Chapter Five
Morgan tossed her shiny black hair behind her and folded her hands primly in her lap, watching the woman who sat across the desk, rubbing her temples. It seemed that Dr. Cameron was stressed out.
Perhaps because Adam had been relentless in siccing the media on her.
Not that the media had needed any prodding after the second sighting of the dragon, for a day or two, but between a few discreet calls to people Adam knew in the AP and the various aliases he used on the social networking sites, there was a continual crowd now surrounding the clinic and her home.
All of which made easier what Morgan had come to do.
“Your resume shows several years of public relations work with television stations across the nation,” Sophie said. “Quite impressive, but my partner and I have a rather tight budget. I don’t think I can hire you.”
Morgan smiled benignly. “If I may ask, has your business declined since this all started?” She waved her hand toward the window. “I can’t imagine anyone wanting to face that crowd with a sick animal in tow.”
Sophie reluctantly nodded. “We’ve had some cancellations.”
“And that, of course, hurts your bottom line,” Morgan replied. “Since I have the experience, let me deal with these people. I can give them little tidbits of information at regular intervals and they won’t be standing around bothering your customers all day.”
“Clients,” Sophie said automatically. “Clients and patients.”
“I am sorry. My mistake.” Morgan put a contrite look on her face. “But your poor assistant is doing nothing but handling questions via both the phone and email. I can take that over as well, so she can help you.”
Sophie leaned back in her chair, this time rubbing her right shoulder with her left hand. “Your plan might be good, but I don’t have any tidbits of information to give out. I have no idea why this creature has shown up twice, nor do I know if it will show up again.”
“Well,” Morgan said quietly, “that’s the reason those people are all out there waiting. They aren’t going to go away. You’ve worked hard to build your clinic, I’m sure. Do you want to insure its continuing success?”
“Of course I do.” Sophie hesitated and then gave a deep sigh. “All right. I’ll try you for two weeks. If you can keep that mob from interrupting my business, I’ll keep you on.”
“Fair enough,” Morgan said. “I can start right away.”
“Good. Janie!” Sophie called out just as her assistant appeared in the doorway. “This is Morgan Fontaine and she’s going to be handling all the phone calls and media requests from now on.”
The front door slammed and, a moment later, a deep voice from behind Janie asked, “Morgan?”
She spun around. “Michael? What are you doing here?”
He looked momentarily confused and then his face became impassive. “I’m giving Sophie a ride to the car shop.”
“My car wouldn’t start yesterday afternoon when I was out on a call,” Sophie said to Morgan. “I had to have it towed.”
“You poor thing,” Morgan exclaimed. “How did you get home?”
“A man named Alan Caldwell was visiting my client. He dropped me off.”
“I really wish you had not trusted a stranger,” Michael said.
“Mr. Smith trusts him. I hardly think I was in any danger,” Sophie responded.
Morgan slanted a look between the two of them.
Was Michael interested in this plain-looking woman who didn’t even wear makeup?
He had better not be. She—Morgan—had been very patient in trying to get Michael into her bed.
Most men only needed a “come hither” look.
But, for some reason, Michael resisted her, which made him all the more intriguing.
She wanted him mounting her, riding her hard, his muscular arms holding him over her while she played with his well-chiseled bare chest.
Sophie picked up her keys and stood. “I’m ready.”
Morgan forced a bright smile on her face as Michael opened the door for Sophie and followed her out. Now she had a reason for making Adam Baylor’s vendetta her own. Michael McCain was hers. And no woman was going to get in her way.
****
“I’d feel better if you gave me your word you won’t take any more rides with Caldwell,” Michael said.
Sophie refrained from rolling her eyes. “So you’ve said about ten times since we picked up my car.” She plucked at a nacho chip from the plate they were sharing before she had to get back to the clinic.
“I don’t trust the guy,” Michael answered. “My friend, Sara, dealt with him. He took her to lunch and she got really sick, like she’d been drugged. Neither Lucas or I could prove anything, but—”
“And here I am, having lunch with you.” She waved another chip in front of him and smiled. “Am I safe?” A series of emotions crossed his face. She wasn’t sure she had even seen them. Oh, God, what if he thought she was flirting? She was just trying to lighten the conversation.
