Scotland for Christmas

Somehow, not even the promise of a weekend respite was raising her spirits, because at the end of the day, there was no escaping the fact that she would be attending a wedding without Alex, her longtime boyfriend. Which didn’t exactly ease her loneliness.

Another part of the problem, she reflected as she tossed in her cosmetics bag, was that the groom at the wedding was her cousin, Malcolm, her competitor for the job at home—the reason she was here, studying in New York. Malcolm—her uncle’s favorite—had a leg up on her. Now he was even getting married at a pretty inn—or so they said, though she hadn’t the heart to look it up online—in Vermont.

Like Bing Crosby’s White Christmas, she supposed. Her late father had enjoyed that old romantic film very much. But her father had died long ago. Her boyfriend was thousands of miles away in Scotland, on assignment as part of his lawyer duties, and he wouldn’t be available to accompany her, either.

Feeling gloomy, Isabel added her flatiron and comb to the case. Tossed a pair of shoes on top. She had better cover her disappointment soon, though she supposed it was the “attending solo” part that was truly bothering her.

All she knew was that she would give anything to have someone to go with. Just someone who knew her as she really was—someone she didn’t have to pretend with.

She heard a commotion outside in the corridor, near the lifts. Isabel straightened. Before she could investigate, her mobile phone rang. For a moment her heart skipped. Alex? But no, he was too busy to contact her on weekdays. And he was five time zones away, besides.

She checked the caller ID. It was the driver service her uncle used in New York. Her spirits sank lower, but she stuffed the disappointment down. Smile. If she put a smile on her face, then a smile would sound in her voice. A pleasant voice covered all manner of sins.

“Yes,” she said lightly into the phone. “This is Isabel.”

“Ms. Sage?” the dispatcher said. “I’m calling to confirm your one o’clock pickup.”

She forced herself to smile so hard, her lips hurt. “I was told it was a two o’clock pickup.”

“That explains it, then. Your assigned security agent buzzed you on the intercom but received no response.”

Isabel groaned. She’d been wearing a headset. Obviously, she’d been playing her music so loudly, she hadn’t heard the bell. “I’ll go down to the lobby and escort him upstairs myself. Is this the same driver who met me at the airport last September?”

“No. It’s not.” There was a pause. “You’ve been assigned to Jake Ross.”

A good Scots name. A Highland Scots name. That lifted her mood. Even if the man himself wasn’t Scottish, the name was a nice reminder of home. “Brilliant. I’ll go straight down and look for Mr. Ross.”

She piled everything still on her bed into her case and then zipped it up quickly. Made one last check of her face in the mirror: fine. She looked presentable.

As she opened her door, she bumped into Rajesh, his fist lifted to knock. He blinked at her. Rajesh was her suite mate, an engineering PhD candidate, with a dark moustache and snow-white turban.

“Braveheart,” he said. “There’s a man looking for you in the hallway.”

She didn’t react when he said Braveheart, though she felt a bit like cringing. So hard she’d worked to stay low-key amongst the members of her residence hall. For security purposes, she’d been taught since childhood never to let people know she was a member of the wealthy Sage family from Scotland.

Still, she smiled at him. “Thank you, Rajesh. I appreciate it.”

“Did you know he’s a Secret Service agent?” Rajesh asked. “Why would a Secret Service agent be looking for you?” He peered at her. “Did you do something wrong?”

“What? No. Of course not.” Isabel never so much as dropped a wrapper on the street. Shaking her head, she marched past him, into the living area of their four-person suite.

“Freedom,” Rajesh whispered as she brushed past, and he made that signal with his fist from the movie Braveheart.

Usually, she smiled congenially when he did that, but today she just couldn’t. He walked off, back to his group of engineer friends. She couldn’t see what they were doing in his room, but she could smell the pizza and hear the adverts on his television set.

Sighing, she headed off to staunch the much bigger problem before it escalated, like the good future CEO she hoped she’d be.

