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Authors: Nicole North

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BOOK: Kilted Lover
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Yes, definitely a cousinly kiss. “Bye.” She watched him stroll away in his starched khaki pants. Watching him made her feel bored in contrast to the excitement of watching the Scot stride away in his kilt.

I’ve lost my mind.

She should be happy with what she had—a nice-looking, organized, eligible bachelor with an amazing income and everything that came with that. Dejected, she made her way to the bleachers.

When the kilted hottie strode confidently along the other side of the athletic field, her spirits lifted instantly.
I shouldn’t look. I shouldn’t look!

But she couldn’t help it. The way he moved did something to her, ensnared her attention and gave her a delicious flutter in her stomach.

He’d confined his long hair into a ponytail which revealed the hard line of his square jaw. He laughed at something one of the other men said, and his granite features transformed into an expression—alive and warm and approachable—which mesmerized her. What a contagious sound his deep laugh was. She caught herself smiling in response.

When his turn came to toss the caber, he leaned forward and hoisted the fifteen-foot log vertically onto his shoulder. That thing would break a normal man’s back. All his muscles rippling and flexing, he walked forward a few paces, stopped and heaved the caber. It landed on the top end and flipped to rest with the bottom end pointing directly away from him.

Amazing. Leslie joined in the applause.

When he strode out of sight, her gaze drifted over the crowd and caught on the gray-haired British man who’d harassed her earlier. He darted a glance her way, and started when he noticed her eyes on him. He turned and slipped away through the crowd. What was his deal? A cold prickle needled her.

***

That evening, after the Celtic rock concert jammed into full swing, Scott MacPherson spied the woman with the amulet. Her blue eyes were unforgettable, like the azure skies of Scotland on a rare clear day. And in the sunlight her hair had shimmered red as a flickering flame.

He kept remembering how she’d eaten him up with her eyes during their brief conversation. If not for his sporran, he would’ve ended up with a kilt tent. He’d been one second away from asking for her phone number when Mr. Meticulous showed up and destroyed his mood. Scott’s overactive primal side wanted to devise a scheme to get past the man. Neither of them had been wearing wedding bands.

Forget it!

And yet, he couldn’t clear his mind of her. He also couldn’t help but notice the boyfriend had disappeared. Scott barely resisted the temptation to join her on the bleachers and find out her story.

Something about those two as a couple didn’t fit. Scott sensed a hidden wildness in the woman, something untamed and hungry yearning for release. Perhaps it was the spark of stunned attraction in her eyes when he’d helped her, or maybe it was the way she now clapped and enthusiastically moved in rhythm with the live music.

He wanted to unleash her inhibitions and explore every inch of her creamy, cinnamon-freckled skin. His cock tingled and stirred, beyond willing and able, but he wouldn’t invade another man’s territory. He’d been on the receiving end of that situation last year when another man swiped his fiancée right from under his nose. Scott wouldn’t sink to that level.

More importantly, the Englishman and his crony stood nearby, staring at the redhead as well. Scott moved closer to them, hoping to hear a word or two of their conversation between sets of the loud music. The men’s voices rumbled.

“What do you think it’s worth?” the tall, skinny American asked.

“Won’t know ‘til it’s appraised, but I’d say a million at least. It’s ancient and one of a kind,” the British man said. “I’m almost certain it’s the legendary Glaminy Amulet, companion to the Ring of Glaminy.”

Years ago, Scott had read about the mystical Ring of Glaminy and how it had been stolen from a Scottish museum. But the ring had a blue stone, whereas the woman’s amulet had a green one. Still, if what the man said was true, the amulet would indeed be worth a hefty sum.

“Here she comes,” the American said.

A bulge at the back of the Brit’s waistband caught Scott’s attention. When the man moved his arm, his jacket pulled up and exposed the pistol grip.

Hell! Would they actually steal her amulet at gunpoint?

The bastard hadn’t been shy about grabbing for it earlier. She’d probably put up a fight and get hurt. Scott couldn’t let that happen. Though he didn’t know her, he wanted to, and he had to warn her about the danger.

The woman strode away from them and toward the trees. The two men quickly followed, allowing her to walk in front of them with a person or two between on the thoroughfare.

