Heart of the Highland Wolf by Terry Spear Read Free Book Online

blanket?”
    Duncan would be commenting forever about Ian’s acting the nursemaid, if he could see him now. Ian was grateful his younger brother wasn’t here.
    Julia hesitated to respond. He took that as a yes, even though she was still considering whether to say no or not. But because of the cool cottage, her wet jeans, and the ice pack on her ankle, she couldn’t hide that she was cold. “No, it won’t be…”
    He’d already headed for one of the rooms by the time she finished her sentence.
    â€œâ€¦necessary.”
    But as soon as he walked in, he knew it wasn’t her room. The blue bags sitting beside the bed didn’t have her scent on them. Maria’s, yes. He left the room, gave Julia a small smile as her rounded eyes watched him, and said, “Looks like the man brought your luggage, but yours must be in the other room.”
    Then he entered the other. Two tapestry bags sat next to the bed. He imagined her sleeping naked in the full-sized bed, the window looking out on the woods in the direction of Argent Castle. If not for the forest and the distance, he could see the cottage from one of the castle towers.
    He hastily grabbed a mohair wool blanket folded at the foot of the bed and stalked back to the living area. He attempted a smile to reassure her, when he meant to interrogate her further. To put aside his foolish notion of sharing any intimacy with the little wolf.
    Gently, he covered her lap with the blanket and then crouched beside her, making an effort to question her from a less intimidating height. He looked into her green eyes flecked with gold, saw the tension and unknown mysteries in them, and asked, “If I questioned Harold Washburn about a Miss Julia Jones who works for him, what would he say?”
    ***
    Julia’s traitorous heart was pounding as if she were running for her life while Ian crouched beside her. He had to have heard it and guessed she was afraid to tell the truth. Even though he attempted not to overawe her, the problem was that the man was inherently intimidating. From his darkened eyes to his husky voice, and the way his gaze shifted to the pocket of her shirt that contained his picture, she recognized both desire and a need for the truth in his expression.
    What could she say? She was Julia Wildthorn, and a quick Internet search would expose her royally. Or she could say she was Julia MacPherson, and he’d know nothing about her—unless he knew something about the MacPhersons who had once inhabited Argent Castle. Either could be a disaster.
    She could even say she was Iris North, the name she had given to Guthrie MacNeill when she was trying to learn if Argent Castle was a viable option for the film. Or any number of other names. She was a writer, after all. But he wouldn’t believe her if she gave another alias, and he couldn’t find further information on her to verify it.
    Ian’s brows lifted a little when she didn’t respond quickly enough. She imagined that his pack and clan members probably never kept him waiting. And she’d already managed to keep him waiting several times.
    Trying for nonchalant, she shrugged. “Knowing Harold, he probably won’t remember who I am.”
    Ian seemed darkly amused. “I see.” His gaze slid down her in a suggestively languorous manner, which had the effect of sending another hot flash spiraling through her already heated body. Sure, on the outside, her skin was chilled, but inside, she was way too aware of him—of his masculine scent and of the way he observed her and touched her and held her gaze. His eyes focused on hers again. “You’re muddy and still shivering. I could prepare a hot bath for you.”
    In surprise, her lips parted. His eyes focused on her mouth, and she quickly clamped it shut. She had never imagined a Scottish laird would prepare a woman’s bath. Or act this interested in a commoner —of the American