Lion of Caledonia: International Billionaires VII: The Scots (10 page)

Testing her again. But it seemed absurd after this afternoon to insist on Ms. Douglas. “I think Jen would be better.”

“Better?” A flicker of delight flashed across his face as he leapt into another tease. “Naw, that’s not right.”

“What?” Her mouth, without her assent, rose in a reluctant grin.

“Better would be Ms. Douglas.” His two-tone eyes twinkled. “Best is Jen.”

“I call her Jen,” his son joined in. “I think that is the best.”

“Better and best aren’t quite good enough for me, though.” Cam’s gaze never left hers. “Jenny is my name for her. Only mine.”

The something that had quivered on the loch, now rose and rose. Past her gut, past her soul, past her heart. She feared this something as it soared straight out of her and into the heavens.

“Ye okay?” A quizzical look filled Cam’s expression at her silence.

“Jen?” Robbie turned to stare at her in concern.

“I’m okay.”

Cam hopped on the boat, a worried frown drawing his brows down. Leaning in, he grabbed her twisting hands. “Another spot of problems with your breathing?”

“No,” she said, staring at their joined hands instead of into his eyes.

“Now, don’t be embarrassed about it.” He scooped her into his strong arms, pulling her into his warmth. “Just take your time. We’ll wait.”

Robbie crouched beside them. “She’s sick?”

“No,” his father responded, his voice calm, his hand smoothing across her back, trailing comfort and heat in its path. “Jenny sometimes has trouble breathing when she’s scared.”

“I’m not scared.” But yes, she was. She wasn’t having one of her usual attacks. The attacks that came when she became so angry or so furious or so hurt. This attack was worse. This panic inside couldn’t be healed by taking deep breaths.

The boy kneeled, a serious look on his face. “I know what it’s like not to able to breathe. I remember.” A small hand tucked in between his father’s and hers. “I’m right here for ye.”

His father kept stroking his hand over her. “Ye remember, Rob? It doesn’t happen anymore?”

“No, Da.” The kid glanced up to meet Cam’s keen gaze. “It hasn’t for a long time.”

“Good to know.”

“I’m fine.” She wrestled away from the two males and stood. “I wasn’t having an attack.”

Cam let her go, dropping his hands to the teak boards, leaning negligently on the bow. “What were ye having then?”

Not you. I won’t let myself have you
.

“Are ye sure you’re okay?” Robbie gazed at her, concern still lingering in his gaze.

“I’m sure.” She looked around, trying to find a way out of this too intense situation. “How do I get off this boat?”

“Ye have to jump, Jenny.” Cameron Steward’s rich voice curled inside her, testing once more. “Can ye jump?”

S
he’d jumped
out of the boat and right into the fire.

A fire in her soul. A fire in the library. Both meant she’d been caught.

“Jen.” Robbie gave her a scathing look. “You've got to hold the stick straight.”

His father’s chuckle drifted from behind them.

“The stick is straight,” she objected.

“No, it’s not.” The boy gave her an irritated puff of breath. “Here. Let me.”

“Fine.” She stuck the stick in Robbie’s hands and leaned away from the fireplace.

She should have gone directly to her room and safety, instead of to the library. But Cam had wheedled and Robbie had pleaded and she found herself helping to raid the decrepit kitchen for supplies.

“We’ll have a wee fire and cook our food over that,” Cam had announced. “It will be fun.”

Fun seemed to be these two males’ operative word. The word put a big grin on the father’s face and elicited a yelp of excitement from the son.

Jen couldn’t say no.

All the lights were off in the library. “Of course they have to be,” Cam had stated. “Or else it won’t feel like a campfire.”

The food they’d pilfered surrounded them. Plates of crispy brown apples competed with bowls of hot beans. Tin-foil-wrapped potatoes steamed with butter, and a row of half-burned sausages waited to be munched on.

“Ye need to roll the sausage as ye put it over the fire.” Robbie’s eyes narrowed behind the glint of his glasses.

“It’s the main course, so it has to be done right,” his father stated.

“You’re not much help.” She looked at the reclining male. He lay in lazy disarray, his head leaning on the side of a stuffed sofa, his hands relaxed on his stomach.

“I believe Rob has it well in hand.” A grin spread across his face, his white teeth gleaming in the firelight. “I’m here to devour the feast.”

All the pillows and blankets they could find in the house had been piled by the hearth. “It will be like the campfires I used to sleep by when I traveled.” Cam’s eyes had lit with fond memories. “We can even sleep here.”

She was not going to sleep here.

She wasn’t that stupid.

“Okay.” Robbie jumped from his crouch, a steaming sausage waving in the air. “We’re ready to eat.”

Jen considered herself a healthy eater, but these two males put her to shame. They dived into the food with both hands. Literally.

