Hunter Moon Read online

  She’d better remember that too; they were going to be working together, and here she was leaning into him like they were on a date. Hating her own common sense, she sadly let go of his hand, inanely fiddling with her hair to cover it. “Where is this place then? I suppose one drink wouldn’t hurt?”

  Gesturing ahead, he slid the hand that had been holding hers in his pocket. “One? After half an hour with the art buyer I’m going to need a couple.”

  The sun was making her last effort of the day. The sky was mottled with purples and peaches as she burnt through the last remaining rainclouds, and Jess could see the steam beginning to rise from the pavement and rooftops as the rain evaporated.

  He’d slowed his stride so she wasn’t having to race to keep up with him. He even walked well. She hid a sad shake of her head at her bad luck. They had such good chemistry, but he was more than likely to be taking the empty office across the hall from her. It just wouldn’t do to be getting all tangled up.

  Coming to a stop at a neat row of classic town houses, he led them towards the furthest place. The glossed, walnut front door sat back between its two ornate white columns. His hand came to rest on her lower back as he guided her up the three marble steps and lightly knocked the door.

  She barely hid her surprise when he gave Jason’s name.

  The ‘house’ was clearly not a home. As he led her up the stairs, the rooms they passed were set for dinner, some of the tables occupied, some not, and if the smell was anything to go by, the food must be amazing. It was turning out to be quite a night.

  The top floor opened out into a long, highly polished bar. Every single whisky known to man must have been perfectly placed on the mirrored back wall.

  Leaning against the bar, he grinned at her, obviously feeling very pleased with himself. “What would you like?”

  Laying her clutch on the bar top, she raised her brows and slowly enunciated her words. “Jason brought you here?”

  He nodded at her. “Sure, he has membership, so does the museu—” His face took on a slightly awkward expression. “You didn’t know that…”

  The barman came to a stop before them. “On Mr MacIntyre’s tab, Sir?”

  Catching his eye, she gave him a sickly sweet smile, “Oh, I think so. He’s such a dear, after all…” Pausing a beat, she glanced back at Seb. “I’ll have the Balvenie 30. A large one.”

  His lips firmed to hold back the smile, as he nodded. “Two of those, please.”

  Following him, her eyes widened again at the pretty little rooftop garden, with intimate tables and candles already flickering as they waited for sunset. It was all framed against the back drop of the Thames, with the Tower of London spreading out on the other side of the water.

  Easing herself into a plush seat deep with cushions, she held her silence until the waiter moved away.

  “I’m going to bloody kill him.” She frowned at Seb’s easy grin. “He knows how I feel about whisky.”

  Making a nondescript noise in the back of his throat, his eyes sparkled with glee. “Well,” he raised his heavily cut crystal tumbler towards her, “we’ll get our own back sat right here.” His voice was low and smooth, as if he were working through each syllable. “You know, nice and civilized.”

  Unable to hide her delighted smile, she slitted her eyes at him as she picked up her glass. “I like that.” Lightly tapping her glass with his, the clear sound bounced between them as she took her first sip.

  The honeyed warmth hit her tongue as she swallowed, and she let a small breath leave her lips as it sank through her. “And a delicious revenge it will be.”

  Laughing around his own mouthful, he rolled his shoulders as the sun’s rays just peeked over the rooftops, hitting his back and warming her face.

  Propping his elbows on the table, he held his glass loosely in his grasp. “You know, whisky is a funny thing, it has a way of grabbing your memories. Like you—how come the Balvenie was your first choice?”

  Leaning forward, she mirrored his pose. The sun streaked his hair, catching the caramel strands, and he absently pulled on his tie, loosening it.

  “My brother, Adam. It’s his favorite, and although it’s not my favorite, I somehow always start with his.”

  “Your brother sounds okay.”

  Jess laughed softly, thinking of her stubborn brother. “He has his moments.” Smiling into her glass, she took another sip, and focusing her magic, she sent Adam an intangible sisterly-poke, grinning when she felt the same in return. “But it’s been me, him and my sister since my grandmother died, so we’re pretty tight.” He was still pulling at his tie, easing it a little lower, and she gestured at it with her glass. “If it’s driving you mad, why don’t you take it off? Unless there’s a dress code in here?”

