The Warlord Forever (4 page)

She thought of what it would be like taking him to her bed, of accepting him into her body, and a wild shudder quaked through her. They didn’t make men like him anymore. She could never have Ian for a lover.
No
. She’d probably faint if he kissed her again. She was terrible at things like sex and relationships. Ian deserved a better woman than her. Someone more experienced.

When he took off his kilt, she gasped and spun on her heel, blushing hotly from the quick flash of flesh she’d gotten before turning around.

Holy shit
.

The man had large everything, and apparently had no hang-ups about nudity. She couldn’t do this. She had to get out of there.
Right now.
Or she was going to turn back around and throw herself into Ian’s arms. Let him have his wicked way with her.

“I do believe you made my cousin blush.” Evan chuckled.

“I’d like to make her do more than blush.” Ian’s thick brogue went right through her, making her knees go weak.

She glanced over her shoulder, looking at Ian without
looking
at him. “I’ll find you something to wear while you shower.”

His eyes were impossibly green. It was odd how, if you caught them at the right angle, they appeared to glow with some mystical light.

“Shower?” Ian questioned. “Oh yes, to bathe. I know what this is.”

Kenna turned pleading eyes on Evan. “Will you help him?”

“You’re asking me to wash a
man
?” Evan was horrified by the idea, she knew, but his masculinity would make it through unscathed.

“Just show him how it works,” she suggested.

“I know how it works, lass.” Ian waggled his brows and smiled smugly at her.

She pulled the door closed and practically ran down the hall, as far away from the bathroom as she could get. Ian most likely knew all too well
how it works
. His eyes held the promise of a skillful, generous lover. The one from her dreams. One she couldn’t get involved with.

What did she have to offer the immortal warlord? Besides her body. He probably wanted to experience the world and all it had to offer. He’d been tucked away in his tomb for a
verra
long time. God, he was rubbing off on her already.

She would keep things between them proper and modest. Teach him how to get along in the world, and then unleash him on it. Was that such a good idea? If something happened, or he got into trouble, would it come back to her? She had opened his tomb and set him free. She felt a measure of responsibility for her actions.

Taking one step at a time was the only way to do this properly, starting with getting the warlord clothed. She skipped Evan’s room and entered her uncle’s suite at the back of the house. He’d been taller than Evan, and wider through the shoulders, so his clothes had a better chance of fitting Ian.

She hadn’t come into this room since her uncle had died. Now she knew why. It felt like his spirit was still there, clinging to its former life. A stack of
National Geographic
magazines sat on the bedside table, with his reading glasses resting on top. The valet on his dresser neatly displayed pairs of cufflinks, expensive watches and his gold wedding band. His wife had left him years ago because he travelled too much and she didn’t like being alone all the time. Evan and his mother had never been close after the divorce.

Kenna went into the walk-in closet and was assaulted by the scent of pipe tobacco and Old Spice. Tears sprang to her eyes as she remembered always getting that smell when she hugged her uncle. She’d never be able to hug him again.

She slowly started rummaging through the clothes, picturing Ian’s large, naked body. She’d never be able to forget the sight of him. How would she remain modest with that picture burned on her brain? The man had a serious effect on her, and they’d only just met. It was like every hormone in her body had come to life. Begging for his touch. If she wasn’t careful, those pesky little hormones were going to take her over and offer her up to Ian, legs spread and willing.
Would that be so bad?

She touched her fingers to her lips as she remembered the firm, demanding way he’d kissed her. The feel of being pressed against his hard chest, with his strong arms around her. The deep burr of his voice. Ian was a man who knew what he wanted and exactly how to get it. How would she have the power to refuse him anything?

She forced her mind back to her present situation. Clothing the warlord was not going to be so easy. None of her uncle’s clothes were going to fit him. She settled for the black silk bathrobe hanging on the back of the door. It would have to do for now. At least he’d be covered.

Laughter came from the bathroom at the end of the hall. Evan and Ian. The door was slightly ajar and steam poured out like some ancient Highland mist. Kenna crept up to the door and peeked into the room. Ian had a white towel wrapped snugly around his waist. His long hair was wet and dripping water over his shoulders.

