A Highlander for Christmas (7 page)

Her breath caught. The pearls rose and fell sharply with the sudden movement of her chest. The air between them seemed heavy, full of unformed questions and unspoken possibilities.

“I’d better go.” She didn’t move.

“That’s probably a good idea.” He continued to stare at her.

“Maggie, is anything wrong?” A woman’s head appeared at the curtain, eyes narrowed with interest.

“Just another reporter, Chessa. He’s gone now.” She looked at Jared. “Thank you again for your help.”

He gave a shrug that could have meant anything or nothing at all.

“Karen will finish with your gifts.”

“Of course.” Jared managed to make his voice flat and impersonal. Purely business, he told himself. Or it should have been.

But he didn’t turn away until the curtain blocked his last sight of her. Even then her subtle perfume continued to tease his senses, an unusual blend of cinnamon and roses that was as complex as the woman who wore it.

Jared realized his breath was coming fast, and his body was a hell of a lot tighter than when he’d walked in. Maybe it was the intimacy of the small room, filled with frothy lingerie meant to inflame a man’s imagination. But Jared knew that wasn’t the real answer. His reaction was to Maggie Kincade. Because of the vulnerability he had seen in her eyes and the passion he had sensed in the restless colors of her keen mind.

He studied the room, trying to focus in the wake of her departure.
Stop dreaming and work,
he told himself tensely. Nicholas had every right to want answers before he extended an invitation, and Jared was determined to get them. From what he had seen so far, Maggie Kincade had no hidden contact with her father or anyone who might have been an associate of his. Nor was she consorting with criminals and living a life of splendor on ill-gotten gains.

He ran down a mental list of the jewels that Daniel Kincade was suspected of stealing. There had been no black pearls among them. None of what she had been selling.

Of course, this could all be part of a cold, detailed plan. She could be biding her time until the attention died, but Jared didn’t think so. The woman who’d stood frozen and speechless in the glare of a photographer’s flash had been stunned and anything but ruthless.

After today’s sale, she could count herself a very wealthy woman. She had every reason to shun publicity. Maybe Nicholas’s offer wouldn’t interest her at all.

There was only one way to find out.

~ ~ ~

The Cantonese restaurant was packed, every seat jammed with students, tourists, and regular lunchtime visitors. Maggie ignored the growl of her stomach as she slid into a spot beside Chessa. “How much?”

Chessa gave her a radiant smile. “Nine hundred seventeen,” she intoned. “Thousand,” she added.

Maggie stared at her hands, outstretched on the table.
“
I can’t believe it. That much in just two hours?” She took a ragged breath, her nerves tight. Purely the aftereffects of the sale, she thought. It had nothing at all to do with the man she had met in the shop that morning. There was no earthly reason why she should keep remembering his slow smile and the play of his fingers on her neck. And it had to be her imagination that his hand had been moving toward her cheek. After all, there was no possible chance she’d ever see him again.

He had left with his purchases and that was that. Probably married anyway, Maggie thought.

She finally managed to force him out of her mind. “Thanks, Chessa. We actually did it,” she whispered.

“Not we.
You
did it,” her cousin said.

“Now I can pay all the bills. I might even have something left for a new platinum shipment.”

“You’re damned right you will,” Chessa said angrily. “You’re keeping aside whatever you need for your new designs. You have to work, Maggie, and work takes quality materials. Your father meant some of those stones for you, remember?”

“I don’t know what he meant for me. It’s not as if we talked about what would happen when he died.” Maggie shoved a tangle of hair from her forehead as she sat back against the thick banquette. She had changed from Chessa’s gown into her usual clothes, comfortable jeans and a deep gray turtleneck that set off the warm highlights of her hair. Her only adornment was an intricate torque of silver and twisted gold, one of her first projects in design school. Even then the Celtic influence had been at work on her imagination.

Lost in thought, Maggie didn’t notice the assessing glances of a pair of passing men. Had she seen, she would have put it down to curiosity and nothing more.
“
I remember. But the bills come first, Chessa.”

