A Highlander for Christmas\Christmas Angels in London by Christina Skye & Debbie Macomber

Author:Christina Skye & Debbie Macomber [Skye, Christina & Macomber, Debbie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance.Paranormal
Amazon: B00FQS3KCG
Goodreads: 18661751
Publisher: Steel Magnolia Press
Published: 1999-09-30T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN

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, images darted through her memories 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. It was one of Chessa’s creations, and Maggie knew that the rich peach satin sent a glow through her skin, a dramatic contrast to her caramel-colored hair. The heavy silk lay warm against her skin, like a lover’s kiss.

Like a lover’s hands.

The memory of Jared’s touch flashed through her. His icy calm during the drive from her hotel and then 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 inventive it was.

Muffling an oath, she slid from the bed. 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 the wire she would hang a single cabochon aquamarine. Or maybe one perfect black pearl.

Maggie opened her small metal case with its neat rows of tools and wire. And then she froze. 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, and her tweezers had been shifted. 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?

Maggie saw a piece of paper 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 stretched it with violent strength.

She swayed, catching herself against the tall oak armoire, and then fought back a whimper of shock.

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