Jamee felt a lump build in her throat. She looked down the long row of worktables, each topped by a handwritten letter with a photograph of a different child. Each of those children would be touched with delight when they opened a box on Christmas morning and found a toy that was specially designed as the answer to a secret wish.

Tears welled up in Jamee"s eyes. Ian cradled two bears under his arms, fluffing the lace jabot on a very dignified bear wearing an exquisite miniature kilt.

Not bears, she thought. Ian McCall ought to be cradling children in his strong, gentle arms.

He ought to be holdingtheir children.

Wanting swept through her, fierce and wordless. She yearned to see Ian"s hands enfold the soft skin of a baby"s cheek. She yearned to hear his laughter mingle with the soft chuckle of an infant. What was happening to his eyes mattered nothing to her. Blind or sighted, Ian McCall would be an extraordinary father.

And since he was already an ineradicable part of her heart, it was Jamee"s duty to make him see that.

Ian took her arm and guided her back along the stone corridors that led to the main courtyard.

"I"ll give you the whole tour, if you"d like. Then I"m afraid I need to come back here and work." He rubbed his neck. "It"s the busiest season now and I"ve been away for too long a time."

"Because of me," Jamee guessed.

After a moment, Ian nodded. He looked out at the courtyard, a furrow between his brows.

Jamee saw that his jaw was tense. Was he in pain? Was it because of his eyes?

There was no point in asking, of course. He would never tell her.

"I want to see your favorite places, every one of them, beginning with that tower you and Duncan climbed out of. Then I"ll let you go, McCall, and not before."

"I take it you don"t want to see the dungeon?"

Jamee shivered. She thought of cold stone walls and the small, scuffling sounds of unseen animals. "I think I"ll pass on the dungeon tour."

"I suppose you"re not interested in our collection of old tartans, either," Ian said innocently.

"Tartans? Genuinely old?" Jamee"s face lit with excitement. "Made with the old vegetable dyes and not these horrible chemical colors?"

Ian nodded.

Jamee realized he was teasing her. She crossed her arms at her chest and tried to look nonchalant. "What would I be interested in old cloth for? Don"t you have anything more exciting?"

Ian"s lips curved. "I might be able to come up with something."

IT FELT DAMNED GOODto be home, Ian decided.

He had forgotten how the sun poured golden over the courtyard flagstones and how the old clan flag snapped crisply in the wind. He had forgotten how pleasant it was to hear the rustle of fabric and the soft laughter of villagers making museum-quality toys in rooms that had once housed blood stallions.

Most of all, Ian had forgotten the joy of showing this old castle to someone who could appreciate it as much as he did.

He would call Duncan shortly and alert him to their safe arrival at Glenlyle. After that, he wanted to check the evaluation of the fingerprints taken from the kidnappers" vehicle. At least one and probably several more men were still at large, and Ian wanted them traced as soon as possible.

The danger was not over, not by far, but it still felt good to be home.

He hid a smile as Jamee gasped at yet another stone tower filled with old swords and priceless muskets. The Great Hall had impressed her, but the trip up the stone staircase had nearly been her undoing. There, flanked by rows of tapestries and old clan plaids, she had danced from side to side, while questions spilled rapid-fire from her lips.

And Ian had found an unexpected pleasure in giving every answer, explaining the stories of the old hunting McCall pattern and why its colors were so soft.

Now there was one last place to show her.

Ian rubbed his forehead surreptitiously, trying to ignore the pain behind his eyes.

"Those people in the workrooms," Jamee said softly, "they looked at me-at us-as if we were married. Or as if we were lovers."

"I"ve never brought another woman here, Jamee," he said flatly.

"I wasn"t asking, Ian."

"I know you weren"t. I just thought you should know."

The curve of her lips was beautiful in the last rays of the setting sun. Ian had never seen anything so fragile, yet so full of power. An image swept into his mind, and a second later, it emerged on his lips. "Would you?"

"Would I what?"

Marry me.Ian wanted her on his arm, laughing at him across the dinner table, smiling at him from his pillow. He wanted her socks in his sock drawer and her towel next to his. The force of that wish left him aching.

It was out of the question, of course.

"Would I dowhat? " Jamee repeated.

Stay here with me forever.He cleared his throat. "Pretend something for me. From now until Christmas," he said hoarsely.

Her eyes met his. "I"ll pretend whatever you"d like, Ian. I"ll be whatever you want."

As always, her honesty and generosity left him reeling. He looked down as her fingers gripped his.

"Shall I be a reckless American who falls in love with a Scotsman on holiday? Or are you thinking of some sort of captive scenario?" She paused thoughtfully. "I"m not very good at following orders, but for you I"ll try. Maybe we can take turns following orders. Although, if you had something with leather and ropes planned, I"m not sure I-"

He pulled her the width of the stone steps, buried his fingers in her hair and kissed her into silence while his heart threatened to hammer its way out of his chest. Even this she would offer, to be his erotic plaything in some dark sexual fantasy.

And Ian knew that she would be superb at her role, the way she was superb at anything she attempted. He decided thathis heart was not up to the strain. "No, not that. Something gentler, yet far more dangerous." He kissed her eyelids softly, his breath playing over her cheeks. "Be my wife, Jamee. Just until I take you back to San Francisco for that Christmas Eve reunion with your brothers."

Jamee"s breath caught as he kissed her nose. "Of course, if weboth wore leather, that might be better. And instead of ropes we could-" She stiffened. "What did you say?"