“There are spoons.” She pointed at the mishmash of utensils she’d insisted on dragging from the kitchen. “And forks. And knives.”

Cam gave her a twinkling wink. “When I get to the beans, I’ll ask for a spoon.”

“I don’t need a spoon to eat a banger.” The boy stuffed the bread-wrapped sausage into his mouth.

The father watched his son, his odd eyes gleaming in the firelight. “Ye aren’t a picky eater, are ye?”

The boy slowly chewed and then swallowed. “Who told ye I was?”

“Your granny.” Cam leaned over and flipped a log on the fire, his gaze on the flames.

“I used to be.” Robbie fiddled with the edge of the tin-foiled potato sitting on his plate. “But not anymore.”

“Hmm.” Another log landed on the blaze and a shower of sparks shot up in a sprinkle of light. “What changed?”

She nibbled on the last of her sausage, letting the spicy pepper and minty sage roll on her tongue. These two were finding each other. The knowledge made her happy, and if she could help them before she left with their precious ring, perhaps this would be a small way of paying them back.

“I guess I got hungry.” The boy flashed a mischievous grin at his father and got a chuckle in response.

“Did ye?” Cam swept a pot of beans into one paw and giving her his own mischievous glance, dug out a spoon from the pile of utensils. “I used to be a picky eater, too.”

“Ye were?” His son appeared dazzled, as if this shared trait was a great honor to be worn with distinction.

“At your age the only thing I wanted for supper was fish and chips.”

Robbie’s face scrunched in distaste. “Fish?”

“Aye.” His father eased back on the pillows, his long legs stretched toward the fire. “Ye don’t like fish?”

“No.” The answer was decisive.

She wiped her hand over her mouth to conceal her smile. The man across from her noticed, though, and gave her a knowing grin. “You’ll like fish when we go and catch our own.”

The boy’s head popped up from his examination of his half-eaten potato. “You’ll take me fishing?”

“I did say a boy has a lot to learn, didn’t I?”

His son’s eyes gleamed with happiness. “Yes, ye did.”

“Then we’re going fishing.”

“When?”

His father laughed at the eager question. “I’ll have to get some permits, and get the boat ready.”

“The other boat,” Robbie said. “Not the sailboat.”

“Correct.”

“I thought you owned the loch.” She ventured into the conversation. “Why would you need permits?”

“Och.” Cam glanced her way, his gaze intent. “Ye know that, do ye?”

“I did my due diligence before I came for the job.” Her spine straightened trying to shrug off the guilt of knowing more about this man than she should.

“Hmm.” His gaze never left her face. “Due diligence. Such a lovely, pompous phrase.”

She forced a frown past the guilt. “You—”

“When ye go all English on me, Jenny,” he cut in, his voice rich and redolent with layered nuance. “It makes me quite excited.”

A shot of pure lust zinged from his predator eyes right into her belly.

“She does have her English ways,” his son piped in, oblivious to the underlying currents. “Like, she insists I wash my hands every time we leave the garden.”

“That is not an
English way
.” She pushed back on both the lustful gaze of the father and the son’s nonsensical complaint. “That is merely common sense.”

Cam chuckled at her offended objection. “Now, don’t get on your high horse.”

“I’m not—”

“Before ye get all hot and bothered,” his voice rolled through the last words, bringing heat to their meaning. “I’ll answer your question.”

“What question?” She frowned again, this time in confusion.

“You’re so hot and bothered you’ve forgotten?”

Robbie laughed. “You wanted to know why Da needs permits if he owns the loch.”

“I do own the loch, but I still have to follow the rules I agreed to.” Big hands laced through each other on his flat, hard stomach. “I lease out the far end to an angling club and a boating society. That’s where the tour boat came from. And that’s where I need to get the permits.”

“I didn’t know that.” The boy’s brows furrowed as if this lack of knowledge irritated him.

“It’s a big loch. It should be shared.”

The generosity in Cam’s deep voice startled her. Jen lusted after this man and had a heart for his determination to know his son, yet she hadn’t expected this character trait. She’d supposed he held onto his wealth and his possessions like her grandfather did—with a hard, tight fist.

“Surprised ye, did I?” His sharp gaze centered on her. “Curious.”

“When can ye get the permits from the angling people?” Robbie inserted himself into the conversation, his voice impatient.

“I don’t necessarily need to get the permits, but it’s the right thing to do.” His father’s two-toned eyes never left her face. “Ye want to keep good relations with your neighbors.”

Another start ran through her. She’d supposed from the lack of contact with the outside world, this man lived an isolated life on purpose.

“So,” the boy rolled the word in his mouth, a clear attempt to copy his father’s way with language. “We’ll be able to fish tomorrow?”

Cam laughed. “More likely next week.”

Robbie’s shoulders slumped in immediate dejection.