“Shit.” Scott trailed them, dodging people in the dwindling crowd.
Now what am I going to do?
He was a log home contractor, not a cop, and he definitely didn’t have a death wish.

The men gained on her as she approached the restrooms. When she disappeared inside, they slipped behind a tall bush.

Scott ignored them and strode on as if he were going to the men’s restroom, not far beyond. Once out of sight, he doubled back and waited. Sure, the Brit would recognize him, but he didn’t care.

When she emerged, he glided in beside her and tucked her arm through his.

She wrenched herself away from him. “You.” Her gaze skittered down his body. The lower light of evening didn’t prevent him from seeing her blush.

He forced a smile. “Hello again, lass.”

“What do you want?” She wrapped her fingers around the amulet. “How did you know my name?”

“Your name is
Lass
?”

“Les—never mind. What do you want?”

Likely, her stalkers heard their every word. He didn’t want to face two armed men, nor did he want them swinging guns around in this crowd. He had to remove her from the danger and avoid a confrontation altogether.

He inched closer to her and whispered, “Two men are following you.”

She took two steps back. “Excuse me?”

“Two men,” he murmured through clenched teeth. “The British man and his friend are following you. They want—”

She glanced around. “I don’t see anyone following me, except you.”

“Dammit, woman.” She was wasting time with this bickering.

The men, wearing blue and white masks with Celtic symbols, rushed forward. The short one brandished a pistol.

Scott charged the one with the weapon, shoved his arm up, and squeezed. He howled and dropped the pistol. Scott punched him, once in the stomach and once in the face, and sent him sprawling.

The woman screamed as she scuffled with the tall, skinny man. She dropped her purse and protected her amulet with both hands. The man snatched her purse from the ground and sprinted away.

“Bastard!”

She chased him and Scott joined her. The man climbed into a big black SUV and leaned over in the seat. He was probably going for a hidden pistol.

“Watch out.” Scott grabbed her arm and dragged her away.

“No! He has my purse!” She jerked free from his grasp.

Hearing footsteps behind them, Scott glanced back to see the man he’d knocked down rushing toward them, gun in hand.

“Hell!” Scott picked up the woman, threw her over his shoulder and ran.

***

Leslie screamed. Her head dangled upside down. The kilted man’s hard shoulder had slammed painfully into her stomach, almost knocking the breath from her. What the hell was going on? Did he want her amulet? Was he in league with the other two and only pretending to help her? All three of them had shown up at the same time.

“Ow! Bastard! Put me down!” Tears burned her eyes. Leslie kicked toward his face and elbowed his back.

“He’s kidnapping that woman!” a nearby woman yelled. “Call the police!”

Dear God, what if he was kidnapping her? What if he was a rapist or serial killer? They were known to be charming to lure their victims.

The maniac slid to a halt in the gravel, wrenched open the driver’s door of an oversized, blue four-by-four pick-up, and pushed her inside. He crawled in after.

Adrenaline infused her with a burst of strength. She scrambled toward the passenger door and freedom. The power locks popped down.

“Dammit.” She poked the buttons with her fingers. When the engine roared to life, the window rolled down. She could climb out.

She’d shoved most of her upper body through the window, when he grasped her skirt and hauled her back in. “Are you crazy? Come back here!”

She turned to sit upright, then kicked him. “Let me go!”

Unflinching, he pinned her ankles together with one big hand and steered with the other. Spinning gravel, the truck slid out of the parking area, and then zoomed past a large plantation house and onto the drive that stretched beneath the long avenue of oaks.

“Let me out of here!” She pounded his mountainous shoulder with her fists.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?”

She grabbed a handful of his loose hair and yanked.

When he slammed on the brakes, the momentum propelled her forward. She let go and smacked her hands against the dash, catching herself.

“Look, Lass—or whatever the hell your name is—can’t you see I’m trying to save your ass? They’ll catch us in no time.”

“I don’t even know your name. How do I know I can trust you?”

“I just rescued you from two armed men and you don’t trust me?” He looked incredibly offended at that.