"Wife." God help him, it was what Ian wanted. It was unreasonable, unfair to Jamee considering the bleak future before him, but Ian"s yearning wouldn"t be denied. "Until Christmas Eve when we have to leave. After that...we"ll see."

"Ian, I-" Jamee caught a ragged breath. "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I will."

"But-"

Her smile was lopsided, breathtaking. "Don"t try to wriggle out of your offer already, McCall."

Jamee eased closer and rose onto her toes. Her body brushed his, seduced his. "I"ve said yes, and Imean yes." A dimple showed at her cheek. "Leather and ropes included. Maybe even harem pants and perfume oils and-"

"No more." Ian closed his eyes and groaned. Suddenly the ache in his eyes seemed distant and very unimportant. He reached out with his arms and with his heart, wishing for forever.

But willing to settle for now.

When he opened his eyes, he saw desire sheening Jamee"s eyes.

Ian bit back a curse. He didn"t need ropes or leather. The touch of Jamee"s hands and the look in her eyes were almost more than he could bear.

And there was one place yet to show her.

MIST CURLED OVERthe gray stones and lapped against high glass walls.

"Here?" Jamee pressed her nose to a glass door covered with elaborate ironwork, trying to see inside. "Why would you have a greenhouse here in the middle of the castle?"

Ian pulled out an ancient key and unlocked the door. The iron frame grated softly as the door slid open. "I"m going to have to have that door oiled."

Jamee frowned. "Stop avoiding my questions. What is this place?"

"This is the heart of the castle, the reason the stones were raised here centuries ago."

"Don"t tell me it"s some kind of dungeon."

He shook his head. "Water." He stepped inside. The scent of bergamot and narcissus rushed from the warm, damp conservatory.

"Water? I seem to recall seeing more than a few drops of that up there on the cliffs. Why would you need more?"

"That"s the wrong kind. This is fresh water. Drinking water. The priceless element in any siege."

Potted oranges in white tubs scented the air with fragrance. Against the glass wall cyclamen and daffodils rose in riotous colors. Jamee touched a branch of flowering jasmine heavy with white blossoms. "Siege? You mean, that nasty thing armies did with battering rams and boiling oil?"

"That"s the one. Most castles had plenty of provisions stored for such an attack. Freshwater was the one thing no one could do without."

"So Glenlyle has its own spring. Very clever."

"My father sealed it in just before...his eyes gave out."

Dusk gathered against the lilac sky. High over head, Jamee could just make out the first faint sprinkling of stars. "Very nice," she said, stroking the tiny petals of a rare orchid. One brow rose. "My brother raises them. I happen to know these beauties are hell to grow. So who-"

"I take care of them. At least I did. Orchids used to be my hobby. Lately...I haven"t very much time for hobbies." Ian cradled the petals tenderly.

Jamee swallowed, thinking about how he had touched her with the same tenderness.

Longing rose within her. "Ian, I want. That is, I wish-"

Their eyes met. This time Jamee was taking no chances on his chivalry.

She wore a peach and purple dress of crepe. She knew exactly how it molded her hips and clung to the soft lines of her breasts.

Ian knew, too, judging by the darkness growing in his eyes.

Steam curled around Jamee as her hands slid to the top button, freed it, moved to the next. "I was thinking..." She shifted her shoulders carefully and a hint of creamy lace appeared above her breasts.

Ian made a low, strangled sound. "You were?"

She nodded, managing to expose another inch of lace. "About something you said."

"I"m afraid to ask."

"It was something about being reckless and making love all night on a pink sand beach." She turned, in the process managing to brush one hip against his thigh.

His very rigid thigh.

"This looks as close to a pink sand beach as I"m going to find in Scotland. What do you think, McCall?"

He didn"t move. Her face wavered before his eyes. It might have been the steam that veiled his vision. It might have been his eyesight failing.

Or it might have been the storm of emotions that her words unleashed.

"Jamee-"

A long Victorian daybed of rattan with chintz cushions stretched along one glass wall, guarded by a polished marble Cupid. Beyond that a natural hot spring bubbled up from a cavern in the solid stone. The gurgle and hiss of water seemed very loud in the sudden silence.

Jamee dipped a hand in the warm water, then rested one foot on the soft chintz. With careful grace she drew her skirt over her knee, revealing a silken thigh and a fragile lace stocking.

Garters. Dear God, she was wearinggarters.

Ian felt sweat cover his brow. He was losing, and losing faster than he should have. "We might as well leave now. There"s more to see," he said unsteadily.

Her head tilted. "I"m very sure of that." The white stocking loosened and began a slow descent down her thigh.

"Jamee-"

White silk spilled over Jamee"s ankle. "What are you waiting for, McCall? I"m not a patient woman."

Ian swallowed. Raw desire slid into fierce protectiveness. He knew at that moment there would be no other woman for him after this, no other mouth that would provoke him to fine madness.

Jamee raised her other knee. Mist clung to her hair, dampening the auburn strands about her face while moisture clung to the damnably sheer wedge of lace at her chest.

Her dress shifted, its silk cupping her gently rounded breasts.

Ian swallowed. Her nipples were peaked, sweetly distended. He couldn"t look away, suddenly sorry he had given her that third glass of champagne at lunch. But he realized the champagne made no difference. Jamee had changed in the last week. She was confident now, sure in what she wanted and willing to reach out for it. At any other time, Ian would have delighted in her confidence.

But not now.

Her fingers slid beneath the second stocking. She made a low, breathy sound. "I"m afraid I"m caught, Ian."