  “I think it’s a little smarter than no shirt, no shoes, no service. But I reckon I’ll be alright without my tie.” Coming to his feet, his frame blocked out the sun, his shadow falling across her as he took off his jacket. The shirt pulled across his chest, and she swallowed at the sudden dryness in her throat. His scent rushed across her: sun-warmed skin, aftershave and a hint of whisky.

  He must work out—a lot. Dropping the jacket on the back of his chair, he pulled off the tie, and it was all Jess could do not to ask him to continue the show.

  Then he grabbed his glass and came round to her side of the table.

  “Budge up.”

  Easing down into the sea of cushions with her, he propped his feet onto his now empty chair, crossing them at the ankles.

  “I suppose ‘take your tie off’ does translate to ‘make yourself comfortable’.”

  “It does in my book. Besides, there’s nobody up here but us.”

  Shrugging, she unsnapped the ankle straps. Leaving her shoes on the floor, she curled her legs underneath her, facing him. “So, what about you? What’s your favorite whisky and its memory?”

  Holding his glass resting against the flat plains of stomach, he looked at her. “How badly are we punishing Jason?”

  Not bothering to suppress her evil smile, she looked over, signaling the waiter.

  “Ma’am?”

  Handing over to Seb, she held her palms wide. “Have at it.”

  The look in his eyes was nothing short of wicked. “If you don’t mind, we’ll have two of the Glenmorangie 1983—large ones.”

  Pushing his empty glass onto the table, he grinned. “I’ll be topping up the tab for this one.”

  She shook her head. “Nu-uh. Jason’s gotta learn.” Looking at him with interest, she leant her elbow on the back of the chair, her hand cupping her head. “You don’t act like he’s your boss. I know I don’t either. But why don’t you?”

  “Me? I’ve known Jase for years. He’s been trying to entice me away from McGill University ever since I started.”

  “McGill… That’s Canada. How did he convince you? That’s a gorgeous part of the world.”

  His brown eyes shadowed as she spoke, and she felt the tension tease back into him.

  “The winters are rough, and I was in the mood for a change.”

  Letting the brief explanation slide, she nodded her thanks as the waiter approached, setting their drinks down on the table.

  The amber liquid reflected around the glasses as they both watched them.

  “The Glenmorangie 1983—so what’s the story?”

  ***

  He had so many stories for this whisky. He looked over at her, readying himself to pick something short and funny, but her wide brown eyes were bright and questioning, and her beautifully full, soft lips pursed as she waited for him to answer.

  Her soft honeysuckle scent kept bombarding his senses, and he found himself telling her the truth.

  “My Dad bought two bottles when it was distilled in 1983, the year I was born. One for my eighteenth, the other for my twenty-first. The first we drank together.”

  Her gaze became very solemn, and she nodded, and shifting her legs from under her she sat up straight, collect
ing their glasses.

  “In that case, we better do him justice.”

  Holding his glass out towards him, she waited, and he pushed up from his prone position. Taking the glass, his fingers brushed hers, and again he felt that tingle, the same as this afternoon.

  Lifting her glass slightly, the sun sparkled around the crystal. “To your Dad.”

  Touching his glass to hers, he nodded. “He was a good man.”

  The taste hit him like a blast. He’d privately celebrated his darkest and brightest moments with this whisky, and now he was sharing it with her.

  Her eyes softly closed as she sipped, the whisky still glistened on her lips, and, unable to stop himself, he leaned forward, catching the sip in a kiss.

  Her small intake of breath was lost as his hand cupped her chin, and his tongue swept across, taking the last drops with her own dewy taste, before pulling back.

  She drew in a soft breath, her eyes still closed as a smile brushed across her face, then her eyes opened and she raised her brows in question.

  “He also said, never miss the chance to kiss a beautiful woman.”

