Legacy of the Highlands (22 page)

Serge ordered a scone and tea — black, without milk
— from the bored waitress. He dumped two heaping spoons of sugar
into the hot liquid and uttered a satisfied “ah,” as he embraced
its warmth. He was the only customer in the inviting little shop
and the girl who’d served him was happy to chat.

“I can tell that you’re a Yank. Where in
America are you from, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“No problem. I’m from Florida,” he replied,
slipping into character like a chameleon. He aimed a friendly grin
at her.

“That’s grand.” She returned his smile and
cocked her head. “You wouldn’t want to take me home with you when
you return there, would you? “ She added that she’d finished
school, hated her job, hated living with her parents and most of
all she hated Scotland’s climate. “Does the sun always shine in
Florida? Are you at the beach every day? Is it as beautiful as it
looks in photos?”

Serge was amused by the girl’s bubbly
enthusiasm and he liked how her gray-green eyes sparkled. He also
couldn’t ignore the way the fuzzy pink sweater she wore clung to
her remarkable chest. If she were ten years older, he’d be tempted
to give her a trip to Florida and she’d give him…well, forget that.
However, he was flattered that she was interested enough to flirt
with him.

“Tell me, what brings you to Inverness? Have
you come on holiday?” She refilled his cup and added a couple of
shortbread cookies to the plate where his scone had been minutes
earlier. “Me ma says I’m terribly cheeky, but I’m curious about
people, which is the one thing about this job that pleases me. Ach,
look at me blethering on and you wanting a quiet cup of tea.”

Serge laughed. Americans were friendly and he
was now Steve Spencer, American, so he’d be friendly. He tousled
his wet, blond hair to help it dry and directed his light blue eyes
at her. “I don’t mind at all. I had business in London and decided
to take a few days to see a bit of your beautiful country.”

“And what sort of work do you do? Oh, my.
There I go again, asking questions that are none of my business and
I’ve yet to introduce myself. I’m Mairi. Mairi Graham.” She laughed
and extended a hand to him, which he grasped and held a second
longer than would be expected.

“Steve Spencer,” he said, never taking his
eyes off her. She flushed as she openly checked out Serge’s tanned
face, so very unlike the pasty complexions of her fellow Scots.
She’d be disillusioned to find out that his Florida tan had been
expertly sprayed on his entire body before he’d left London.

“I own a chain of gift shops and I came over
to visit one of my suppliers in England. I’ve never been to
Scotland, so I thought I’d check the place out. I like to wander
around touristy stores in other places to see if I can steal any of
their ideas. Not nice, but that’s business,” he shrugged and
smiled, feigning embarrassment. “Are there any stores like that
nearby? I’ve just arrived and haven’t had time to look for any
yet,” he lied. Serge hadn’t intended to fish, but the girl had
started the conversation and he wasn’t one to miss an opportunity.
Besides, he wasn’t anxious to venture outside quite yet now that he
was warm and his jeans had started to dry.

“Oh, you mean tourist shops, aye?”

Serge nodded.

“Well, then. Lots of tourists visit Inverness
as they travel around the Highlands so of course there are stores
hereabouts that sell things to them. One of the best is nearby, on
the next street in fact. It’s called Mackinnon’s. That’s the one
I’d recommend.”

Bingo, thought Serge. “Great! I’ll start with
that one. Shall I tell the owner that you sent me? I know how
businesses sometimes help each other out by sending customers their
way.”

“Oh, no, it’s not like that. First off, this
isn’t my shop. I work here is all. But you can tell Uncle Jamie—er,
I mean Mr. Mackinnon — hello from Mairi. He’s not my real uncle you
see, but he’s known me since I was a wee lass. The Mackinnons and
my family go way back. We’ve lived here forever,” she said and
rolled her eyes dramatically to show how unexciting she found this
kind of stability.

“Thanks for your help. I’ll be sure to give
him your regards.” He chose his next words carefully. “What’s your
uncle like?” He leaned back and crossed his long legs at the ankle
to indicate he was in no hurry to leave.

