Maggie Shayne: Weddings from Hell

Maybe she should ask Aunt Rose to move it to another room. She wondered if that would be out of line, then put the thought aside at a tap on her bedroom door.

"Come in."

The door opened with a vague creaking, and Ian stood there. The rush of emotion that washed through her at the sight of him was way overblown. And yet she smiled a welcome all the same. He wore a suit and tie, and looked incredibly handsome. She got the creeping feeling that she might have underdressed for dinner, though. "Rose sent me for you. It's nearly time for dinner." He met her eyes, briefly, and something powerful seemed to pass between them before he averted his.

"Good. I'm not finishing this meal without knowing the whole story about this curse nonsense."

His all-seeing gaze shot to hers again. "Oh, that's unlikely tonight. There are guests."

She lifted her brows. "Guests?"

"Aye. My own father, Gregory, the Reverend MacDougal and his wife, Jane."

Blinking, she let her eyes move from his head to his feet and back again. "Are they all dressed up like you are?"

"Your aunts enjoy dressing for dinner," he told her. Then he looked her up and down. "And while I daresay you could make a feed sack look like a ballgown, I might suggest you'd be more comfortable changing into something a bit more…er…"

"Fancy?" she asked.

"Just slightly."

Sighing, she turned toward where her suitcases sat, still packed, on the floor near the bed. One was open, its contents spilling out from her recent search for the jeans and sweatshirt. "I don't even think I own anything—oh, wait, there's a sundress. It's casual, but—" Dashing to the suitcase, she dug into it, and finally pulled out a pale blue sundress. It was knee length, with a faint floral pattern to it and a ruffled hemline. Spaghetti straps and a sweetheart neckline were not going to keep her very comfortable in this oversized refrigerator, though.

"Very nice," Ian said, when she held it up for his scrutiny. "An' I've just the thing to keep you warm."

She smiled up into those sky-blue eyes. "I'll bet you do. Tell me, Ian, are you a mind reader?"

He blinked, his face colored, and he cleared his throat. "If I am, lass, it's only since I met you."

They held each other's eyes for a long, tender moment. Then he cleared his throat. "Put the dress on, then. I'll uh—I'll be back momentarily."

She frowned as he left the room, wondering why he seemed afraid of whatever it was simmering beneath the surface between them. Ah, well, whatever. She peeled the sweatshirt off, then the tank top, and then shimmied out of the jeans. The sundress was on a second later, and she was bending over her bags rummaging for a pair of shoes when Ian knocked again.

"It's okay, I'm decent," she called.

She heard him come in, and kept on with her digging. Then she finally found a pair of white sandals, straightened up, and turned.

His face told her all she needed to know. He was turned on. The big fraud, pretending to be all shy and uncomfortable with the attraction she felt between them. Maybe men were different here. Maybe he was just different. But he had definitely been checking out her butt just now. And her butt was one of her best features, in her not-so-humble opinion.

She marched up to him, clapped a hand to his shoulder and used him to steady herself while she put on the shoes. When she finished, she looked up at him. They were standing very close. She could feel his breath on her face.

Damn, he was attractive. She didn't know when she'd been this attracted to a man. Maybe never.

He moved his hands toward her shoulders, and for one blissful, exciting moment, she thought he was going to wrap his arms around her and kiss her. But the soft touch of fabric on her skin told her otherwise. He was draping a shawl around her, a deep blue silken thing that felt like heaven.

He adjusted it, and his fingers brushed the skin on her upper arms as he did. She shivered a little, closed her eyes against it.

"It was your grandmother's," he said softly.

And that gave her another chill, but not the good kind like his touch had given her. This one was decidedly unpleasant.

"Most of her belongings remain in her chambers," Ian went on. "I'm sure no one will mind should you wish to make use of them during your stay."

"I think I prefer my own things." That sounded cold. And she didn't want him to think it was because of him, so she added very quickly, "Thank you, Ian. That was sweet of you."

"You're most welcome." Then he turned, and extended his elbow for her.

She hooked her arm through it and let him lead her from the room and through the endless corridors, walking far more closely to his side than was really necessary. He didn't seem to mind it. In fact, his arm tightened on hers a little, pressing it against his side as they moved onward. As they approached the stairs, she smiled up at him. "Tell me, Ian, are you married?"

She saw his Adam's apple move as he swallowed. "No."

"Seeing anyone?"

"No."

"Neither am I," she told him.

"It's glad I am to hear that, Kira." He met her eyes and held them for a long moment as they stood there, halfway down the staircase.

A throat cleared from below, and they broke eye contact, turning at the same instant.

Aunt Esmeralda stood at the food of the stairs, and the look she was sending Ian should have wilted lettuce. "We're waiting, you know," she said, but her tone said far more. It said "Hands off."

Kira bristled at that tone. These women may be blood relatives, but they were also strangers. And they certainly didn't have any right to go meddling in her love life—or lack thereof.

She was going to have to set them straight on that, and soon, she decided. Because, as odd as it was after such a short acquaintance, she liked Ian. And she was drawn to him in a way that went far beyond anything she'd felt for any man before. To make her point to the aunts in the meantime, she snugged her body a little closer to Ian's side, hooked her arm more tightly through his, met her aunt's eyes as they slid to hers, and smiled at her. "I've never been very good at marching to the beat of someone else's drum, Aunt Esmeralda. I'm sorry if I held up dinner, though. From now on, maybe it would be best to just start without me if I'm a little late."

"That is not how we do things at Castle MacLellan."

"Then maybe I should find a hotel." Ian's arm clutched hers tighter to his side, as if in warning.

The woman's eyes widened, but held Kira's, and she met the subtle challenge head on. "There's not one for miles. So I suppose you'll have to adjust, Grandniece. And perhaps show a bit of respect for your elders."

Esmeralda was positively icy all through dinner, but the conversation was carried on by Ian's father, Gregory, who entertained them all with stories of the old days when he was a boy and the mischief he used to get into, all in a brogue so endearing that it melted the tension from Kira's shoulders.

The Reverend MacDougal was humorless. He didn't laugh at jokes, and didn't speak unless it was to correct some factual error or add a serious bent to the topic at hand. His wife, Jane, was a meek little mouse, silent and obedient, and she waited on him hand and foot.

Ian's attention was on Kira throughout the meal, though whenever she looked his way, he shifted his gaze. And Esmeralda seemed to be watching them like a hawk, noticing every exchanged glance, bit of banter, or intimate smile they shared. And they shared a lot of those.

"Well, then, the readin' o' the will takes place tomorrow evenin'," Gregory announced. "Nine o' the clock."

"Why so late?" Kira asked.

"'Twas at Iris's request, lass. She left explicit details. I suggest you prepare yourself, though. She was a rather…unusual woman." He turned toward his son. "I would suggest, Ian, that you spend the day showin' our new friend about her family's homeland."