  On a gurgle of laughter, she curled back into the cushions. “Did he, now? Well, I imagine you do him proud then.”

  Settling back down beside her his grin took on an untamed edge. “Me? Nah. Work keeps me too busy.”

  Taking another sip of the splendid whisky, he let the heat slide down his throat as she watched him.

  “Hmm. I’ll bet. Well, if it didn’t before, it will now you’re here. We’ve got a lot coming up as we move into the autumn calendar.”

  He let the velvety richness of her voice surround him as she talked about the artifacts coming up for display in the winter. Her full lips were a deep, perfect red, but soft. They shaped the words as she spoke, her tongue occasionally touching her neat white teeth. The sun had lost its glare as it slowly dropped below the roof of the opposite building, but the final rays touched her hair. The elegant twist she’d artfully arranged showed off her heart shaped face, and her dark hair matched her chocolatey brown eyes.

  Long lashes fanned her face as she blinked, and her smile revealed slight dimples. The diamonds in her ears perfectly suited her; she oozed class, and he was thoroughly enjoying being swept along.

  He’d been back in the UK for a couple of weeks, and the last few months in Canada seemed like another lifetime; someone else’s lifetime.

  He let his eyes drop to half-mast, and thoughts of Canada fell away as he allowed himself to enjoy watching her.

  The silky nylon whispered across her legs as she moved, the fabric of the dress had a slight shimmer as it stretched to accommodate her thighs as she uncurled her legs, propping dainty feet alongside his on the chair.

  Six months ago, he wouldn’t have considered the nightmare situation of starting something with a colleague. But things changed, and he was more aware than ever, that life was too sodding short.

  “I’m off to Cologne in October to review a collection for next spring. Where has Jase got you jetting off to?”

  Lightly arching his back, he raised his brows at her. “Nowhere yet. I’ve been a few years here, there and everywhere, and I’m looking to steer clear of airports and departure lounges for a while. Do you travel a lot?”

  “Not really.” She smoothly swirled the contents of her glass. “A couple of times a year, to view a big collection that we’re looking to host.” She gave a noncommittal shrug as she gazed across the roof tops. “Or the occasional stop-over if there’s something really special that Jason thinks we need to assess.” Taking a last sip, she turned to him. The whisky had brought a warm flush across her cheekbones, and a relaxed sparkle to her gaze.

  “The sun’s going down.”

  He nodded. “So it is. Fancy a walk?”

  He knew what she was thinking, watched the fleeting disappointment whisper in her eyes as she looked at him; knew she was readying herself to make the speech. A speech he’d made before, about how they worked together, and it wouldn’t be a good idea…

  “I’m staying at The Rembrandt till I find somewhere. You’re close by, aren’t you?”

  A slight smile tipped her mouth. “Hmmm, literally right behind the hotel, on Alexander Square.”

  Coming to his feet he kept his back to her as he reached for his jacket, hiding his lustful smirk. “I may as well walk you home then.”

  Chapter Three

  She must be bloody mad. Opening her clutch, she took out the full-length strap and secured it into place, dropping it over her shoulder. Bloody mad. She’d had the perfect opportunity to politely excuse herself and she’d hesitated.

  She cursed herself as she watched him, his shirt sleeves rolled up. The muscles in his tanned forearm shifted as he signed the tab. His jacket hung over the nearby chair.

  She had no problem saying no when she didn’t want something. It was saying no when she did that was the problem.

  As he walked towards her, she released an inner sigh; dammit, she was not in the habit of denying herself.

  She smiled at the doorman as they left, and breathed in the dusky twilight, pulling London into her lungs. “I hope you left Jason a nice message?”

  A lopsided grin lit his features. “Sure. I signed the tab and wrote, ‘Jess says thanks’.”

  She let the laugh lift through her, slowly nodding her head. “Nice.”

  As they headed onto Horse Guards Parade she became aware, with each footfall, how quiet the city had become. The sun had set but the pubs were yet to call time, and the parade was deserted.