“I wish your father had thought that way.”

“He tried to.” Maggie shrugged. “He just didn’t have a business mind.” She gave a low laugh. “Not that I do either, but I’m trying.”

Chessa toyed with her enameled tea cup. “Just remember that those debts were your father’s, not yours. Pay the bills, but use what you need for your own design work.”

Maggie picked up a menu, well aware that her cousin never gave up an argument. “Let’s order. I’m ravenous.” She was feeling far too happy to argue, and she meant to savor the feeling as long as it lasted. “How about fried dumplings?”

“Promise me
, Maggie. Tell me you’ll spend something on yourself, blast it.”

Maggie lowered the menu. “Please, Chessa. I’ll do whatever has to be done, but I’ll do it in my own way.”

“But there’s no need. If I spoke to my father, he would loan you enough to—”

“You’ve loaned me too much already. I don’t know when I can pay it back.”

“You’re family. You don’t have to pay it back. Now stop before you make me really angry.” Abruptly she turned, darting a glance over her shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure,” Chessa said after a moment. “I’ll be right back. Order for me, will you? Black bean soup and fried dumplings.”

Then she was gone.

~ ~ ~

One table over, Jared was perusing the handwritten menu. He blinked as a woman in black velvet jeans slid into the seat beside him. She wore a tapestry coat, and her dark hair spilled in waves over her shoulders. The woman from the lingerie shop, he realized.

“All right, damn it, who are you?”

His brow rose. “I beg your pardon?”

“Forget the innocent routine. I saw you talking to Maggie in the shop this morning. Now, two hours later, you’re seated right here behind us. I’ve never believed in coincidences, so I want to know why you’re here.”

Jared took his time in answering. Nicholas’s instructions had been clear, and he had to follow them. “I had a very good reason for being in your shop today.”

Chessa’s eyes narrowed. “Does this reason have anything to do with Maggie?”

“Yes, it does.”

She sat back with a muffled oath. “I knew it. You’re a reporter, aren’t you? Another bloated worm crawling around in search of a story.”

Jared steepled his fingers. “I didn’t say I was a reporter.”

“Then what are you?”

The question lingered. Jared frowned as he saw Maggie Kincade slip out of her seat and come toward them. She looked, he decided, even better in jeans than she had in black silk. Soft denim hugged those endless legs in a way that made tension fist at his chest and slam downward. He dragged his eyes away, up to the simple curve of hammered silver at her neck. The intricate inlay work and sensuous lines of the design left no doubt that it was from Maggie’s own hand. Like her, it was simple, yet tantalizing. The combination did sharp things to Jared’s pulse.

“Chessa, what’s going on?” Maggie’s eyes widened when she saw Jared. “Why are
you
here?”

“I think you’d better sit down,” he said.

“Me? I don’t understand.”

“I have some news for you, Ms. Kincade.” He saw her sudden pallor and read its source. “It’s not bad news.”

“Is there any other kind?” She sank into a seat beside her cousin. “Let’s have it.”

“He’s been following you, Mag. He doesn’t look like a stalker.” Chessa eyed Jared suspiciously. “Then again, who’s to say? But if you’re not a reporter or a stalker, what are you? And you’d better not tell me you’re from the IRS, coming to claim your cut already.”

“Ah, that would be your tax people, I believe.” Jared gave a faint smile. “Not that either.”

“You’re Scottish, aren’t you?” Maggie restlessly straightened a pair of chopsticks, then folded and unfolded a napkin. The frown between her eyes deepened.

“That I am. You have a good ear, since I’ve lost most of my accent.” Six years in Asia and two decades spent crisscrossing the globe for his father’s military postings had done that.

And then a year in a box as a political “guest” of the government of
Myanmar
had left him barely able to speak at all.

“Are you from Christie’s in London?” Maggie said tightly. “Did my father owe you money, too?” There was a harrowed look in her eyes now.