Christ
.

What miracle had she worked to have this man in her house? Taking a shower.

“I’m more partial to the Glenfiddich,” Ian’s deep voice carried out to her. “The Glenlivet isn’t as bold.”

“I knew you’d prefer it,” Evan boasted. He loved being able to guess a person’s liquor of choice. It was his sixth sense.

“I can’t believe this.” Kenna pushed open the door. The smell of wet, clean man battered her senses.

Evan was re-filling two glasses of scotch from the bottle of Glenfiddich on the marble vanity area.

“He’s only been here a few hours, and already you’ve got him drinking.”

Evan handed one of the glasses to Ian. They clinked them together, and then each of them took a long swallow, with Ian finishing his drink altogether.

“He asked if we had any whisky.” Evan shrugged. “You said not to upset him, and I know keeping a man from his drink can be
verra
upsetting.” He imitated Ian’s Scottish accent, then finished his drink.

She would not have Evan turning the warlord into a drunk. Especially not with the amount of weapons he carried. Ian could take the house to pieces in a matter of minutes with all that sharp, gleaming steel.

“This was all I could find for now.” Kenna thrust the bathrobe at Ian. “When morning comes, we can get you to the store for some new clothes that will fit properly.”

“A shopping trip?” Evan perked up. “That’ll be grand!”

“You won’t be going along.” She was not taking a circus to the mall.

“I can’t leave Ian to your poor tastes when it comes to men’s clothes,” Evan argued. “If I let you dress him, he’ll end up looking like some Banana Republic nitwit.”

“What’s wrong with Banana Republic?” Kenna was steamed. She liked Banana Republic. They made good, classic clothes.

“You can’t dress a man like that —” Evan thrust his thumb over his shoulder in Ian’s direction. “in anything other than Armani, Gucci or Ermenegildo Zegna.”

She tried to picture Ian in a tailored suit as she watched him tie the robe closed. The sleeves barely came past his elbows and the length fell mid-thigh. She stifled the urge to laugh at how poor the fit was. “What do we do with him tonight?”

“Give him a room,” Evan answered. “Let him rest up for tomorrow. Lord knows I need to.” He left Ian and Kenna standing alone in the bathroom.

She figured rest was the last thing a man who’d been asleep for a thousand years needed. And she didn’t think she’d be able to sleep one wink. She was too excited. So, what did she do with him? An immortal warlord in her house.

“Is there anything you require?” She used her best hostess voice. It would only be a few hours until morning arrived. She was afraid they’d be the longest few hours she’d ever lived.

****

Oh, yes
. Ian required something. This sweet lass in his bed, her naked body stretched out beneath him. He wanted to taste every inch of her tender flesh, pleasure her until she could take no more.

Seducing her would be simple. He saw the way she looked at him. The way she was looking at him now. She was starving for what only a man could give her. What they’d shared in dreams that only he could give her.

He poured himself another glass of whisky and drank it down in one swallow. He offered Kenna a drink, which she politely refused. “What do you intend to do with me next?” he questioned. “If you’re wanting me in your bed, you only need say the word.”

Shock lit up her face, then anger. “What word is that?” She put her hands on her hips, not realizing the action jutted her breasts tighter against her silky nightdress.

“
Yes
will do, if that’s all you can manage.”

“I could give you a thousand words —”

“If I had you on your back, there would no’ be any words.” He leaned in close to her, staring down at her. “Only screams and moans, but I’d be happy with a thousand of those.”

He left her speechless. She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it, never taking her eyes from him.

“If you doona wish to share your bed, I wouldna mind seeing your uncle’s notes.” He was curious to learn more about Duncan Douglas and what he’d discovered about the Tuatha De’ Danaan and the curse. What had led the man to find him? Buried deep beneath the Earth in a cave. What might have happened had he not been killed so suddenly?

Kenna hesitated, considering the idea. “I guess that would be all right,” she said. “It’s probably nothing you don’t already know.”

