The Immortal Highlander

Page 73

For that matter . . . just how much longer she was going to be able to resist him.
For that matter, she amended irritably, as she watched Gwen and Chloe watching him, why she was. It sure didn’t look like they would be.
“Holy cow,” Chloe said faintly.
“No kidding,” Gwen breathed.
The sexy Fae prince flashed them a smile that was pure devilish charm, sexy and playful and mischievous, briefly catching the tip of his tongue between white teeth, before his lips curved, dark eyes sparking gold.
Gabby groaned. She choked on it hastily, camouflaging it with a dry little cough. Her own private stash of eye candy had just been made available for public consumption and she didn’t like it one bit.
Apparently she wasn’t the only one.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Dageus?” Drustan said irritably.
“Och, aye,” Dageus said darkly. “You liked him better invisible too?”
“Och, aye.”
“Should I curse him again?”
“Och, aye.”
Adam threw back his head and laughed, eyes sparkling with gold fire. “Bloody hell, it’s good to be back,” he purred.
18
Dageus and Drustan weren’t the only ones who’d like to see . . . er, rather, not see . . . Adam invisible again.
There were twenty-three females on the Keltar estate—not counting Gwen, Chloe, herself, or the cat—Gabby knew, because shortly after Adam had become visible last night, she’d met each and every one, from tiniest tot to tottering ancient.
It had begun with a plump, thirtyish maid popping in to pull the drapes for the evening and inquire if the MacKeltars “were wishing aught else?” The moment her bespectacled gaze had fallen on Adam, she’d begun stammering and tripping over her own feet. It had taken her a few moments to regain a semblance of coordination, but she’d managed to stumble from the library, nearly upsetting a lamp and a small end table in her haste.
Apparently it had been haste to alert the forces, for a veritable parade had ensued: a blushing curvaceous maid had come offering a warm-up of tea (they’d not been having any), followed by a giggling maid seeking a forgotten dust cloth (which—was anyone surprised?—was nowhere to be found), then a third one looking for a waylaid broom (yeah, right—they swept castles at midnight in Scotland—who believed that?), then a fourth, fifth, and sixth inquiring if the Crystal Chamber would do for Mr. Black (no one seemed to care what chamber might do for her; she half-expected to end up in an outbuilding somewhere). A seventh, eighth, and ninth had come to announce that his chamber was ready and would he like an escort? A bath drawn? Help undressing? (Well, okay, maybe they hadn’t actually asked the last, but their eyes certainly had.)
Then a half-dozen more had popped in at varying intervals to say the same things all over again, and to stress that they were there to provide “aught, aught at all Mr. Black might desire.”
The sixteenth had come to extract two tiny girls from Adam’s lap over their wailing protests (and had stayed out of his lap herself only because Adam had hastily stood), the twenty-third and final one had been old enough to be someone’s great-great-grandmother, and even she’d flirted shamelessly with the “braw Mr. Black,” batting nonexistent lashes above nests of wrinkles, smoothing thin white hair with a blue-veined, age-spotted hand.
And if that hadn’t been enough, the castle cat, obviously female and obviously in heat, had sashayed in, tail straight up and perkily curved at the tip, and wound her furry little self sinuously around Adam’s ankles, purring herself into a state of drooling, slanty-eyed bliss.
Mr. Black, my ass, she’d wanted to snap (and she liked cats, really she did; she’d certainly never wanted to kick one before, but please—even cats?), he’s a fairy and I found him, so that makes him my fairy. Back off.
But everyone seemed to have forgotten her.
Even Adam. Oh, he’d kissed her again once he’d been made corporeal, and it had been another of those toe-curling, breath-stealing, possessive kisses (and it had seemed to greatly alleviate much of the Keltar twins’ bristling), but then he’d gone to sit by the fire and, shortly after that, the parade had begun and he’d hardly looked her way since.
And interspersed with the Maid Parade, Gwen and Chloe had been firing questions (bless their hearts, at least they’d seemed to recover nicely from Adam’s impact; Gabby suspected this was due in large part to them being married to such extraordinarily sexy men), and Gabby had sat in silence, feeling as if she were slowly turning every bit as invisible as Adam had been. As if he’d not only cast off his curse but had somehow managed to cast it onto her.