Not Without Juliet

chapter EIGHTEEN



The replica of Montgomery Ross, the man she’d prayed for, the man she recognized in the core of her being, reached through the bars again, his hands open, palms up. The candle was perched on one.

"Take the candle, lass, but for pity sakes, look at me, not Skully."

"Who is he?" She couldn't seem to let go of the bars behind her. She'd seen her parents in their caskets, but she didn't remember it clearly, only that they didn't feel real anymore. Other than that, she'd never been around a dead body before. Except for Nikkos, she reminded herself. But Nikkos had still been bleeding.

"It doesn’t matter,” the Quinn said. “Just pretend he's but a decoration for Samhain."

"Samhain? Oh, right. Halloween. Decoration. Got it." She still couldn’t stop staring.

"Look at me, lass. Am I so disgusting you canna stand to glance this way?"

She heard him talking, but all she could do was shake her head. Disgusting? Hardly. But it was hard to face him when just a moment ago, looking at her face had somehow disappointed him. That Muir sister had noticed something that made her different from Jillian. Apparently, he noticed it too. Maybe Jillian was a real beauty or something.

"I don't believe you,” Quinn said. “I must be repulsive indeed.”

Him? Repulsive? Yeah, right.

She’d only gotten a quick look so far, but repulsive he was not. He was obviously just being nice, trying to distract her. Calling him an a*shole had been a little harsh—maybe—but being mistaken for someone else was new to her and damn hard to get used to. The fact that he’d been disappointed when he’d looked at her just added insult to injury.

You idiot, said the voice in her head. He was disappointed when he thought you were Jillian!

Oh my gosh! That’s true, she answered back.

She smiled and turned. He grinned and held the candle up in front of his face. She was finally able to release her grip and move closer to the side bars to look her fill. He did look just like the picture on the website, and she told him so.

“Oh, that.” He sounded a little disappointed. "Yes, that was me. A long while ago, I'm afraid."

She caught herself licking her lips and she turned away, mortified. Why didn’t she just reach over and start running her fingers through his hair? Just because she was so intimate with the man in her dreams, didn’t mean she could jump on this guy. But there, in the darkness, it was hard to believe it wasn’t that dreamland where they already knew each other. She was just going to have to try harder to put that dream aside.

"Tut! Doona do it, lass. Just a decoration."

She nodded and brought her attention back to him, reluctantly. She’d almost forgotten about being scared shitless.

"Just a decoration," she said. "No biggy."

He nodded. "Happy Halloween, aye?"

Other than his build and his coloring, he really didn’t look that much like Jillian’s husband—at least the face she’d stared at through binoculars. There was something a little more intense about him. His cheekbones were a little higher. Or maybe it was just the darkness. Shadows do funny things to a face. She could look into his smoldering eyes forever, especially while he was staring into hers...

She realized he was waiting for her to say something. What had he been talking about?

"Right. Halloween,” she said. “So, who is he?"

"A stubborn man, or so Martin told me." It wasn’t the casual way he’d said it, or the slightly higher pitch that gave him away, but the pause before he’d spoken.

"You thought I wouldn't want to know he was stubborn? I doubt that. What aren't you telling me?"

He sighed. "He was a son to The Gordon."

She turned to look at the skeleton again. No way could she think of it as just a Halloween decoration anymore. He had been someone. This castle had been his home. And his father had let him die here, chained to the wall, in the dark.

A shiver went up her spine. No matter how cold-hearted a murderer Gabby was, he could have never been so cruel. Or could he? Poor Nikkos. Like a son. How his heart must have broken in that millisecond between Gabby pointing the gun and firing. But how many times, while he waited to die, had this Skully’s heart broken? A bullet would have been kinder.

“Lass.” Quinn Ross waved a hand to catch her eye.

She turned back to him. He shook his hair out of his eyes and looked into her soul again and she couldn’t help but smile. She was like the candle, coming to life under his attention. It made her feel warm in a creepy dungeon that had no warmth. Too bad he was just a nice guy, trying to keep her calm.

"You didn't want me to know that the man—into whose dungeon we've been tossed—is ruthless enough to leave his son in this same dungeon to rot. Is that it?"

He smiled. His eyes crinkled and he winked at her. "Aye. That’s just it."

