Dark Rival. Brenda JoyceЧитать онлайн книгу.
being hurled across the pastures?
She walked over to the other bedside table and searched it, with no results. And the photo caught her eye.
Allie picked it up and saw her warrior and was so relieved she sank onto the bed. It was him. She felt as if she’d just found her long-lost best friend—no, her long-lost lover. He had a buzz cut in the photo, but he was still the hottest hunk she’d ever laid eyes on. And he looked as strong and capable as he was, like a commando who wouldn’t think twice about crossing enemy lines to take out a terrorist leader.
His friends were drop-dead gorgeous, too. The pretty woman was clearly with one of his friends, not that she was really worried about competition.
She stared more closely and her confusion renewed itself. He looked different. He was only in his early thirties, but in this photo looked ten years older. He seemed harder, as if he’d lived through so much and had no soul left….
Damn it, had he been in costume after all?
The warrior who’d appeared last night had been a genuine überhero, but had he been from the present, in spite of the swords, the tunic, the boots?
A knock sounded softly on the door. From the light, tentative sound, she knew it was a woman outside the door. “Come in.” She glanced at the photo a third time. That was her warrior; was he medieval or not?
A plump woman in a domestic’s uniform smiled at her, bearing a tray. Allie smelled the coffee and warm bread and realized she was starving. “His lordship didn’t leave instructions. I must say, I was surprised to realize we had a guest.” But she smiled very pleasantly. “I am Mrs. Farlane.”
His lordship, Allie thought, realizing he was titled. A nice little perk. “I’m Allie.” She smiled. “My visit wasn’t really planned. I mean, one minute we’re at a party in South Hampton, the next, here we are! Thank God for jets,” she added quickly. This woman couldn’t possibly know her employer traveled through time and fought the evil monsters of the night.
Mrs. Farlane placed the tray down on the ottoman by the bed. “Lord Royce doesn’t have a jet. I hadn’t realized he was in South Hampton. He told me he’d be in Edinburgh for a few days.” She seemed unhappy to be out of the loop.
His name was Royce! Of course it was, for the demon had called him Ruari, the Gaelic version of such a name. “My dad has an Astra.” How could Royce be in Edinburgh when they’d been at her Long Island summer home last night? Or had she been sleeping for days? “I’m sorry, what day is it?”
Mrs. Farlane gave her a queer look. “It’s the sixth, dear. I didn’t see any suitcase.”
She had only slept for half of a night. “It was very spontaneous. I’m afraid everything I have with me is on my back.” Clothes, Allie thought, her heart sinking. “Um, where exactly am I?”
Mrs. Farlane blinked.
Allie said quickly, “Royce is a tease! He said he was taking me to the Highlands, and that it was a surprise!”
“We’re at Carrick Castle, my dear, in Morvern—a bit north and west of Glasgow.”
Allie breathed hard—she had been right. “Iona is to the west.”
“Yes, and it’s a lovely island, just a few hours by car and ferry.”
Allie’s heart raced. She’d make a detour before she went home—whenever that was. “When will Royce be back?”
“In the early evening.”
She went still, except for her heart, which now thundered with unbearable excitement. He was coming back and she couldn’t wait to see him. “Are there any shops nearby? I am going to need a change of clothes.” She realized she wanted to find an outfit that would knock him senseless. She had never worried over what to wear to impress a man before.
“The best shopping in Scotland is in Glasgow. Tom can drive you. His lordship pays him a fine wage to be his chauffeur, but then he drives himself everywhere.” She shook her head. “All those cars. How can a man own so many cars? He’s got three garages down the hill!”
“My best friend is that way with shoes,” Allie said. She’d have to call Tabby. She turned to the silver pot and poured coffee and took a sip, black. It was heaven—and that night would be heaven, too.
Every inch of her quickened. She was as excited—and as nervous—as a teenager. It was absurd. It was wonderful!
But she did need a change of clothes and she didn’t have her purse. On the other hand, she was very recognizable. Designers often begged her to take their clothes and were always sending her items, like the gown she was wearing now. She refused to spend ridiculous sums on clothes and accessories, not when that money could go to charity. Maybe she could find a new designer and buy what she needed on credit. She’d figure it out, one way or another.
But there was one more problem.
Mrs. Farlane, however, solved it. “My daughter is about your size, dear. She’s fifteen, but you can borrow some jeans and a T-shirt. Tom will show you the best shops. As his lordship’s guest, our merchants will be thrilled to help you.”
Allie wanted to hug her. “Thank you so much.” Then she gave in and embraced the woman, who started and then smiled.
IT WAS ALMOST seven o’clock, and Allie’s stomach was in knots. She was sipping a glass of white wine in the great room, clad in a beautiful shamrock-green jersey dress that skimmed her body, one she hoped Royce would really appreciate. She hadn’t had any trouble making her purchases. Her driver was well-known, and a few merchants had eagerly charged items to Royce’s account, while others had given her what she wanted. She had been recognized by everyone and when she got home, she would send thank-you notes and checks. She’d also called Tabby, but she hadn’t been home, and Allie had left a message that she hoped was coherent.
She felt like she was fifteen and about to go on her first date.
But considering she had never felt this way about anyone, maybe that was normal.
Barely able to stand the anticipation, she stared across the large room and out the windows, into the cobbled courtyard outside. As she did, a small, dark sports car appeared from the gatehouse, clearly having just entered the castle walls. Allie stood, her heart turning over hard.
He was driving a Ferrari; of course he was.
He probably had A Lamborghini, too.
She couldn’t breathe.
The car stopped and the door opened; she saw her warrior get out.
Desire hollowed her. She felt faint.
His unmistakable aura blazed, red and gold, with some blue and green, the aura of a powerful warrior blessed by the Ancients. This time, it was bursting with sexual heat.
He was clad all in black, in a fitted tee and easy trousers. As he closed the car door, he glanced at the window—and Allie knew he was looking into the room and right at her.
Allie didn’t move. She felt his excitement—or was she feeling hers? Hurry, she thought.
He started around the car and vanished from her view. A moment later, he appeared on the threshold of the hall and his desire made her feel weak and faint. It was explosive. And there was no doubt. It was him.
His silver eyes locked with hers, blazing.
She wet her lips to say hello, but then said nothing at all.
“My lord, when will you be sitting down to supper with Miss Monroe?”
Allie couldn’t look away from him. He was as big and hunky as she recalled, maybe six foot three, the featherweight tee clinging to his broad shoulders and sculpted chest and to his hard, tight torso. Beneath the short sleeves, his biceps bulged. His hips were small, but what was encased below was not. Fabric bulged and rippled.