“Don’t worry, lad, you’ll get your fish.”

“Fish.” The boy pouted, yet his eyes twinkled with glee.

His father gave him a glinting look before swinging his attention back to her. “Do ye like fish and chips, Jenny?”

“I suppose I could choke down a supper of that every once in a while.” Her full stomach and the warmth of the fire made it too hard to object to the name he used.

“Too lowbrow for your Sassenach sensibilities?”

His son giggled as he peeled open a warm apple for his dessert.

Jen shot him a look and then swung back to answer his father. “It’s been my experience the usual fish and chips isn’t very good and isn’t very healthy.”

“Och,” he teased. “Your vast experience.”

Robbie snickered again.

She felt a heat rising inside. Not of anger, she could take the teasing. But of embarrassment. Because the man wasn’t talking about fish and a pile of potatoes. She could tell by the way his wide mouth edged into wickedness and his golden eyelashes lay half closed, barely concealing the glitter in those odd eyes.

Another zing of lust flew between them.

The child didn’t understand the conversation flying over his head.

Thank goodness.

“Well.” She stood and grabbed her discarded mac. “This was fun.”

At their favorite word, both males went taut. Or perhaps the reaction was an objection to her leaving. The thought tugged a whisper of pleasure through her, but she couldn’t let it affect her.

Things were getting perilous, here.

Even with a child around.

“Come on, Jen.” The boy bounced to her side and took her hand in a sticky clutch. “We haven’t eaten all the food.”

“I’ve had more than enough.” She rubbed her hand across her stomach. “And it’s time for bed.”

“But we were going to sleep here. Da said.”

“What I say, doesn’t always hold sway.” The low rumble wrapped around her like a giant paw. “Does it, Jenny?”

“I’m sure you’ll have fun without me.” She smiled down at him and ignored the father. “It’ll be good for you and your father to spend time together alone.”

A wary look crossed his small face. “Jen.” He tugged on her hand until she leaned in closer. “I need ye to be here with me so I can be with him.”

“Robbie,” she whispered back, trying to hold firm in the face of his childish plea. “You’ll be okay.”

“Please.” His eyes were wide behind his glasses. “I’m scared.”

* * *

H
is boy was scared
.

Of him.

A steel jab of hot hurt dug right into his chest. Even if the boy had confided the emotion in a soft, hard-to-hear voice, Cam had heard.

He’d always been cursed with a keen sense of hearing.

The mouse appeared torn, as well she should be. Her choices were either to stay here in the scary-man’s lair, where she’d be teased about her
English ways
and tormented by his unwanted lust. Or she could abandon the wee lad to his father’s rough care.

A hard choice indeed.

“Jen.” His child held on to her average hand with a stubborn grip. “Stay for a while more at least.”

A while more. A while where he’d find himself using his words and his voice to lure her in. Where he’d find himself in a restless dance to charm and cajole her closer and closer.

“I’m sure she’d much prefer her warm, cozy bed alone then spending time on this hard stone floor with us two ruffians.” The bitterness in his voice surprised him. She was just a mousy little lass. Nothing to get upset about.

Rob glanced at him with his eyes wide.

“What?” he muttered at his son. “She can go if she wants. We’ll be fine without her.”

His sullen tone drew her gaze. Her blonde brows rose, her average mouth dropped.

Cam flushed.

He didn’t know what was wrong with him. He sounded younger than his own son, for fuck’s sakes. He was ashamed of himself. It shouldn’t matter if she stayed or went. Somehow, though, he felt as if her presence bound them together, all three, and he didn’t want to lose the feeling.

Not now.

Maybe not forever.

“I think I’ll stay,” she said with simple grace and a slight smile.

His stupid lust roared approval and even worse, his stupid heart rose.

“Great!” Rob bobbed in a jig by her side, swinging her hand in his. “Come here and sit by me.”

“First we should clear up the supper.” With her usual efficiency, she turned to the stack of plates and unfinished food.

“Leave it.” He forced himself to lounge on the pile of pillows pretending he was a sultan and she was a mere supplicant. It was the only tale he could pull out of his story skull at the moment. The turbulent emotions running through him threatened to blank everything all together. “Mrs. Rivers will clean it tomorrow.”

The mouse gave him a sharp look from beneath her lashes as she grabbed a plate. “I don’t think that’s fair.”

“It’s what I pay her for.” He ruffled the edge of the blanket in his fingers, trying to quiet himself down. “She isn’t doing anything else I pay her to do. She might as well do this.”

She straightened her English back and he could practically see the rod shooting up her spine. “It isn’t her fault you gave her an impossible task.”

“Taking care of me?” His son piped in with avid glee.

“No. Your father wants to have a party.”

Rob’s face lit with pleasure. “That’s brill—”

“Here.” Jenny plunked the plate on the floor. “In this monstrous place.”