That wink sent chills to all the places she’d felt warm just a second ago. Winks, she realized, were highly under-rated.

She was afraid her knees might just give out if she didn’t look away. Unfortunately, Skully was the only thing to look at.

"What a very, very sad Halloween decoration."

"Aye, lass. Now, let’s not waste what time we have left to us."

She could get used to being called lass. It beat being called Jillian any day. She took a deep breath and turned back to him, trying to think of something to say, to keep him talking.

"Why do you say that? You always say that.”

She gasped when she realized it was true. He’d always said that—but in the dream!

How had her subconscious known she would end up there, having that exact conversation? How could she have dreamed about a man she’d never laid eyes on yet? She’d never even known about Jillian when the dreams had started, let alone the Castle Ross website where she’d found his picture.

Quinn’s picture.

Gah! He must have thought she was so stupid. He wouldn’t have any idea what she was talking about. But, holy crap! Quinn Ross—not Montgomery Ross—haunting her dreams?

It had been a shocker, running across that picture and recognizing him when he shouldn’t have existed. She’d obsessed about him 24/7, for weeks, making herself sick until she’d turned her attention to escaping from her federal babysitters.

But he was real. And he wasn’t Monty. And now he was going to think she was certifiable.

She closed her eyes and shook her head, waiting for the ceiling to fall on her head.

He laughed. Then he stopped short. Then he laughed again, and all without her looking up. He was delighted about something, and after a few seconds, she couldn’t stand it anymore and opened her eyes.

He reached out with his free hand and took hold of her fingers, pulling her up tight against the bars, and suddenly, she felt like they were in his cell and not hers. The heat coming through the empty gaps was more than enough to make up for the cold bars pressed against her. He studied her face for a minute and didn’t seem to find anything unpleasant, even though she hadn’t seen a shower or a brush for two days and been dragged halfway across Scotland by Cheval. The last time she’d cleaned up had been at Debra’s.

"I always say that?” he whispered. “We've only met, lass. When did I say it? And what did I say?"

She looked down, embarrassed. He’d been laughing at her after all.

“Speak to me, lass. I must know. Tell me the truth of it, if ye please.”

It was charming, the way he begged.

She took a deep breath, stalling, wanting to wait just a minute longer before saying anything that might make him want to let go of her.

"You're going to think it's silly."

"Never." He lifted her chin with a knuckle, and then the contact was gone. She very nearly lowered her head again, just to feel that knuckle a second time. It felt wonderful, like her chin had been starved for attention.

How pathetic.

"Fine,” she said. “I've had this recurring dream, see. It was about you—probably because of that picture on the website. But then I got to Scotland and saw Montgomery and I thought I was lusting after Jillian’s husband. I was sick about it, actually."

"Lusting, ye say?"

She tried to pull away, but then she remembered how badly she wanted to not be in that cell with Skully, so she let him pull her close again, grateful that he still wanted to, considering how silly she was acting.

"I ask, Juliet, because I've shared this dream."

Oh, great.

"Uh huh," she said. "Sure you have."

No way was she going to stand there and make a fool out of her. But if she put up much of a struggle, the candle would go out and she would freak out.

She took a careful step back, but he only pulled her tighter. The light wobbled and she froze.

He shook his head. "You don't believe me. I understand why you wouldn’t. I do. But I’m not playing with you. Hear me out, aye? In this dream, is it always dark?"

"Lucky guess."

"And is there always something between us, keeping us apart?"

She gave him one nod. No way would he guess anything else.

"And perhaps we only have a few stolen moments together because I'm supposed to die in the morning?"

Oh my hell! How does he know?

"What? Wait! What?"

He sighed. "Perhaps that wasn’t technically part of our dream then. But I always supposed what kept us apart was the impression that you were Jillian and the love of Monty's life, and not a wall of bars."

"Wait. Just wait a minute. What about you dying in the morning? Was that a dream, or is it real?" She found her fingers digging into his skin, trying to pull him closer, but he didn't seem to mind, which was lucky, because she couldn't seem to stop. She felt so desperate, just like she always did, clinging to him like she was. It was exquisite torture, wanting to hold onto the dream, not wanting to wake up, but at the same time hoping she wasn’t dreaming at all.

