Bound by Dreams. Christina Skye

of course.” Suddenly self-conscious, she pushed the plate of scones toward him. “Feel free. I couldn’t eat another bite.”

      “The tea will be enough for me.”

      “You don’t wear a watch. You don’t eat. Now I’m really curious.”

      “Don’t bother. You’d find me very boring. But I see that you’re interested in Draycott Abbey.”

      She tensed. “Why would you think that?”

      Gently, he moved a paper out from beneath her knitting project. Kiera realized he had found her map of the surrounding county, part of a color handout from the local bookstore.

      Unfortunately, she had folded the page so that the abbey lay right in the center. She might as well have burned her intentions on her forehead.

      “Oh. You mean, this? The gardens looked somewhat interesting,” she said casually. “And I’ve always been a sucker for a good ghost story.”

      “Ah, yes.” He studied the sheet filled with tourist information. “Did they mention the thirteen bells? And the eighth viscount, who is said to walk the abbey parapet on moonless nights?”

      “Not that I remember.” Kiera pushed the folded paper away. “After a while all these grand houses begin to sound alike. Ghosts and traitors and spies.” She began to knit, determined to avoid the force of those gray eyes. “Do you know the place?”

      “I more than know it,” he said quietly. Now Kiera was certain he was watching for her reaction.

      Her heart missed a beat. “Don’t tell me that you…own it?”

      “Me? No. I’m only working there.”

      “What kind of work?”

      “Outdoor work. Checking lines. Straightening out problems.”

      “You’re no landscaper.”

      “No, I’m not.” He leaned back, half of his face shadowed by a towering oak. “Would you like to see the grounds?” he asked abruptly.

      She almost dropped her knitting needles. “No thanks. I’ve been on enough house tours.” She wanted to stand up, to run away. How had she been so careless as to leave that folded tour guide out on the table?

      Because she’d only slept two hours the night before. Because she hadn’t expected to share her table for breakfast, Kiera thought crossly. She forced herself to stay right where she was and smile back at him. “No, I’m in the mood for bright lights. I’m headed for London tomorrow. Clubbing,” she lied.

      Something told her he wasn’t the clubbing type.

      When his lips tightened, Kiera saw that she had guessed right.

      “Tomorrow? Then you have today. I’ll be an excellent guide. I’ll show you all the secret places, even where the treasure is hidden.”

      “I’m not interested in treasure—or in secrets,” she said sharply.

      But a voice whispered that this would be the answer to her prayers. One chance for a covert assessment, a check for major security obstacles to avoid later that night. She’d be a fool to refuse him.

      “No,” she said huskily. “Thank you, but it’s really not on my list.”

      “You would be making a mistake, Ms….” He paused, his eyes unreadable.

      “Morissey. Kiera. And why would it be a mistake?”

      “Because the abbey is glorious this time of year. The centifolia roses are just coming into bloom, and the air is full of their perfume. It’s impossible to describe. You need to experience it directly. Besides, aren’t you even a little curious?”

      Kiera had the sharp sense that they were playing cat and mouse now. That he had picked up the details of her secret plan.

      And that was completely impossible. “The roses sound lovely, but I’m going to take it easy today. I’ll sit here in the sun and knit.”

      “Oh, my aunts definitely would have liked you,” he murmured.

      “Calan?”

      Kiera turned at the sound of footsteps. Silk rustled and ruthlessly high heels tapped across the tiled courtyard. A striking woman in a skintight suit that screamed Versace lasered toward the table.

      “Calan, darling! What amazing luck to find you here.”

      CHAPTER SIX

      “WHENEVER DID YOU GET BACK?” The woman raced on breathlessly, not waiting for an answer. “And you didn’t even call me, you great vile creature.” With every word she pouted more, making her full scarlet lips look even bigger.

      Silicone. The thought made Kiera a little smug. Also a little jealous. The feeling grew when the Scotsman stood in that way of graceful power and hugged the new arrival, who seemed to vibrate with pure animal satisfaction at their contact.

      “Bad boy. You’ve lost weight. Lovely muscles, from what I can feel, however.” She ran long red nails along his tweed lapels. “How long has it been since Paris? Or was it Portofino?”

      Kiera shifted restlessly, feeling far out of her element.

      “Three years, Magritte. And it was Venice. You wore gold. I wore black.” His lips curved slightly. “It rained for a solid week.”

      “I didn’t mind a second, darling. We had far too much to do inside to be bored.” Her voice fell, a husky caress. “You should have called me, you know.”

      “Sorry. Work has kept me on the move.”

      A little frown worked down the woman’s perfectly Botox-smoothed forehead when Calan stepped back, polite but resolute as he moved out of reach. She turned slowly and studied Kiera. “But you haven’t introduced me to your friend, Calan.”

      He didn’t answer. Kiera sat up straighter.

      She put down her knitting and held out a hand. “Kiera Morissey. How nice to meet you. Magritte, wasn’t it?”

      “Magritte Campbell. But you are American.” She sounded surprised, slanting a look at Calan. “You hate Americans. You told me so yourself, during the dinner when that basketball team from Dallas got drunk and—”

      Calan cut her off. “Don’t remind me of my rudeness, Magritte. Are you staying here at the hotel?”

      “Here, in this threadbare outpost? Hardly. I was on my way to Norfolk when we had a puncture. Henry’s having it looked at now.”

      Was Henry the husband, the lover or the chauffeur? Kiera wondered. Something brushed her leg and she looked down at a white Maltese dragging a rhinestone-encrusted gold leash. He sniffed at Kiera’s feet, then trotted to his owner, who scooped him up against her amply enhanced chest. “Rupert, there you are. You mustn’t go away like that, darling. I’ve told you a thousand times.”

      But the dog didn’t seem to hear. He was staring alertly at Calan. The dog sniffed the air and its fuzzy white ears went back. It growled, low and anxiously, small teeth bared.

      “Rupert, do stop that. It’s just Calan, you silly sod. He’s not going to hurt you.”

      But the dog seemed to flatten, shivering in Magritte Campbell’s arms.

      As if it saw something that left it very frightened. Kiera found the thought unsettling.

      “Ms. Campbell, would you like some tea and a scone while you wait? I have plenty here, all of it delicious.”

      “What a divine offer. I can see why you like her, Calan. But no, I’m sure that Henry will be by shortly. I don’t mean to interrupt your knitting…” Her eyes slanted measuringly at Calan. “Or to interrupt anything else you two were planning.”

      “Put your antennae