That confirmed the reason for her morning auction. So her father had left more debts and loose ends than was generally known, Jared thought. “No, I’m not from Christie’s, and your father didn’t owe me money.”

“Then why—”

The restaurant owner appeared with a tureen of steaming soup. He set it down before Jared with a flourish and a flood of staccato Cantonese. Then he eyed the two new arrivals.

Jared nodded. “Yes, we’re together. We’ll need two more bowls, Mr. Wong.”

Maggie watched the restaurant owner move off in search of more utensils. “You’ve been here before?”

“A few times this week. The food is very good.”

“And you speak Chinese?”

Jared nodded. He didn’t mention that he also spoke German, Gaelic, and backstreet Thai.

“Forget the soup, Professor.” Chessa eyed him with cold suspicion. “What do you want with my cousin?”

“This.” He slid a heavy vellum envelope across the table. Light glinted off the embossed gold coronet flanked by two dragons.

Maggie frowned as Jared centered the envelope before her. Then her body went absolutely still. But now she realized that apparent calm of hers concealed a restless flow of emotion straining to break free.

With the right man she would succeed, he thought. With the right man there would be no need for protection or pretenses. Of course, he
wasn’t
the right man. Not for Maggie Kincade or for any other woman. Not after Thailand.

“It’s for you,” he said. “Open it.”

“Draycott Abbey.” Chessa frowned as she read the elegant printing. “It must be about that design competition you entered in the spring.”

Maggie cradled the envelope uncertainly. “Do you know Lord Draycott?”

“Very well.” Jared’s face betrayed nothing as he measured her response.

The necklace glinted as she turned to measure him. Sunlight cast amber sparks through her tousled hair, and in her casual gray turtleneck she looked all of eighteen, rather than a woman tackling hard, painful problems But Jared, of all people, knew just how deceptive appearances could be.

“And you came all the way to New York to give this to me?”

“It wasn’t far out of my way,” he lied smoothly. Nicholas had insisted on that story. He hadn’t wanted her to feel pressured or overwhelmed by his offer.

Jared wasn’t entirely surprised to hear Chessa Kincade’s snort of disbelief. “You just happened to be in New York? Maybe you were in the market for some lingerie?”

Maggie touched Chessa’s arm. “He could be telling the truth.”

“Why don’t you open the envelope and find out, Ms. Kincade?”

Her eyes darkened, the smoky blue of a loch at dawn. He liked the way she gently traced the embossed coronet on the envelope, as if taking precise calculations of her future and its possibilities. In fact, looking at her was becoming downright addictive, Jared thought.

“I’m not sure I want to open it.” She gave an unsteady laugh. “I might not be able to recognize good news anymore.”

“It’s like riding a bicycle. I’m told one never forgets.”

“I never was much good at bicycles either.” She toyed with the envelope, frowning. “I’ll open it later.”

Jared sat back slowly. He hadn’t expected to care about the outcome. He wasn’t prepared to feel personally involved in the results of Nicholas’s decision. But like it or not, he was. Three days of secretly watching Maggie Kincade struggle to knit together the torn pieces of her life had left him with an intense and very personal interest. And a strange need to protect her.

He froze, trying to block a flow of impressions as her foot brushed his under the table. But he could no more resist reading her than he could stop breathing. At the surface lay wariness, followed by curiosity and a needle-sharp intelligence. Below that lay the hard-won pride that kept her from revealing any of those things. She wouldn’t be an easy person to understand. Winning her trust would be harder still. So why did he care about doing either?

From the start he’d had reservations about her selection for the exhibition, mostly from a security standpoint. Now that he had observed Maggie Kincade for three days, he was coming to believe that Nicholas was dead on target. Her work was a striking mix of unexpected textures and classical techniques, fascinating even to an untrained observer like himself. She succeeded because she was passionate about her work and ruthless in the demands she made on herself. He had even watched her from the back of a busy classroom one night, where she was surrounded by the students who clearly adored her.