"The Gordon has decreed it,” he said casually, like, “It’s supposed to rain in the morning."

She stared at his broad chest and the neck just above it. Hang him? How could they? Were they blind? Then she remembered Skully.

"The Gordon is the bastard who left his son to die, right?"

"Right you are,” Quinn said, but she had the impression, from the way he was staring at her, that he wasn’t paying a lot of attention to their conversation. His eyes kept moving around her face, like it was a puzzle he was trying to solve. If someone handed him a pen, he might draw a little path from her brows, to her ears, back to her nose, then around to her chin. Her mouth was apparently the end game.

Please, let my mouth be the end game.

He looked back at her eyes and smiled.

She took a deep breath and sighed. "Then, we've just got to get you out of here."

She knew full well she was stepping back on the delusion train, but she didn’t care. This was no time to be realistic. Wolfproof, bulletproof, and fireproof. Well, the last part she wouldn’t have to wonder about if she managed to escape with him.

He laughed. "You have a grand plan, do ye?"

"Aye. I do." She couldn’t help but mock his sexy Scottish brogue.

"Complicated, is it?" He tucked her hair back behind one ear. She was losing his attention again.

"No, not really." She tried to imitate his sexy smile too, to get him to look at her lips again, but she’d done better with the accent.

He raised one brow. No way could she copy that.

"Truly? Then I must hear this plan."

She grinned and wished she could wink, but she was afraid she’d look anything but sexy doing it.

"We scream,” she said, “until they come to shut us up, then we overpower them and get away."

He laughed. Hard. It started to sound a little hysterical.

"Hey, don't knock it. I'll have you know every plan I've had lately has worked. For a while anyway. Obviously, this dungeon was not in my plans."

"And just how many plans have you needed lately, sweet Juliet?"

She was just about to correct him, to tell him that no one calls her Juliet, but she realized the chills currently shooting through her were due to the way he’d said her name—again, with that lovely brogue.

While she watched his lips, waiting to hear her name again, she told him how she'd gotten from point a to point b—from shaking the feds to stalking her sister with binoculars, from outrunning the Gabby’s hitman to ending up in Gordon's dungeon. It sounded more like a list of people, and an animal, whose heads she’d damaged in one manner or another. The head butt she’d given the guard at the Castle Ross’s gate made her sound downright violent, even when she called it a Glasgow Kiss.

He looked more than a little doubtful, and she was almost relieved he didn’t think she could be so dangerous. Then she remembered the wolf's tooth and pulled it out of her sock.

"See? Proof." When he had no comment, she got nervous and started to ramble. "You probably thought I was making it all up—"

He dropped the candle and reached for her. His lips were on hers before the light sputtered out.

Just like her dream. And who knew? Maybe she was dreaming again. Her eyes were shut, his lips felt the same as they always did. She reached up and held onto his hard biceps as well as she could. They were huge.

The bars kept her from moving closer, but she raised her hands to his neck and was able to hang on better.

He pulled back enough to break the kiss.

"Stay with me,” he whispered.

"You always say that."

"I mean here. Right here. Stay with me here, until morning."

"You usually say, until it's over."

"I thought I'd change it up a bit. Keep you on yer toes."

"I'm already on my toes."

"Well, then, I've got ye where I want ye."

And he kept her where he wanted her for a good long while. Finally, she had to ask for a time-out because the bars were bruising her face.

“You know,” she said as they slid to the floor, still clutching each other. “If anyone studies the angle of the bruises on your face and compares them to the ones on mine, they’re going to know what we’ve been doing.”

“Well, here’s our first test then. Looks as if someone is coming.”

She looked over her shoulder and sure enough, the passageway was turning orange.

“Get ye back, lass. Cling to the far corner. If they believe we care for one another, they’ll use it against us. Quick now!”

She crawled away like she was told, staying as far away from the Halloween decoration as possible.

“Juliet,” Quinn whispered.

“What?”

“Your cellmate stinks to Heaven.”

She smothered a giggle, then smothered another when she thought about how silly it was to be giggling in such a place, especially if she considered what might happen in the morning. But for the moment, the man from her dreams was smiling at her, knowing full well she was not Jillian.

Their visitors, when they stopped at her cell door, were not smiling.