“Like as no.” He nodded his agreement.

She led him downstairs to her uncle’s study and illuminated the green-shaded lamp on the desk by pulling the gold chain. “It’s all there.” She indicated the bound journal and pages of loose notes.

He opened the Gaelic dictionary and flipped through the pages. “Is this how you learned so fast?” he asked in the ancient tongue.

“Understanding you is hard enough when you’re speaking English,” she said. “The Gaelic lessons can wait a while.”

“How did you come to read the spell to release me?” Ian was confused.

She’d spoken the words fluently, perfectly. Just as he’d imagined she would. Perhaps she’d only learned those exact words and not his entire language.

“I really don’t know how I did it,” she revealed, leaning against the desk. “I thought I was dreaming. I hadn’t yet deciphered the words on your tomb, but in the dream, I knew what they said.”

“`Twas no dream, lass.” Ian reached out and cupped her face in his hand. “You stood beside my tomb and read the spell. I heard every word come from your lips.”

He bent his head and kissed her. A light, gentle kiss. Her soft lips parted slightly and he resisted the urge to taste her with his tongue.

He was walking around the desk and sitting down in the chair before she had the chance to protest. He wasn’t sorry for kissing her. She’d wanted him to.

“What are you looking for in the journal?” she asked, as he began reading through it.

He needed to know why her uncle had been looking for his tomb. Duncan Douglas had believed he’d find immortality in the tomb, but had he known how? Had he known about the potion?

Och!
He was a daft one for letting the potion out of his sight. He’d left the flask upstairs in his boot. What if Master Evan should think it an old Scottish brew and take himself a sample? The effects could be disastrous.

Ian tossed the journal aside and charged up the stairs to the bathroom. None of his things had been touched, thankfully, and he took the flask from his boot and put it in the pocket of his bathrobe.

“What’s that?” Kenna asked from behind him, out of breath from giving him chase up the stairs.

He turned and went over to her. “It’s nothing to concern yourself with, lass.” He tried to make his smile convincing. He couldn’t tell her the truth. Not yet. He spotted the bottle of whisky and the glasses and picked them up. “I thought I’d enjoy this wee dram while I’m reading.”

She eyed him with suspicion. “You certainly were in a hurry.”

“I’m thirsty,” he said. “Been asleep for a long time.” He went to step out of the bathroom, but she stood in front of him, blocking his way.

“There’s something you’re not telling me.” She narrowed her eyes as if she were dissecting him.

There was a lot he wasn’t telling her. But how could she know? Did she have the gift of insight and inner-knowing common among his people? He would have to be more careful around her from now on. “I’ll tell you everything I can when the time is right.” He kissed the top of her head and slipped past her.

She let him go. When she finally checked on him in the study, he pretended not to notice her. Only a few minutes later he heard her in the kitchen, cleaning up the mess he’d made. That should keep her out of his hair for a good time. He had to finish the journal. He had to know everything Duncan Douglas had known.

****

Kenna surveyed the spotless white tile floor of the kitchen. No one would ever suspect half the fridge had been scattered about the room only a few hours before. Would the warlord always be so aggressive with his food? Did he even know how to use silverware? She was almost dreading the next time she had to feed him.

Rosa would be returning this morning. After learning of her uncle’s sudden death, she’d cut her vacation short and wanted to be with the family in their time of need. Kenna had protested, but the stubborn woman refused to listen. How would she react to Ian?

Kenna wanted to make it as easy on her as possible so she’d cleaned the mess in the kitchen. Gazing out the window over the sink, she watched the night sky lightening with the coming dawn. For some reason, she felt daylight would change everything. She couldn’t keep Ian a secret forever. What would she tell people about him? He had to stay as a guest in the house. She couldn’t throw him out in the streets of Los Angeles alone.

She had to come up with a plausible story. Considering he was a six-foot-six, heavily muscled, well-armed Scottish warlord who had just learned how to turn on lights and only discovered television about twenty minutes ago, her options were going to be rather limited.

“Kenna!” Ian shouted from her uncle’s study. “What is the meaning of this?”