She skipped out to the hallway that ran the length of the residence hall, hearing her neighbors before she saw them. They were four older graduate students who lived in the nearby suites, thirty-somethings, most of them midcareer, and they rented their miniapartments directly from the university. Usually the building was quiet, save for the occasional homeless person who set up camp in their lobby before being chased out by the superintendent.

She found her driver trapped beside the lift doors, being quizzed by Courtney and Philip, the two most vocal of the group who also happened to be journalists. Isabel groaned. Her driver—Jake—did indeed dress like an active U.S. Secret Service agent. She understood their confusion.

He had close-cropped hair. Dark sunglasses that screamed policeman! He wore a dark suit with a white collared shirt. At his waist, he definitely carried a gun.

For a split second, Isabel froze. She’d been around security agents for most of her life, but they were never her security agents. They usually belonged to someone else—her famous uncle John, or her cousin Malcolm, who was lately becoming equally famous for his new startup venture in Vermont, at least in business circles and the financial press.

But her? She’d never been assigned her own bodyguard before. Until now, apparently. And for the sake of the job she hoped for in the future, she had better show that she could handle it.

“Isabel,” Courtney asked her outright, “why is a Secret Service agent asking for you? Are you threatening the president?”

“Are you counterfeiting money in your room?” Philip asked, winking slyly.

It took Isabel a moment to realize that they were mostly joking. Secret Service agents did in fact investigate both presidential threats and counterfeit money schemes, though this man her uncle had hired was no doubt a former agent, not current.

She felt like shaking her head—why on earth would this Jake Ross telegraph who he was?—but she ran a hand through her hair and smiled at Mr. Ross as best she could.

“I only counterfeit on the weekends,” she said lightly to Philip. But he was still staring suspiciously at Mr. Ross, so she tried another tactic. She didn’t want her suite mates to know she needed a bodyguard, or security of any sort. “Actually, Jake and I are old friends.”

“Oh,” Philip said. “I see.” Courtney nodded as if she understood perfectly, too.

Exhaling, Isabel glanced to Jake and found him staring so hard at her that there were two pinched lines between his eyes.

She swallowed. “Jake,” she managed to say calmly. And then, because it needed to be done—she’d uttered her white lie and now it needed to be followed up—she hooked her arm around his. “Sorry I didn’t hear you—I had my headphones on. Come into my room. I’ve been waiting for you all day.”

Deeper lines appeared on his forehead, and he glanced at her hand—clutched around the thin, fine wool of his dark suit jacket—as if she’d shocked him.

Well, she’d shocked herself, too. She was definitely not in the habit of groping strange men. And really, it was his fault as well as hers. He shouldn’t be so obvious—he was a terrible actor.

She would have to explain to him that if he wanted to drive her and be her security agent, then he could not go around looking and acting like a paid bodyguard, no matter how true it might be.

She smiled harder and gently dug her fingers into his arm to spur him into movement.

His biceps tensed beneath her fingertips. She heard a slight intake of breath.

But luckily, her neighbors were looking at her reaction—silly and grinning—and not his.

“Isabel, I didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” a familiar voice said loudly behind her.

Isabel gritted her teeth, but smiled broadly at Charles, unfortunately the team lead on her group economics project. Charles was wearing his favorite Che Guevara T-shirt and a beard styled like his icon.

Jake glared at Charles and his shirt. If two people were ever polar opposites, it had to be these two.

“Let’s go, Jake.” Isabel tugged on his arm as she escorted him down the corridor and through the doors to her suite. Touching him so familiarly seemed strange, much too intimate and close. But her heart was beating so quickly, she didn’t pause to think. She just wanted him out of the way, out of the line of scrutiny.

This time, she managed to get him into her bedroom and safely behind a closed door.

Alone with him, she stepped back, catching her breath. Yes, Jake had probably been a real Secret Service agent at one point—that was all her uncle tended to hire—but there was something else about him, something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

“What are you doing?” he asked in a low voice.

She swallowed, trying to calm her racing pulse. His expression was stone-faced. The dark sunglasses still covered his eyes, not giving her any hint as to his thoughts, but she had the impression of anger.

