The Immortal Highlander
Page 50

Tonight—he spared another glance at the clock, his dark face lighting with a smile to see that her hour was up—tonight was all about being as human as a man could possibly be.
“Are you ready to shop, ka-lyrra?”
Gabby blinked and turned toward the door. Adam stood in the doorway to the living room, leaning against the doorjamb, wearing only a towel. She looked hastily away. But it was too late, the image was burned into her mind. Wet, glossy black hair slicked back from his face, magnificent chest and arms, powerful legs. Itty-bitty towel. Eternally present heavy bulge lifting said itty-bitty towel.
A tiny, dreamy sigh escaped her. She camouflaged it hastily with a cough.
“I didn’t hear you come back,” she said stiffly, fixing her gaze on the TV. She’d been sitting in the living room, flipping stations, waiting for him to return. Unable to bear the thought of pulling dirty, smelly jeans back on over her clean skin, she’d hand-washed her clothes in the tub, hoping they’d be dry by morning. Now she was seriously regretting it. She needed more than a robe on around him. She needed a full suit of armor. And so did he, she thought peevishly. How dare he just saunter about flaunting all that golden, muscular, masculine splendidness?
“I sifted directly into the shower.”
“There’s another robe in the bathroom,” she informed him tightly.
“I know. I ripped it down the back when I tried to put it on. Men aren’t built like me in your century, are they?”
Oh, for heaven’s sake, Greek gods aren’t built like you, she thought irritably.
“Come,” he repeated, joining her by the sofa and tugging her up by a hand. “Let’s go.”
Taking a deep breath, she stood and forced herself to look directly into his face, denying herself even the tiniest skimming glance over his body. His gaze met hers, then dropped to the cleavage at her lapel. He wet his lip and gave her a slow smile, white teeth flashing in his dark face. The pink tip of his tongue danced against his teeth for a moment, sexy and playfully inviting.
“What are we shopping for?” Oh, God, she thought dismally, had that been her breathy voice? Had the fourteen-year-old part of her psyche taken over control of her vocal cords?
“Clothing, unless you’re comfortable wearing nothing but that robe for the next few days,” he said silkily. “I’m certainly fine with it.”
She cleared her throat. “Shop. Now. Let’s go.”
He closed his hands possessively on her waist. His dark head fell forward and with his lips but a breath from hers, he said, “Where? Gucci? Versace? Macy’s? What would you like, Gabrielle? What can I give you? I would deny you nothing.”
His touch was scorching, even through the fabric of her robe, and she could feel his fingers toying with her belt. He smelled good, too, of soap and spice and sexy man. She was excruciatingly aware of her nudity beneath the robe. And of his. Her heart began to pound erratically. “Macy’s is fine,” she said hastily.
“Is there anything else you want?” he said softly. “Anything at all?”
She closed her eyes. “Gee, let’s see, could you get out of my life and fix everything you’ve screwed up?”
He laughed and sifted place.
She thought she heard a “never” just before she was deconstructed. The next thing she knew she was standing, in her robe and bare feet, in the dark, locked offices of Macy’s.
“What are we doing here?” she asked, staring blankly at dozens of computers and monitoring screens.
“Unless you want to hold my hand while you’re trying things on, ka-lyrra, I’m deactivating the security cameras so you don’t show up on them. I may not have to worry about it, but you do.”
Heavens, he thought of everything, taking measures to protect her future, as if he had no doubt that she would survive their current nightmare and have a future. Assuming she did, the last thing she wanted was to be caught on Macy’s security cameras. Surviving the Fae, only to end up prosecuted for shoplifting, would be too ironic. Not to mention the havoc a criminal record would wreak with her career plans.
A few minutes later, apparently satisfied with his work, he transferred them into the main part of the store. She was relieved to discover that their unique mode of travel was no longer making her feel quite so nauseated.
“Stay here,” he said, then vanished. He was back in a moment, holding two large leather satchels in his hands. From Gucci, no less. “I’ll be nearby. We leave for Scotland tomorrow. Gather what you require. And, Gabrielle, the weather is different there; the nights get cool in the Highlands this time of year.”