Camden MacGregor's heart leaped when he saw his beloved Therese step from the silver town car. He'd spent a lifetime searching for her. A hundred lifetimes.
He chuckled and leaned closer to the second floor, leaded glass window to watch as she pushed her glasses up her nose and made a slow circle, taking in the scenery. She was nothing like he'd expected. But then, they never were...as the journals made plain.
She moved to the back of the car with Charles, her long gray skirt blowing in the chilly highland wind. Pulling her thin sweater tighter around her delicate shoulders, she pushed her waist-length black hair away from her face. She spoke with Charles, looking as though she argued with him.
Although Camden couldn't hear her, he remembered every nuance of her sweet voice-its soft, west American drawl, the slight huskiness that had slipped in when she'd said his name the first time-the only time-he'd touched her.
Since their meeting in Washington D.C. a few months before, he'd researched her. She was nearing forty, had married and divorced in her twenties, no children and no living family. And nearly every museum in the world sought her because she was the best document preservationist on the face of the earth.
He cared not about her past. Only her future-their future-mattered. But he'd needed to know everything about her that he could find so he could persuade her to come to his remote castle in the Scottish highlands and spend time alone with him. So he could claim her as his own.
Therese, with eyes the color of Scottish bluebells and hair as dark and rich as a moonless night, was his twin flame. He'd recognized her the moment he saw her. This time, things would be different. Unlike his ancestors, he planned to spend a long life with his other half. His soul mate.
As she pulled her small blue suitcase from the boot of the car and brushed Charles away, Camden turned from the window and headed out of his study.
His biggest challenge, as he saw it, would be to convince Therese of their connection and prove to her he wasn't crazy.
* * * * *Teri Whitmore couldn't believe she was here. Of all the locales around the world she'd ever visited, the Scottish highlands hadn't been one of them. She feared she would freeze to death, but the beauty of the landscape literally stole her breath-or perhaps the wind accomplished that feat.
As Mr. MacGregor's aged driver led her across the drive to the door of the refurbished, thirteenth century castle, her low heels clicked on the smooth cobblestones. The dark gray clouds hung low overhead, and she could hear Loch Ness' waves battering the shore on the other side of the keep.
Her heart perched itself firmly in her throat, and tears stung her eyes. She loved this place, although she'd never laid eyes on it until five minutes ago. Yet, something seemed so familiar about it. Most likely from all the research she'd done about Quhartine and its owner.
The wind whipped around her with a biting force that stung her cheeks and blew her hair across her face. The castle should have seemed cold and looming with its dark gray stone, stark lines, and high tower, but it didn't. She'd never felt such a sense of welcome anywhere.
The tall, solid wooden doors swung open to reveal none other than Camden MacGregor. Her ankle twisted slightly on a rough stone on the stair, she stumbled, and dropped her small suitcase. She would have fallen on her face at his feet if the handsome businessman hadn't lunged forward and caught her against his wide, hard chest.
God, take me now! she prayed, unbelieving that for a second time in as many meetings with the man she wound up in his arms because of her clumsiness.
He smelled of wood smoke and clean male flesh. A scent remembered from a dream. Elemental. His cashmere sweater was soft against her cheek, so warm. She wanted nothing more than to bury her nose against him and breathe him in.
His deep chuckle rushed through her, making her skin prickle. "Now, there, lassie," he said, his voice no more than a soft rumble against her ear. "We must stop meeting this way."
She jerked back, away from the comfort of his thickly muscled arms, righted her glasses, and brushed her hair from her face. "I'm so sorry, Mr. MacGregor. My heel must have caught on the..."
His smile was so disarming she lost her train of thought. Straight white teeth, sparkling green eyes, and beautifully tanned skin. Oh, my...
"Come in, lass, before ye catch yer death."
And his accent, she thought on a sigh. Sean Connery, eat your heart out.
She turned to lift her bag, but Charles stood behind her holding it, a slight grin tipping his lips and making his ruddy face wrinkle rather endearingly. He was probably trying not to laugh at her, she thought, and pushed her glasses up her nose. Oh-for-two for Teri.
Why had Mr. MacGregor hired her for this amazing opportunity? She'd spilled her drink on him the last time they met. Red wine right down the front of his white tuxedo shirt.
"Come in, come in," he urged, stepping away from the doors and holding his hand out in welcome. "You must be near frozen standing out there with only a sweater. I've got a hot meal prepared in front of the fire."
Food! Her stomach rumbled. It seemed as if it had been days since she'd last eaten. Heck, she'd been so long in transit she didn't even know what day it was anymore. Airsickness was her plague, and she made sure she flew on an empty stomach.
She stepped into the warm interior of the keep, and her eyes went wide. She gasped. A tingle of recognition skittered over her skin, raising goose bumps on her arms. Déjà vu in its finest. Her tummy fluttered.
In her mind flickered a picture of how it had looked hundreds of years ago, without the heavy tapestries to warm the cold, stone walls, without the rich, white and gray marble flooring. The hall was magnificent now but had once served as a gathering place for well-trained Scots warriors fighting for their land, their people.
"Laird MacGregor," she whispered.
"You remember?"
Teri jerked back to the present and turned wide eyes on Camden MacGregor. "Remember?" she asked, her voice little more than a whisper. She shook off the eerie sensations coursing through her. This wasn't the first time she'd felt a certain...recognition...to a building or piece of land, but she brushed it off as years of study.
"I read up on the Clan MacGregor before accepting this position, Mr. MacGregor. I'm sorry." She pushed her glasses up her nose and flicked her hair over her shoulder. "Fanciful imaginings of a woman who spends too much time reading about history and too little time experiencing it." She tried to laugh it off, but a chill skittered down her spine.
