Callum by Melissa Schroeder Page B

and be free of her parents.
     
* * * *
     
    Kenneth McWalton eased back in his chair and scowled. Phoebe Chilton wasn’t being completely truthful with him. Nothing that he couldn’t fix, but he’d been so sure she would be easy. After all the research he’d done on her, he’d been positive she’d do exactly as he had planned.
    Aggravation had him pushing up and out of the chair to walk to the window of his hotel room. As he studied the sidewalk below, he thought back to his conversation with the good doctor. He knew where she was, even if she hadn’t told him. He wouldn’t even bother with her if she hadn’t been hired by the Lennons.
    The name of his enemy curdled the gourmet meal he’d just eaten. In his mind, he pictured Callum Lennon , so revered, so tortured. He knew what a vile coward Callum was, how the Lennon’s had ruined his family. Not to mention what Callum had done to Fiona.
    Pain—fast and violent—pulsed in the right side of his head. Kenneth closed his eyes, trying to will the headache away. They were getting to be more common, more intense. Drawing in a deep breath, he opened his eyes and then went to his bag for the medication. After pouring out a double dose of pills, he dry-swallowed them, thinking only of freeing himself of the pain.
    He needed to stay sharp if he was going to ruin the Lennons and force them to flee. He could not accept them on the same continent. The secret he knew would ruin Callum and the others, if anyone would believe it. Alas, no one would—unless Dr. Chilton could help him on that score. Everyone in Edinburgh knew of Fiona and Callum and knew McWalton had a bone to pick. If a respected archeologist revealed the mystery, well, that would hold more weight. What a field day for the rags that would be.
    Another shaft of pain vibrated through his brain. He sunk down on the chaise and waited for his drugs to work. Even more, he waited for—anticipated—the day he could obliterate every hope the Lennon clan had left.
     
     
     

Chapter Three
     
    Phoebe shifted her weight in her seat, trying to get comfortable. The chair wasn’t the culprit since it was made from the softest of leather, designed for long hours of sitting. Even her professional clothes weren’t bothering her. The source of her distraction was the brooding presence who sat squarely behind the desk.
    Three days. Three days he’d sat there working, barely glancing her way. She’d had a bloody hard time ignoring him, though. He did nothing to lure her away from her work. He just sat there quietly, running Lennon Enterprises. She should be able to ignore him. But more often than she liked to admit, the timber of his voice pulled her out of her studies. The calm, resonate tone, and the way his broad Scottish accent slid over the words…it was compelling.
    His laugh broke her concentration. “Alastair, I gave you my offer for the land. I’m not going to haggle with you on it.”
    The amusement in his voice wasn’t a common occurrence. He was straight and to the point, especially with her. Hearing the lighter tone, she just couldn’t help but glance over at him. She found him staring at her. Her breath tangled in her throat. Intense, direct, his gaze trapped her. She couldn’t look away. Heat simmered and then flared in the depths of his eyes. Need crawled through her veins, warming her blood, making her head spin. Her stomach muscles clenched as liquid heat slipped between her legs. She didn’t know if she was afraid or excited. Either way, every muscle in her body tensed. After a long moment, he broke contact, swiftly turning his chair to face the window.
    Staring blindly at the text in front of her, she tried to unscramble her head. Bligh me. Just what the hell was that about? If she didn’t know better, she would think she’d seen lust in his eyes. But that couldn’t be. Men like him just didn’t take a sexual interest in plain archeologists.
    She shifted again, embarrassed when she felt the