  The black and gold wrought iron gates of St. James’s Park rose before them, and the scent of night stocks and lavender sat on the air, filling the easy silence between them. The sandstone path weaved its way towards the unseen Palace, and when his warm hand enclosed hers she didn’t pull away.

  He laced their fingers, his palm rough and solid as it met hers. She concentrated on the excited energy that pooled low in her belly. It’d been a long time. It was good to feel the spark of longing.

  The fountain slowly came into view as they rounded the bend, the cascading water reflecting myriad prisms of glittering lights as swans drifted across the lake. The soft skin of their wrists touched and his pulse beat too fast, as did hers. It was like a fairy tale.

  Except something was wrong.

  Her step faltered as unease moved through her. The warm late summer evening was full of the flowery scents of August, but something prodded her conscious. She felt something watching them.

  Opening her mind, she threw out a diaphanous web, tentatively searching for whatever had sent the sudden chill crawling up her spine.

  Something was trailing her.

  “You okay?”

  His hushed voice calmed, as his firm grip steadied her.

  “Yeah. Silly shoes is all.” Looking up at him, she caught the serious edge to his voice, the tension filling his stance, and his gaze flicked all around them. Had he picked up on something too?

  “Men are lucky.” She looked pointedly at his brogued feet as they walked, drawing his attention down. “I mean, heels would look ridiculous with those trousers, but still, you know what I’m saying?”

  His confused look told her she’d briefly distracted him, as she’d hoped, and she offered him a wide-eyed stare.

  Shaking his head, he stared at her shoes. “I don’t think I’d manage to walk in those. And you’ve got much better legs than me.”

  “Thanks.” She gave him a sassy wink that left him chuckling, as she silently chanted the mirror spell. She hated—hated—to use mirror magic, but they were not completely alone in a dark park, and she was flash out of options. Now, she just needed him to close his eyes. “And I’m sure your legs are great.”

  His chuckle became a full-blown laugh, as he ran his hand through his hair, and she caught his mild embarrassment. The laughter lifted his tension, and heightened his energy, which would help her send this damn whatever-it-was running for the hills.

&nb
sp; “Well, I’m not taking my trousers off here for you to find out.” He gave her a knowing look filled with humor. “Men get arrested for doing that kind of thing in parks, you know.”

  Coming to a standstill, she planted both palms on her hips, and tapped her foot. She made him turn to face her, leaving his back to whatever was tagging along. “Afraid?”

  Excitement tripped through her system as his heavy-lidded gaze clashed with hers and he stalked towards her, catching her around the waist.

  Her breath caught in her throat as his chest pressed to hers. His shoulders were broad and solid beneath her palms, the soft silk of his shirt a direct contrast to the hardness of him.

  He easily lifted her from the floor, allowing her to see the park behind him. And that was when she saw them: eyes, glinting from the undergrowth, watching them.

  She cursed beneath her breath as she brought their lips together, furious that she wasn’t able to just sink into him.

  Her silent chanting beat a heavy drum within her as she pulled magic from deep down. Linking her arms around his neck, she faced her palms out, and making a final check that his eyes were shut, she released the spell.

  The magic rushed through her system, bouncing from her palms in a silver electric rush. The circle of magic morphed into a ring of mirrors around them, coursing with the power of protection, a beam unerringly finding the creature in the trees.

  The low groan sounded distinctly feminine, as whatever it was hissed, and smoke hazed the night air.

  The power kept a thrumming rhythm within her, as his taste finally penetrated her senses. Letting her eyes drift shut, she breathed him in; his arms wrapped around her, the heat of him scorching through the sheer fabric of the back of her dress.

  He tasted of whisky and the ocean. How was that even possible? She swept her tongue across his lips, teasing the soft skin of his bottom lip.

  As his grasp eased, she slowly slid to the ground, releasing a soft moan as his hands settled at her waist, running a heated upward trail, his fingers touching her spine. A shiver swept her body as he traced the soft skin of her neck, to her hairline; his fingers ever so gently undoing her hair, dropping the pins to the ground.