Mairi wasn’t a star student in school, but
one thing she knew was people. She tilted her head to the side as
she studied Serge. He was beautifully built, not fleshy like so
many other American tourists. She’d noticed his body the minute he
walked into the shop. Unlike clumsy boys her own age, this man
would know what to do to please a woman. Serge sensed that she was
appraising him like a prize stallion.

“Some would say Uncle Jamie’s dour and no
very friendly, which is not the best way for a shopkeeper to be,
but the one thing that can get him talking is Scottish history.
He’s brilliant on that subject and once he starts in on it, it’s
fair impossible to get him to stop. That’s how I’d do it if I were
you, as a way to warm him up before you start to ask any questions
about his business.”

Serge watched the girl appreciatively as she
moved around the teashop, wiping tables that were already spotless
with a damp cloth. Christ, he’d been without a woman for too long
if he was lusting after a teenager.

Mairi interrupted his thoughts. “Maybe you
could tell him you’ve got Scottish ancestors. You don’t do
you?”

“I don’t think your uncle would believe that
I’ve got a drop of Scottish blood in my veins, not with this face.
My family’s lived in Florida for generations. I don’t know where we
came from before that.”

As he held up his part of the conversation,
Serge considered how to best use Mairi’s familiarity with the
Mackinnons. He might have to overlook their age difference after
all and take her to bed. Women were always chattier when naked and
well-satisfied.

“I’m glad we met, Mairi.” Serge never took
his eyes off hers as he extended his hand for a friendly handshake.
When she put her small hand in his, he wrapped his other one around
it and, like before, didn’t release her immediately. “This has been
very, very nice, but I have to go.” He shot a boyish grin at her as
he pulled on his still damp jacket and paid the check with a
ten-pound note. The chatty girl was speechless when he told her to
keep the change.

Serge was sure that Mairi found him
attractive. She obviously thirsted for a life beyond the Highlands
and he could fulfill any dream she had thanks to his employer’s
proclivity to spend money freely to get what he wanted. And Diego
Navarro wanted Will’s murderer. In all the years he’d worked for
Diego, Serge had never seen the man so focused on anything — aside
from the hungry way he looked at Will Cameron’s widow.

“Bye,” Serge said and waved to Mairi as he
left the shop. She stood in the doorway watching until he was out
of sight, and then sighed with regret as she reached in her apron
pocket for her mobile phone.

“Is that you, Uncle Jamie? Aye, it’s Mairi.
Yes, I’m well. I rang to let you know that you’re about to have an
interesting visitor...”

Alex stretched lazily and yawned, then turned onto
her stomach and tried to go back to sleep. A moment later her eyes
flew open and her mind began to race, replaying in stunning detail
what Diego and she had done.

What got into me, she wondered, but one
glance at the naked man sprawled on his back beside her was answer
enough. Oh, yeah, Diego did. A smile tickled her lips in
appreciation of the play on words before her mouth reversed into a
scowl. Shit! This was wrong — very, very, very wrong. But like many
things that are wrong, it had felt so good. She needed to think
about it, dissect it, and figure out what to do, but that didn’t
mean her eyes couldn’t roam up and down his magnificent body in a
way they never could if he were awake.

It was no surprise that Diego was a terrific
lover, but Alex hadn’t expected his passion to come with the
tenderness of soft kisses, gentle hands and questioning, soulful
eyes. She was prepared to feel like she’d been fucked; what scared
her was the realization that he’d made love to her. The last time
that happened was…was. A solitary tear slid down her cheek. She
hadn’t felt this sated, weak-limbed and cherished since the night
Will had left their bed to buy ice cream only to wind up dead. And
here she was, naked with another man only a few short months later!
What’s wrong with me, she wondered. On the other hand, maybe what
happened was a sign of something being right, incontrovertible
proof that she hadn’t died along with Will. The devil and angel
that she thought had retired their debates inside her Catholic
conscience were at it again and she couldn’t decide which one to
root for. She needed to talk to Francie.

“I wish I could see inside that pretty head
of yours. Your face has worn so many expressions in the last five
minutes that I can’t tell whether you’re happy or sad or angry or
something else altogether.” Diego was leaning on an elbow, his head
on his hand as he watched her mental gymnastics.

“Oh, you’re up,” she said stupidly.