“Um. I don’t know.” When she scooted backward, he loosened his grip, grabbed the steering wheel and stomped the accelerator. She eyed the door, the power lock in particular. It probably wouldn’t open while they were moving anyway.

“How do I know you’re not one of them?”

“If I was, why would I knock the guy down?”

“Maybe you want my amulet, too. Or maybe you’re a rapist!”

His glare turned sharp. “No. I’m not!”

“You hurt my stomach. I’ll probably have a huge bruise across it from your damned hard shoulder.”

This time his glance was startled and concerned. “I’m sorry. Does it still hurt?”

“No,” she admitted. “I’ve just never had a man throw me over his shoulder before as if he were a caveman.”

“I thought cavemen dragged women by the hair.”

“Ha ha.” Was he really one of the good guys? She didn’t have time to figure it out. “They took my purse. I have to get it back.”

“They have guns. I thought maybe your life was a bit more valuable than your purse.”

“Well, yes.” She watched him warily. Oh, God, had she just made a huge mistake? Going off with a muscle-bound stranger was not a wise thing to do. Where were the cops she’d seen earlier in the day directing traffic? Probably gone home.

She cringed when she realized all the personal information the thieves had now. “Clearly they wanted to steal my purse, not my amulet. It’s worth a lot more. They could max out my credit cards, drain my bank account.” Her stomach ached when she imagined all her savings gone.

“I heard them talking about your amulet.”

“You want it, too,” she accused.

“No, I don’t, dammit! I’m not a thief.”

“You’re a kidnapper. That’s worse!”

“I told you—”

“I know. I know. You’re saving my ass.”

He sent her a riled but hot glance. His darkening green eyes raised her temperature. His gaze slid down her body, then darted to the road ahead. Whew! That frown he wore gave him a look of fierce intensity, as though he might want to manhandle her again. Awareness tingled through her.

But she couldn’t let the brute touch her.

Turning, she stared through the rear window and noticed the black SUV at the other end of a long stretch of drive. “They’re following!”

“I knew they would.” He barely slowed at the stop sign and turned onto Long Point Road. They sped down the highway while Leslie tried in vain to collect her thoughts. If those two purse-snatchers actually wanted her amulet, why? Could it be more valuable than anyone in her family realized?

She observed the man beside her, wondering if he was a criminal or a hero. Though she’d seen him in action during the caber toss and the hammer throw, she’d missed his name when they announced the winners because she’d gone to buy a meat bridie. “What’s your name?”

“Scott,” he said. “Scott MacPherson.”

“You’re kidding.”

He quirked a brow. “You find that hard to believe, too?”

“No.” Only that she’d been thinking of him as a
Scot
the entire time. “You were aptly named, huh?” She again checked out his kilt and those muscular legs.

“My grandparents emigrated from Scotland. Did you say your name was Lass?”

“Leslie Livingston. My friends call me Les—oh, my God!”

“What?” He glowered into the rearview.

“Fletcher.”

“Fletcher?”

“My boyfriend. He’ll be there to pick me up at eight o’clock, and he won’t know where I’ve gone.”

“Why did he leave?” Without warning, Scott turned onto another road.

“He wanted to play golf. He’ll worry when I’m not there.”

“For now. But he’ll thank me when this is all over.”

For some reason, Leslie didn’t think so. “Dammit, my phone was in my purse so I can’t call him. Do you have a phone?”

“I left it on the boat. If I carry that damn thing around, one of my employees will be calling every other minute with a building problem.”

“Boat?”

“Yeah, I’m staying on a small motor yacht. It belongs to a friend.”

Her mind turned to more pressing matters. “Are you sure those men were after my amulet? How did you know they were talking about me? Seems like too much a coincidence, unless you were following me, too.”

In the twilight, he flicked on the headlights and the glow illuminated his face. “All right, you caught me. I was watching you, but not because of the amulet.”

“Why, then?”

He slid her a potent glance, his eyes darker in the dimness.

“You don’t mean—” Her body heated with electrical awareness.

“I was going to ask you for a phone number or see if you wanted to grab a bite, but that was before
Fletcher
showed up. Don’t worry. You’re safe. I don’t want another man’s woman.”

BOOK: Kilted Lover
9.99Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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