“You will always be safe with me,” he finally said as a muscle twitched in his jaw. “I’ll protect you.”
Sophie stared at him. Why was he getting all serious like some medieval knight?
“Lighten up, will you? Alan drove me directly home and, since there was a group milling around outside, he walked me to my door and came inside for a minute.”
“He what? You didn’t mention that.”
“Maybe because I didn’t want another lecture? He wanted to see the rapier I use for fencing, that’s all. Why are you acting like my father anyhow?”
Michael nearly choked on a chip and reached for his water. His dark eyes glinted at her. “Acting like your father was the last thing on my mind.”
Sophie felt her face heat at the possible innuendo.
She was hardly having paternal thoughts about Michael either.
It would be extremely difficult for any woman not to react to him.
He was all male, his close-fitting T-shirt defining the sculpted muscles of his shoulders and chest and clinging to sleekly carved biceps.
She would bet his flat belly had the required six-pack of ridges in it.
His muscular thighs in the tight jeans made her wonder if he rode horses.
Not that she was looking at his thighs or at that bulge above them as he perched on the barstool next to her.
Really, what woman wouldn’t notice? She swept her gaze to his face, but that didn’t help much.
His mahogany hair rakishly brushed his collar and his dark eyes penetrated, as though he were looking into her very soul.
Her face flamed and she silently cursed her fair complexion. Better to turn the tables.
“So how do you know Morgan?” she asked.
He took another sip of water and studied her. “She belongs to a group called Sisterhood Circle. They…study old goddess religions. Sometimes I join them.”
Sophie frowned. “Don’t tell me you are like those New Age Druids who go to Stonehenge at the solstices? Dancing around in white robes?”
Michael smiled. He had two kinds of smiles, Sophie decided. This one showed a dimple that made him look angelic. The other one was all bad-boy and made her body want to do very lustful things.
“Too much tourism at Stonehenge these days,” he said easily.
“Sometimes, I’m asked for advice, since I do have that almost useless degree.
” He grinned suddenly—no dimple—and reached over to wipe a drop of salsa off Sophie’s chin with the pad of his thumb.
“But you shouldn’t knock something until you’ve tried it, right? ”
That was his wicked grin. She wondered if he knew that her nipples had just tightened with that slow brush of his thumb. He probably did, since he was giving her a very perceptive look. Damn it. Better to change the subject. Fast.
“So, tell me about the riddle from the manuscript,” she said as briskly as she could. “It is how you coerced me into spending time on lunch.”
“You’ve got to eat to keep up your strength. Never know when you’re going to need it.” His grin widened. “Or for what.”
She hoped her face wouldn’t suddenly explode into flame; it felt so hot.
“The riddle?” she asked again.
Michael tossed several bills on the counter. “Let’s go outside to the car. I don’t want anyone to overhear us.”
Sitting in the intimately small space of his sports car, their knees practically touching, probably wasn’t the wisest choice she’d made.
Her truck would have been better. Sophie took a deep breath, which was another mistake, since it brought that strange woodsy and heather scent she was beginning to really like directly to her, along with something else that was purely him.
Pheromones in an enclosed space were not good.
Seemingly unaware of the increasing amount of hormones being produced at the moment, Michael handed her the poetic riddle.
She read it and frowned. “The firedrake is the dragon?”
“Seems to be,” Michael answered. “The Pendragon certainly has lit up the sky.”
“Who’s the knight in this?” She suddenly remembered the strange dream. “You?”
“Afraid not.” Michael gave her the angelic smile, not the lustfully wicked one. “Uther took on the surname of the Pendragon. Since we’re looking for Excalibur, I assume the knight would be none other than Arthur.”
Sophie studied him. He seemed perfectly serious. But were seriously delusional people serious? If they believed what they said to be true… “You’re telling me Arthur really existed and is not just the stuff of myth and legend?”
“To be sure, myths and legends have sprung up,” Michael replied, “thanks to Mallory, Tennyson, White, and others. But there has also been enough scholarly research done—hundreds of books, in fact—pointing to Arthur being a great warlord in the sixth century and the one responsible for maintaining peace with the Saxons for nearly twenty years after the battle of Badon Hill.” He paused.
“I think he was successful because he had at least two of the relics with him—the Sword and the Grail.”