This just made her determined to change his mind. “I should ask the same of you,” she said lightly. “What I’m doing is behaving in a low-key manner. It’s what people in my family are required to do. Didn’t my uncle explain this?”

“Your uncle is John Sage?” he asked in a gruff voice. It was a wholly appealing voice. Strong. That was the first word she thought of. His arms were crossed over his chest. His lips were set. Kind of full, actually. He had a crease in his chin and lines on his forehead. His hair was cut so short as to be practically shaved off. It gave him a sexy, naked look. And she, with all her long hair—well, he was such a contrast to her.

“Yes, I’m Isabel Sage.” She snapped out of her distraction and gave him her winsome smile. People usually responded favorably to it.

He, however, did not. He just scowled harder at her. “We need to get going. Friday traffic is brutal.”

Brutal? Were people going to jump out at them with knives and swords drawn?

She laughed at the image, and then exhaled, letting her smile relax into a normal expression. It felt good, for a change.

“May I check your credentials, please, Mr. Ross?” she asked calmly. “If I’m to get in a car with you, then I need to be sure I’m safe.”

His expression stilled. Well, she didn’t move, either, because her request was perfectly valid. He reached into a front coat pocket and pulled out a badge for her.

It appeared he really did currently work for the U.S. Secret Service. She stared at the star on his badge, amazed.

“May I see your driver’s license as well, please?” she asked.

He seemed to stare her down. She felt a catch in her throat, but no, she had a stony business face she could give him, as well. She was a master at pretending—the more so since her stay in America.

“I always check credentials,” she murmured.

With a slight exhale, he reached for his wallet, removing a card, which he handed to her.

She took it. The plastic was still warm from being in his back pocket, close to his, well... She willed herself not to blush. He was a good-looking man, beneath all his gruffness. And anger, too—there was definitely an undercurrent of anger in there.

She glanced up at him from beneath her eyelashes, but he was looking away from her. Checking in all directions, like a working bodyguard.

She studied his identification card, which was a New York State driver’s license. Jacob Ross. New York City. A West Side address. A November birthday. He was two years older than her—early thirties—and he was five feet eleven inches tall.

“Everything copacetic?” he said in a somewhat testy voice.

“Lovely, Jacob.” She smiled tersely and passed him back his identification card. She was used to “testy” men—the trait seemed to run in her family. He didn’t scare her one bit. “Please don’t take it personally. I’m trained to be careful.”

“Any other questions?” he asked. It was...interesting how everything he was feeling showed in his face, his voice, his posture. He hid nothing from her. He had a smoldering intensity that was completely unnerving, like she had never seen before.

And right now, it was very clear that he didn’t approve of her. She felt a twinge just realizing it.

Ah, well, she would work to change his opinion. But first, the most important thing was to help him understand that she needed him to accompany her to the street discreetly, as if he was a friend here to visit her, rather than a paid bodyguard.

“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer that when we go out there again, you take care not to appear to be my driver,” she said as pleasantly as she could. “And I’d prefer to sit up front in your car, in case anyone is watching us out the window.”

“That isn’t protocol,” he snapped.

“It’s my protocol.” She smiled at him. “I’m sure you won’t mind.”

“I do mind, actually.”

She didn’t know what to say. His response was just rude.

They were silent for a moment, sizing each other up. He had the advantage with his dark sunglasses. But she was no lightweight either—she could handle anything.

“Look,” he said finally, “it’s not personal. I’m trained not to talk to or be familiar with my protectees. But I’ve got to say something.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “Yes, I’m listening.”

He glanced around her room. “Why are they letting you live here? This place is a security nightmare. I would never let my protectees stay here. See that window?” He pointed. “It’s sniper bait. And this building only has one way in and one way out. With your money and your profile, you should be living in the Ritz-Carlton. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“That would go over well in my study groups, Mr. Ross,” she said calmly. “I’m surprised you don’t see the danger in your suggestion.”

Jacob’s mouth opened and then closed.

She stood patiently. Waiting. From this position, she could see the corners of his eyes behind those dark glasses. He was gazing at her warily. His expressive eyes were a clear blue, as intense as he was. As if he had a hidden banked fire, burning within.

