Heart of the Highland Wolf (Heart of the Wolf #7)

Heart of the Highland Wolf (Heart of the Wolf #7) Page 16

“Julia?”

She quickly nodded, then unsteadily—it appeared to him—crossed the tapestry-covered floor and sat in the chair slightly farther away from the desk and closer to the door. Her back was rigid as she perched at the edge of the chair.

“I saw you in the woods… as a wolf,” he said, assuming she was the red wolf he’d seen. He leaned back against his chair, putting more distance between them and trying to make her more at ease. Yet that wasn’t his purpose. He wanted to warn her away from his lands, encourage her not to shift and run through his woods. It was too dangerous, particularly with the film crew here.

Her subtle, female wolf fragrance drifted to him. The scent was an aphrodisiac for a male wolf anyway, but also he noted the fresh smell of the breeze and the scent of pine and juniper from when she’d run through them, collecting the fragrances on her skin, hair, and clothes. He didn’t like the feeling he was getting whenever he caught sight of her, whenever he got close to her, and whenever he was alone with her. Tantalizing, appealing, desirable.

Her eyes had grown larger, the green swallowed up by the dilating pupils.

“Julia?”

She nodded.

He frowned. She had seemed much more of a challenge before.

“Did Duncan say anything to you? Something to upset you?”

She shook her head.

“When we were in the pub, you seemed much more…” He shrugged, not sure what word to use to describe her without her taking offense.

At that, he swore he saw her almost smile. “Why did you run as a wolf?”

“Long flights, long drive, the accident. I wanted to stretch my legs.”

“Yet you have no idea if hunters hunt in these woods.” When she didn’t respond, he asked, “Are you newly turned? What about the rest of your film crew? Are they also lupus garous?”

“No.”

“But your friend Maria isn’t a red wolf, is she? A Mexican gray wolf?”

“Iberian.”

“Hmm.” He studied her for a moment more, having the daft craving to ask her to stay for dinner. But he wouldn’t ask it of her, not with his kin about anyway and all the speculation that would result. More than that, he’d forbidden his clan to have any dealings on a personal basis with the film staff. So how would it look if he did? He’d always tried to lead by example. “What are you doing here?”

Her eyes grew big again, and for a moment, he suspected she was here for some purpose other than being with the film crew. What was she up to?

He rose from his chair then, and she looked like she was about to rise from hers, but he held up his hand to motion for her to stay. She watched him like a wary wolf, an alpha, ready to fight, not flee, not looking toward the door, her escape route. “Julia?”

“I’m…” Her chin tilted up stubbornly. “I work for Maria. She works for the producer.”

“Ah. And your job is to take notes on the castle and my people?”

“For dress, um, I mean, yes, the castle and grounds, and all.”

“Dress?” he asked, drawing close, half sitting against the front edge of his desk now in front of her, forcing her to look up at him. He could be intimidating when he wanted. And she seemed to need him to be, if she was going to tell him some truth of the matter.

“Not dress. Of course not. Unless you were wearing… I mean, your men were wearing kilts and the like during the time period the story is set in, but for now, just some notes about the castle and grounds.”

He held out his hand. “May I see them?” He knew before he even asked that she would say no, first with her facial expression and then with her lips. Her lips fascinated him, the fullness, the way she licked them in nervousness, pursed them in annoyance, and smiled in a mischievous way.

Her eyes, green with golden flecks, although they were mostly black now, were still wide and expressive, focused on his gaze, unswerving, challenging. She didn’t refuse to give him the notebook, but she didn’t offer it, either.

Then he smiled, and he knew the look was pure evil. He crossed his arms, leaned forward a bit, looking down at her, and asked, “So what is your surname really, Julia?”

Her heart beat even harder, and he swore if she hadn’t been sitting, she would have collapsed.

The name “MacPherson” screamed in her thoughts. Julia’s heart had to have skipped a couple of beats.

She didn’t want to lie a second time, because he had known it was a lie, but if she said Wildthorn, he could find her on so many different sites, guest blogs, and interviews, and he’d know so much more about her that she didn’t want him to know. Specifically, that she wrote about werewolves, and she was sure he wouldn’t like her here writing about him and his kin and his castle. If she said MacPherson, would he make a connection to her family and whatever had happened in the past? She didn’t even know what had happened in the past.