“It seems that way,” he responded lazily as
both sets of eyes traveled to the obvious evidence that his body
was indeed up and awake. Yet instead of sliding into her as he
wanted to, he yanked the sheet up to cover their nakedness. “I’m
sorry, Alex. I promised myself that I wouldn’t seduce you. The last
thing I want is to add to your pain. It won’t happen again.”

“You arrogant, cocky son of a bitch!” she
shouted, as guilt shifted to anger. The sheet fell from her
shoulders exposing her breasts as she sat up and turned toward him,
but she was beyond modesty. “Do you think I had nothing to do with
this? It was me who wanted this and it was me who made it happen.
Me, Diego, not you! You were merely the instrument I used for my
pleasure, not the other way around. This is the twenty-first
century and I can choose a lover and then seduce him. So if you
feel guilty take your conscience to the confessional.
Ego te
absolvo
. Having sex with you may not have been the smartest
thing to do, but I brought this on. And, goddamn it, I enjoyed
it!”

Could it get any better, Diego thought with
delight. She wasn’t just capable of more passion than he’d dared to
imagine, but he never knew what she would say or do next and that
intrigued him. Too many beautiful women were boring, but not this
one. He smiled broadly at her. “I’m glad you enjoyed our
lovemaking, but no matter what you want to believe, Alessandra, it
was I who did the seducing.”

His gaze shifted to her breasts and Alex
flushed as she recalled the sensations he’d awakened as he’d
caressed them and the rest of her body with hands and mouth for
what seemed like hours. Given another minute, she knew he would
reach for her and, God help her, she’d do nothing to stop him.

“Stop looking at me that way!” She grabbed a
pillow to cover herself.

“I can’t help it. You’re a beautiful woman
and I’m a man who appreciates beauty.” His eyes never left her face
as he spoke, but he didn’t touch her. “Know this,
Preciosa
.
You have my permission to use me whenever you want as your — what
did you call it? — your instrument of pleasure.” The smug
expression he wore as he tossed her own words at her made her
furious and her eyes shot daggers at him.

“What?” he asked in all innocence. “Come on,
Alex, don’t look at me like that. You called me your instrument of
pleasure. I kind of like it.” With a self-satisfied grin, Diego got
out of bed and nonchalantly walked his naked body to the closet to
pull on a pair of well-worn jeans.

Commando, Alex observed, but then underwear
would spoil the line of the snug denim.

“Truce?” His hair was tousled, there was a
day’s growth of dark beard on his face, the fly on his jeans was
halfway down and then there was that chest. How could she be mad at
someone who looked so damn sexy first thing in the morning and
who’d made her feel alive again?

“Truce,” she conceded.

His stomach growled loudly. “That sound means
that I’m starving! Let me get in the shower first and then I’ll
order up some breakfast,” he said. “While we eat you can fill me in
on what John told you after you threw me out yesterday. We didn’t
talk much last night, did we?”

Alex chose to ignore his last remark.
“Breakfast sounds good. Go shower,” she replied. Diego was right,
of course. They had to put whatever this was behind them and focus
on finding Will’s killer. She wrapped herself in a sheet and walked
toward the suite’s living room to call Francie. Diego might strut
around naked, but she didn’t want his eyes on her body the way hers
had been on his.

“Shit,” she muttered when the call went to
voicemail. She’d have to wait to ask her best friend for
advice.

“Your turn,” Diego said as he emerged from
the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his hips as he dried his
hair with another. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“A big pot of coffee and I guess I could
force down a couple of dozen scrambled eggs. Bacon, too. Crisp.
Some fruit. And lots of toast, buttered rye toast. Would blueberry
muffins be too much? I’m ravenous.”

As the shower washed away the residue of the
night’s lovemaking, she tried to convince herself that Will would
understand, but she also had no doubt that he’d tear Diego limb
from limb. Yet for the first time since the murder, she knew,
really knew, that she would be okay. Maybe not fine, maybe not
great, but definitely okay. Hot sex must be good medicine, she
concluded.

By the time she’d dried her hair and dressed
in the same outfit she’d worn to the hotel the day before, room
service had delivered their food. Nothing smells quite so good to
an empty stomach as coffee and bacon and her mouth began to
water.