picked up, whipping the impenetrable smoke into a swirling black mass. In slow motion a patched visibility returned. Another gust and the thick fog rose above their heads. Blinking furiously, panic-stricken and hunting her mind for any wayward wish, any subconscious yearning, she came up with naught, not a single suppressed craving.

As the air cleared, she realized they stood in an overgrown field under clear blue skies and mild sunshine. Ice-tinged waves bathed her cheeks, and long-stalked verdant grass tickled her bare calves. A quick glance to the side revealed Alex knuckling closed lids, and to his right, balled fists resting on his lean hips, a narrow-eyed Jake glaring accusation. Recoiling from his fury-tautened features, she staggered backwards.

“Not more blasted Vikings. Where in the hell are we, Tee?”

“I don’t know, honest. I’ve never been here before, and I didn’t do it. You can’t blame this one on me. It was the chest.”

“Douglas Graham’s blasted trunk. I knew it was trouble, knew I shouldn’t have opened it. I should’ve listened to my gut. This is your fault, both of you.” Glowering at Alex and her, he stabbed a finger at them.

Resentment surged, and she stalked forward and dug a nail into his saffron shirt, hitting skin where the laces bared his bronzed flesh.

“I’m sick and tired of being ashamed of who I am. And don’t you dare, even for a minute, try to stick the blame for this on me. It’s your damned trunk, your damned
Ferguson
inheritance.”

Alex’s hands encircled her waist, and he dragged her against his chest and snapped, “Shut the crap up, both of you. What in damnation is going on? We didn’t even finish a bottle of wine. How did we get outside? And what happened to the night? Why in hell are you dressed like that, Jake?”

A sudden shove sent her flying into Jake’s arms. She stared at the color of his shirt, at the unfamiliar laces, and pushed away, raking him head to toe.

“Oh my,” she said and cupped a hand over her mouth.

Brows quirked, Jake ducked his head, and his black eyes widened as horrified dismay captured his features. He shot the two of them a quick assessment and groaned, “Blast, blast, blast. It’s only me. The two of you are wearing the same clothes from last night. It is the blasted trunk.”

“Crap. Are we in some sort of Computer-Generated reality?” Alex pivoted, surveying the area, and he blew out a long breath. “That’s it. This whole thing has been some sort of technological innovation. If you’re diversifying into a new industry, this is a heck of a way to prove a point. You can stop the demonstration. As the major shareholder in your investment company, I approve. Turn it off.”

She grimaced, wondering how to convince him that reality and veracity were now watchwords, which no longer held any worth.

“I was out of line again, babe.” Jake dropped a kiss on her forehead and shifted to the right.

One long stride and the two men faced each other. Seizing Alex by the shoulders, he shook him and said, “Listen to me, buddy. We may not have a lot of time, and whatever happens, you need to go along with what I say. This is not CG. I don’t know where we are and what’s going to happen next. But, whatever does, let me or Tee do the talking. Got that?”

“You’ve been under tremendous stress, and I know you. You won’t reach out for help, but let me get you some, Jake. I swear I won’t let anyone commit you.”

“Ahem, gentlemen, it appears we have company.”

Both of them swung in her direction.

“Crap, it’s a CG Braveheart.” Alex pointed in the opposite direction to a band of five men trudging down a dirt road, wearing kilts, and carrying swords. Each man led a horse. Tall green trees lined the rough, cratered road, and the watery afternoon sun gave a surreal painter’s light to the setting.

“Tee? Any guesses as to the century?”

“Century?” Deep worry lines grooved Alex’s brow, and his sensuous mouth thinned. “I don’t like what I’m hearing.”

“Listen up. I can only say this once. Tee is a witch with conjuring powers. I’ve traveled with her to gladiator and Viking centuries. From the looks of my dress and the men opposite, we’re in
Scotland
, in the past.”

“We could be in
England
,” Tee said as she crinkled her nose, “as in Scotsmen invading.”

“Blast, blast, blast. I hadn’t thought of that. History isn’t my strong point.”

“Those men will walk right by us, Jake. They seem dangerous, and those swords appear very real. Do you have any suggestions?” Her clipped voice rang with urgency.

“Babe,” he said, cradling her face in his hands. “Think us back.”

“I’ve been trying.” She shook her head. “It’s not working. I’m sorry.”

“Okay, let’s deal with this rationally. If the chest brought us here, it can take us back. Search for it.” Jakes’ charcoal eyes swept the meadowed glen; he dropped to the tall grass and hands disappearing into thick green stalks.

“Crap, crap, and more crap.” Alex rubbed his temple. “I need a painkiller, or a stiff Scotch.”

“Tee’s a witch.” Jake glared at his friend from his kneeling position on the damp grass. “Her warlock mentor gave me the chest, and it brought us here. That’s the last time I’m telling you. I can’t find the damned thing.” Jake stood and dusted the mud off his hands. “How many men in the year 2007 run around dressed in kilts and bearing swords, Alex?” He pointed in the direction of the Scottish warriors.

The band of men approached, and deep baritones, coated with thick brogues, reached her ears.

“Laird
Ferguson
.” The shout came from the tallest man in the group, an enormous, six-foot-six soldier defined by the chiseled muscularity of a RAW wrestler. He moved with the lazy grace of a predatory tiger stalking prey. Tee gulped, a sense of disbelief curtained the whole scene, and she began to understand Jake’s predicament when he first learned of her powers.

The men picked up their pace and headed straight to them.

“Tee, any suggestions?”

“They think you’re Lord Ferguson. Say as little as possible.”

“Will someone explain this situation to me?” Alex barked. He punched Jake in the shoulder.