She took too long to answer. Way too long to answer.

He was smiling now, not just a small amused smile, but one that said he’d caught her, trapped her, and she was in really big trouble.

“Come now, I’ll learn the truth before long. What are you doing here, and what is your name?”

She took a chance. He’d know her as Wildthorn if he asked the director, who might not know offhand, but somewhere there’d be a listing of her name and then Ian would know it. The laird would never tie her into the MacPhersons then. She took a deep breath. “Julia Wildthorn, though what difference it makes to one as great as yourself, I have no idea.”

Impassively, he nodded. Whether he believed her about her name or thought he was too important to be bothered to know it, she couldn’t be sure. Yet, she could swear a trace of a smile was begging to appear both in his eyes and on his lips.

He pulled a cell phone off his belt, and the idea that a Scottish laird would carry around a cell phone seemed out of odds with the notion of kilts and swords and castles.

“Guthrie, can you join me?”

Guthrie, the financial advisor she’d spoken to.

She put the notebook on her lap and tried to quit gripping the poor thing to death, to look less flustered and less anxious than she felt. “I need to return to the cottage. Maria will wonder what’s taking me so long.” Doing her sleuthing in secret was the only way to go. Right now, she felt horribly exposed.

“Stay.”

Her lips parted in surprise.

He didn’t say anything for what seemed the longest time. Then he added, “And dine with me.”

Dine with him. A small part of her was thinking fantastic thoughts. Of staying at the castle for the night. For research, of course. To see if she could explore the place while everyone slept. To search for the secret passages, the hidden niche where her family’s box was located. It could work.

Part of her was trying to be sensible. To say no and return to the cottage. To search for the secret passages on the outside of the building and slip into the castle during the day when the filming was in progress and everything chaotic. To remind herself that these were not humans but werewolves who could hear and see her movements when others couldn’t.

The more adventurous and more reckless side of her nature won out. “I’d love to.”

He bowed his head a little to her, but before she could rise from her chair, someone knocked on the door. Guthrie, she suspected.

“Come,” Ian said.

The door opened, and a man entered who looked similar to Ian, except that he was a redhead and wore a trim beard. He was tall like Ian, his hair shorter, his green eyes contemplative, and he wore navy trousers and a white button-down collar, businesslike. Just as she would envision an accountant. He gave her an elusive smile and then tilted his head to Ian.

“Aye, you wished to speak with me?” He was soft-spoken and seemed amused. She imagined that Cearnach and Duncan had already filled him in about her, telling him as much as they knew.

“Miss Julia Wildthorn is dining with us. Could you tell Cook?”

Guthrie’s eyes widened a bit and his lips parted, and then he looked back at Julia. Unmistakably, she felt a secret communication was being imparted between the two men. “Are you a brother also?” she asked.

“Aye, Guthrie MacNeill, third eldest brother.” He was a pleasant enough fellow, but he seemed a little concerned.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. When did you want to eat?” Guthrie asked Ian.

“Can you have the dinner prepared in an hour?”

“An hour. I’ll see what I can do.” Guthrie gave Julia one last look, then bowed to Ian and hurried out of the room, shutting the door with a click.

“Is he often responsible for having dinner on the table?” she asked, suspecting from Guthrie’s surprise, although he’d quickly recovered, that it was news to him. Unless… unless he suspected she was the Iris North who had talked to him about using Argent Castle for the film production. She hadn’t tried to disguise her voice when she’d contacted him because she hadn’t figured she’d speak to him in person, not while she was here under the guise of working with the film staff.

“Whatever I need him to be in charge of,” Ian said, but she thought the meal wasn’t truly part of Guthrie’s jobs.

She swore something else was going on between the brothers. “I need to call Maria and tell her I won’t be back for dinner. Can I use your phone? Everything was lost in the car fire.”

“Not everything, thankfully,” he said solemnly. He motioned to a phone on his desk. “I’ll return in a moment. Before dinner, if you’d like, we can walk in the gardens. And you can take some more notes.”

“The gardens.” Her heart lifted at the thought she could include them in her work, and she smiled. “I’d love to see them.”

His mood appeared to lift marginally. “Aye, well I’ll be back in a wee bit.” Then Ian exited the room but left the door open to his office, his footfalls heading away down the hall.