He expelled a breath. “Like I said, it’s my training.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and gingerly moved her away from the open window. “It’s what I do.”

Then he walked over and lowered the blinds. “I get people door to door safely. That’s what you can expect from me this weekend. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

This was an interesting situation for her. Maybe she should consider it another of her tests, the steps she’d been taking in working toward becoming the leader of her family’s personal-care products business.

At least she didn’t have to pretend with him.

“Can you do so and still act low-key?” she asked, rubbing her arms. “You know, not broadcast that the person you’re with—me—finds it necessary to hire a bodyguard just to drive a few hours, the way most people do every day as a matter of course?”

“You’re not most people, Ms. Sage,” he said between his teeth. “You know this, don’t you?”

He could be a big problem to her. Rajesh was right—Jacob, in his intensity, stuck out. He also didn’t care that he stuck out.

She cleared her throat. “What I do is stay low-key, Mr. Ross. You’ve heard the phrase ‘fly beneath the radar’?”

His frown intensified.

“That’s what we need to do today.”

He didn’t seem convinced. “You don’t know all the bad things that can happen to a person,” he said in a low voice.

She didn’t like to hear this kind of talk. “Do you feel uncomfortable with this job the way I’m describing it?” she asked bluntly.

He nodded. “Yes, I have to admit that I do. Your safety is my highest concern. We can’t just waltz out there and—”

“Would you feel better if we canceled altogether?”

His brows flew up. “No, not at all.”

Still looking flustered, he removed his sunglasses. Held them out to her, and then placed them on her dresser. “Okay, fine. Against my better judgment, we’ll do it your way. Here, look...”

He took off his suit jacket, shook it out and folded it. “I’m not a Secret Service agent anymore. I’m just your friendly limo driver. Satisfied?”

But that only accentuated the gun and the handcuffs at his waist. He looked so flustered at the realization that she had to smile.

She placed her hand to her mouth to cover it, but it didn’t stop her feeling from coming out.

He gazed helplessly at her. Without the glasses on, his eyes were so blue...a naked blue, with naked, desperate emotion shining within.

“It isn’t funny,” he said.

“No, I suppose it isn’t. I was just wondering what you’re like when you’re not on the job. Though I suppose you’re never not on the job, are you?”

Wordlessly, he shook his head. Beneath his gruff surface, he seemed...barren and bleak and out of his element.

Maybe she had completely misread him.

“This is what we’ll do,” she decided. “I’ll walk downstairs with you to the car. I won’t touch your arm—your gun hand will be free. It’s all right, you can put your jacket on if you’d like. But I really would be more comfortable without the sunglasses. Can you live with that?”

“Sounds reasonable.” Sheepishly, he shrugged his arms into the jacket. “You’re lucky. Usually we carry a radio, too. Sometimes an earpiece.”

“Then I’m glad I’m a CEO-in-the-making, and not a head of state under your protection.”

He smiled the barest hint of a smile, and then glanced at her again. He seemed to be seeing her through a new perspective.

It pleased her. She wanted him to know that she had big dreams she was acting on. It was the reason she put herself through this loneliness in New York. To her, her goals were important, even if she sometimes needed to play down who she was in order to succeed with the people she lived and worked amongst.

“I behave discreetly,” she explained, “because I need to make a good impression on my classmates. I need this degree in order to be successful in my uncle’s—in my family’s—company and this is the simplest way to achieve it. If I walked about telling people who I am, open about the fact of who we are, it could be a problem. People react to my family in strange ways, Mr. Ross. Some are angry or envious. Some think about the favors they might gain if they befriend us. It’s akin to winning the lottery, you see. You can only really trust the people you knew before you hit it big, and even then, money changes people.”

It was the most she’d ever spoken on the topic, the most honest she’d been since she’d arrived in New York.

She bit her lip, surprised at herself. Jacob was outwardly staring, saying nothing.

“Are you sure you want to make this trip with me?” she asked. “It might be a long three days.”

