The Perfect Gift by Christina Skye

Author:Christina Skye
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Scotland, Contemporary, Draycott Abbey (Imaginary Place), General, Romance, Historical, Bodyguards, Fiction, Love Stories
ISBN: 9780380800230
Publisher: Avon
Published: 1999-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

Warmth poured across Maggie's face. With a sigh she snuggled deeper into the cool sheets.

The smell of roses filled the air.

Roses?

One eye blinked open. A crystal vase with red blooms gleamed on the side table. Maggie heard the soft trill of birdsong beyond the sun-kissed French doors, where water murmured, swept in restless patterns against banks of green.

Draycott Abbey. A place of magic and secrets.

As she sat up slowly, images darted like small, quick fish. For a moment there was cold wind with the smell of peat smoke locked in fine old wool.

Just a dream, she thought irritably, tugging on her long robe. One of Chessa's creations, its shimmering satin was dotted with handpainted designs of whimsical moons and clouds. Chessa's taste was excellent, and Maggie knew that the rich peach hue sent a glow through her skin, setting off her caramel-colored hair. The heavy silk lay warm against her skin, like a lover's kiss.

Like a lover.

The memory of Jared's touch flashed in her mind. His tension after their arrest. His icy calm during the drive from her hotel.

The heat of his hands when he had touched her in the cramped car.

With a low, angry sound, Maggie shoved away the memories. She wasn't looking for a fling, and she certainly wasn't looking for a long-term relationship. Work was all that mattered in her life now.

Not men. Not sex, no matter how original or intoxicating.

Muffling an oath, she slid from the bed and was relieved that a quick shower did wonders for clearing the last fragments of her restless dreams. She slid a brush through her hair and tugged on one of Chessa's soft, clinging sweaters with a matching skirt of pale gray cashmere, then went in search of her tool case.

Last night the intricate scrollwork on the leaded windows had left her imagination racing, and she wanted to try a new design in silver wire against hammered gold. Inside it she would center a single cabochon aquamarine. Or maybe one perfect black pearl.

Maggie went very still as she studied her small metal case with its neat rows of tools and wire. Something was wrong. Just as in her hotel room, something had been moved.

Slowly she ran her fingers over the dozen narrow compartments.

Silver alloy. Pliers. Wire. Cross-lock tweezers.

Her breath caught. The wire was upside down, her tweezers had been shifted, and the silver alloy was in the wrong compartment.

Someone had touched her case. While she'd slept, someone had slipped inside, invading her privacy. She locked her fists, fighting a wave of panic. Who had come into her room? How had he breached all the abbey's defenses?

Then Maggie saw a ragged edge of white shoved beneath her flat-nose pliers. With trembling fingers, she slid the folded envelope free.

And read the single word scrawled in bold black letters.

Her name.

No figment of her imagination now. No dream or illusion. Inside the envelope she found her camisole, one she realized had been missing from her hotel dresser. The lace was crumpled, as if hard fingers had molded and stretched it with violent strength.

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