"A bit involved?" He motioned toward the bedroom. "If Connor hadn't returned with yer boss, we'd be in there right now, tupping like rabbits."
She scoffed. "That's not true." She glanced at the bedroom. "I would have - I might have said no."
"When?" He moved closer. "Would ye have said no after I had kissed every inch of yer beautiful body? Or would ye have waited till I made ye scream for a second or third time?"
She pressed her hands to her reddened cheeks. "Please. I - I can't... "
"What?" He held her by the shoulders.
She closed her eyes and whispered, "I can't love you."
The words slammed into him like a thunderbolt. He released her and moved back. His heart squeezed in his chest. The devil take it, he wanted her love. When the hell had that happened? She looked so miserable. Bugger. "I'm sorry. I'll take ye home."
She nodded, refusing to look at him.
He handed her the backpack. "Which apartment?"
"Mine."
"I've teleported there before. I remember the way." He stood next to her, his arms opening. "I have to hold you."
"I understand." She stood stiffly as he embraced her.
"Ye need to hold on." Once she'd placed her hands on his shoulders, he closed his eyes and concentrated. When their bodies wavered, her fingers tensed and she clung to him.
In a few seconds, they arrived in her small living room. As soon as she was solid, she released him.
She dropped her backpack on the loveseat. "When will your men be able to guard Central Park?"
"In a night or two. Most of them are working undercover right now in Eastern Europe, so there's a problem with the time difference and locating them. And I'll have to do some shuffling around to make sure my clients are still protected."
"Then tomorrow you and I will patrol the park?"
"Aye. But ye must understand, Emma, we canna kill the Malcontents at this time. It would only serve to push the vampire world into a war we doona want."
She nodded. "All right. As long as the humans are protected. I'll meet you at the stone bridge by the Pond at nine o'clock?"
"I'll be there." He extended his hand. "Allies?" He wanted to say lovers, but this would have to do for now.
She shook his hand briefly, then let go. "Allies."
Chapter 15
He was going to be late. Emma checked her watch once again. Two minutes till nine, and he was nowhere in sight. Granted her eyesight wasn't nearly as good as his in the dark, moonlit surroundings of Central Park. She could always reach out to him psychically, but she really didn't want him inside her head. He was already too much in her heart.
She leaned her elbows on the bridge's stone wall and surveyed the area around the Pond. No men in kilts. He could be wearing trousers, though. The rascal looked equally gorgeous in both. Her gaze zeroed in on a young man in the distance, wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. No, not Angus. There was no mistaking his broad shoulders and long auburn hair.
There was simply no one like him.
Her heart grew heavy. Why couldn't he be human? Fifty years from now, he would have forgotten all about her. She'd be one of many humans who had come and gone, swept away like the dead leaves of autumn. God help her, she wanted to be different. She wanted to be special to him. She wanted to be loved.
Her heart sank lower. Why couldn't she be attracted to a normal guy? Ha! Who on earth would be attracted to a normal guy when Angus was around? His old-fashioned sense of honor and gentlemanly behavior touched her heart. He was the hero of a young girl's fantasies. Strong, brave, dependable, intelligent. But he was also a grown woman's fantasy - sexy, aggressive, and a little bit dangerous. How could she resist such a man?
"Good evening."
She turned with a gasp. "I didn't see you coming."
"Ye were deep in thought."
Thinking about him. Thank God she could block her mind from him. Even so, she realized the warmth invading her cheeks betrayed her innermost thoughts. Angus looked gorgeous as usual. He was wearing the blue and green plaid kilt. His hunter-green socks matched his sweater. The hilt of a knife showed above his right sock. The leather straps crossing his chest could only mean his claymore was on his back.
She cleared her throat. "You came prepared."
"As did you."
"Yes." She hitched her bag of stakes higher on her shoulder. "Thank you for coming."
He smiled slowly.
Too gorgeous. A feeling of awkwardness nettled her.
"Shall we?" He extended his hand.
Did he expect her to hold his hand? Or was he merely motioning for her to start walking? Too awkward. She headed north, leaving the bridge behind. He strolled beside her. Close beside her. For a big man, he moved very quietly. She adjusted her bag to hear the comforting rattle of stakes break the silence.
Why was he being so quiet? She tried to think of something normal to talk about. "So, do you always wear the same plaid?"
"'Tis the MacKay tartan. Ye doona like my kilts?"
"Oh, I do. I just wondered if you had more than one." She winced. Brilliant. Why not insult the man? "I mean, more than one style."
He smiled. "I have actually acquired quite a few clothes over the centuries."
Several centuries of fashion stuffed into one closet? It was mind-boggling. "You mean you still have wigs and waistcoats and lacy shirts?"
"Aye. Stashed away somewhere in my castle."
Her mouth dropped open. His castle? Good heavens, how could anyone have a normal conversation with Angus MacKay? He was... fascinating.
His hand brushed against hers as they walked.
She thought about moving a bit to the right, out of his reach, but she didn't. It would be too obvious and more... awkward. "You'll be able to hear an attack anywhere in the park?"
"Aye. Just to be safe, I asked Connor to patrol the northern half."
"That's good. We'll have backup, if we need it."
"Aye." His hand lingered close to hers.
Her heart beat faster. "It seems odd that we just met last Friday night."
"Aye." He entwined his fingers with hers.
Her heart swelled with longing. "This is only our fifth night together."
"When ye've lived as long as I have, ye realize how relative time is. I've endured centuries that passed in the blink of an eye as if I were barely breathing." He stopped and faced her. "Or I can experience an entire lifetime in the span of a few nights. All the hope and passion that makes life worth living, 'tis suddenly surrounding me like a gift from God."
"Oh, Angus." Then she was different. She was special.
"We canna deny what is happening to us, Emma."
She released his hand. "I don't deny it. But we also can't deny that there's no chance for us."
"Emma - "
"No." She held up a hand. "I don't want to be one of a long line of human girlfriends. I - I feel special to you right now, just as I am. And I need to leave it that way. I want to be able to say good-bye when you go with my heart still full. Not drained and desolate. Can you understand?"
"Nay. For one thing, ye're assuming a sad ending."
"How could it possibly be anything else but sad? We're from two different worlds."
He frowned. "We're more alike than ye think. And there has never been a long line of mortal girlfriends."
"You fed off human women for centuries. You told me you left them all very satisfied. That sounds like a long line of lovers to me."
"That was survival. That was me giving back to faceless women I canna remember, so I wouldna feel guilty for stealing their blood. Ye are different, Emma. I doona need ye in order to survive. But surviving is no' the same as living. Or the same as feeling human again. I am alive when I'm with you. Ye feed my soul."
She stared at him, unblinking. Good heavens, what could she say to this? Take me, I'm yours?
He turned his head to the side. "I heard a scream."
She listened carefully, but heard nothing.
"This way." He motioned for her to follow.
She jogged alongside him, going north. "I don't hear anything."
"They'll have control of their victim by now. There will be no more screams." After several minutes, he halted. "We're close now," he whispered. "Yer stakes are making noise."