“Let’s get you there,” he said quickly, as if he was afraid she’d change her mind. “Let me get you there.”

She felt a surprising tug of warmth. “All right.” She gestured to her bed. “Let me just get my case.”

“Your case?” he asked, even though he was plainly looking at her case lying shut on the coverlet.

She sighed. She was forever making mistakes—it was the small things that tripped her up most, betraying what she tried to keep hidden. She just couldn’t let people know who she was, not really.

Then again, Jacob had a pretty good idea already, just by virtue of the job he was assigned. She wouldn’t have to be on guard quite so much with him. It was a relief, actually.

She picked up the case. “Sorry, I meant to say suitcase.” She put it down on the floor, extending the handle. “Are you ready for our weekend adventure, Mr. Ross?”

He looked at her as if he wasn’t quite sure.

CHAPTER TWO

SHE HAD SURPRISED HIM.

Isabel Sage wasn’t anything like Jacob had expected. Oh, on the surface she looked just like the photo Lee had sent him. Poised and put together. With her long blond hair, her list of accomplishments and that smiling expression, she appeared the consummate Golden Girl. Until he’d actually met her, he would have thought her a spokesmodel. Or a newscaster. Maybe a television personality.

Even a fresh-faced, though privileged, girl next door.

But beneath the surface, she was something else. An heiress to an industrialist’s fortune? Nope, he never would have guessed that. He interacted with people from that background every day, and Ms. Sage was unique because she didn’t display an entitled attitude.

Instead, she was accommodating. Pleasing. Appealing.

He couldn’t let her too close to him—though he understood why she was asking him to treat her the way she was. He was starting to respect that she had a legitimate strategy, flying under the radar as she was. Maybe he could handle her sitting up front with him, at least until they left Manhattan.

“We’ll switch out the seating arrangement once we’re out of the city,” he said to her, taking the handle of her suitcase. “When no one can see us, you can go back to sitting behind the partition.”

Ms. Sage said nothing. Her expression was set in that accommodating smile again, that really said very little.

He just couldn’t stop staring at her. He knew he should move faster, but he was stuck, one hand resting on the doorknob, the other gripping her suitcase.

And then a call came in to her cell phone.

She looked blankly at him.

He shook his head slightly. Don’t. Don’t pick up, he willed her. We need to get going.

But she was already glancing at the screen. Not much passed her face in terms of emotion. This woman would make a great poker player.

“Excuse me.” She turned her back to Jacob. Spoke in low tones into the cell phone. No longer the American accent she probably used to blend in but a sweet lilt to her words that he clearly recognized as Scottish.

Her voice struck a chord in him, deep inside. Made him feel centered in a way he hadn’t expected to feel in her presence.

Mentally shaking himself, he focused on what she was saying. Obviously, she knew the caller. Her voice had risen in surprise.

“Where are you?” she asked the caller. “Don’t worry, I know it’s confusing. Please stay put, I’ll come to you instead.”

Oh, no. Walkabout, he automatically thought. His Secret Service team’s expression for dignitaries who suddenly went off script, necessitating a massive operational response to accommodate the protectee’s whims.

As Jacob went rigid, his hand automatically moving to a radio at his belt that wasn’t there because this was an unofficial operation, she was fumbling at her desk for a pen, holding the cheap plastic cap between her teeth as she scribbled.

“No, it’s not a problem about being lost,” she said. “Yes, I can find you.” Laughter seemed to flutter from her lips. “Actually, I’m just thankful that you’re here. You have no idea. God, how I’ve missed you.”

What the hell?

She turned to look at Jacob, but he just gripped her suitcase handle tighter.

“Change of plans,” she said lightly to him as she pocketed her cell phone. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Jacob, but...er, we won’t be needing your services after all.”

We? Who’d been on the phone? A boyfriend?

“Ma’am,” Jacob said by rote, and then stopped, remembering. This wasn’t a regular assignment. All his training was out the window as far as Ms. Sage was concerned.

He sighed, swiping his hand over his forehead. She was going through the clothes in her closet, shuffling through hangers.