Lion of Caledonia: International Billionaires VII: The Scots (12 page)

“Not now.” Risking herself again, she reached for him, running her hand along his smooth neck, feeling the rough strands of his hair covering her skin. “Come here.”

Cam chuckled. “The mouse becomes bold.”

Her answer was to take, steal, and plunder his mouth.

* * *

S
he surprised him
.

This average woman. This little mouse.

Yet he shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d sensed the fire inside her, the heart of a burning desire. He’d tried to walk away and ignore and confuse himself with distractions. But he’d known. His instincts were fine-tuned to see danger far before it reared its head in front of him.

Until this time, he’d always paid attention to the warnings.

Her average mouth turned into a burning call to his sex. She swirled her tongue around his as if she owned it and him. Cam had always been able to describe anything—a town, a person, an event. The taste of this woman went beyond his ability to explain.

The wet. The want. The wild.

“Come closer,” she whispered on his lips. “Come over me.”

There wasn’t anything average about what roared through his blood and body. He’d convinced himself they’d both have a bit of fun and do something they’d been wanting to do since they set eyes on each other.

He’d ignored his instincts and thought he could play his usual game with this woman.

A fool. A complete fool.

Because this. This was nothing like what he’d planned. This wasn’t the fun and frolic he usually experienced with women. This was something entirely different.

A clutch of terror twisted his gut.

She pulled away from licking his neck to peer at him. “Are you okay?”

No, he wasn’t. He shook inside.

“Jenny.” He traced a hand down her waist. “Maybe we should stop.”

“What?” Her grey eyes widened in immediate distress.

And hurt.

“It’s not ye.” He cringed at his clumsiness. Generally, he had more finesse with women. “It’s the boy.”

“You weren’t worried about that a minute ago.” His mouse nailed him, her gaze narrowing. “So it must be me.”

It was her.

But not in the way she’d taken it.

“You’re too much for me, lass.” He forced the admission because she deserved better than what he’d given her so far. Which was far too much. Or what he wouldn’t be able to give her. Which was very little.

He’d had his fair share of women, before his marriage and after his wife’s death. He’d kissed the ladies and never made any of them cry. Not even Martine.

Because they’d all known.

Cam Steward was all about the adventure, the thrill, the next big thing.

Cameron Steward didn’t do one place or one woman.

This woman’s eyes widened again as she kept staring at him. Then a slight smile curved her far-from-average mouth. “Don’t try and make me believe adventurous you is scared of little old me.”

“Not scared exactly.” Actually, it was that exactly.

Jenny scared him.

He’d ridden a Jeep smack into the middle of a gunfight in northern Africa. He’d flown a sputtering airplane out of a bombed-out town in Iraq. And he’d survived dozens of cuts, bruises, and broken bones.

Yet, he’d never been as scared as he was now.

Leaning on one elbow and sucking in a breath of air, he struggled to clear his foggy brain. But his other hand seemed to have a mind of its own. Even though he’d decided not to continue, he kept touching her. Running his fingers across her hips, rubbing his palms on her warm waist, circling closer to the pair of average breasts he desperately wanted to see and touch.

He tried to pull himself together and out of this unexpected quagmire. “I’m thinking this might not be a good idea. You’re my employee after all.”

That got him a snort of disbelief. “Come on.”

“It’s something to think about.”

Her strong hands swept across the scratch of his jaw into his hair. “Mr. Rule Breaker is suddenly sitting back to think?”

“Ye know me so well, eh?” A shiver of pleasure went through him at her touch. The anxiety swimming inside, the fear of what she could mean to him if he went any further, threatened to be swamped with the desire she inspired.

“I’m beginning to.” Those magic hands of hers swept down the front of his chest and before he could stop her, she slid under his jumper and touched the skin of his belly.

Everything inside him stilled as he let out a sharp gasp.

“You feel so good,” she murmured, her gaze never leaving his. “So hot and hard.”

He groaned. “Ye said only kissing.”

“Then kiss me.” She gave him a womanly smile, a slow, seductive opening of her lips. “Kiss me and I’ll stop touching.”

There wasn’t anything he could do in the face of her power other than become a slave. He hadn’t anticipated this, this swift slide from a bit of fun and games into dependence. He should have seen, should have known.

Fool.

But there was no hope of escaping. Not when those mysterious eyes drew and drew and drew him in.

“Jenny.”

Nothing mattered after that. Nothing pinged his conscience or entered his brain. Swept up into a wildfire, the only thing he could hold on to was the center of the fire itself. The heat of her lips, the hot burn of her skin as he let both hands roam where they wanted, the fever of want making him mad with need.

He gave his mouth to her, his tongue and teeth. He ceded his body to her, let her run her hands over his naked back and stomach. He surrendered his need and male desire into her soft, supple hands.

The world around him faded into nothingness. The sound of the wind and fire drifted to silence. His awareness narrowed to only this woman he held in his arms.

“Da? Jen?”

She froze under him, her nails cutting into the skin of his sides.

Cam came back to the world to find himself lying between her splayed legs. His painful erection pressed into her warmth, seeking satisfaction even through the layers of their clothes and the piercing realization that before anything, he was a father.

A terrible father.

“I’m here,” he croaked before he rolled off her.

Her hands slipped from under his jumper, a smooth glide of heat.

“Da.” The childish voice held a hint of disgruntlement. “Where’s Jen?”

“I’m here too.” Clearing her throat, she scrambled out from beneath the blanket he’d thankfully pulled over them.

Cam edged back to lean on the sofa, wool tartan still covering his embarrassing erection. Glancing toward his boy, he noted that Rob had straightened into a sitting position. He met an intense glare.

Although he didn’t have his glasses on, his child wasn’t stupid. “What were ye doing to her?”

“We were talking—”

“He was telling me the rest of the story…” Her words cut his tall tale off and then crumbled to an end.

Rob crossed his arms in front of his scrawny chest, his face scrunched into a grimace.

The mouse twisted her hands in her lap as she scooted farther away.

Amusement rumbled in. Who would have thought Cam Steward—a man who didn’t care what others thought, who didn’t spend a moment thinking of taking a kiss, who never once since he’d been a young lad felt chagrin—now had all three experiences to deal with?

He looked across at his boy and grinned. “Well, son. Ye aren’t dumb, are ye?”

“Huh?” Rob gave him a puzzled frown.

“We were kissing,” his father announced cheerfully.

“Cam!” Jenny’s worried, grey gaze sliced his way.

His kid’s eyes went wide, then wary. “Why’d ye want to do that?”

“Because she’s pretty.” He got on his hands and knees, and prowled across the rug to his son. “And it’s fun.”

“Fun?” Rob’s mouth firmed. “I don’t think so.”

“No?” He stopped next to his son’s side and smiled down. “You’ll learn. It’s fun.”

The boy glanced past him, curiosity filling his expression. “Did ye have fun, Jen?”

A choked sound came from her throat.

Cam wrenched around. All his amusement faded into thin air, replaced by guilt. “Are ye having trouble breathing?”

“No. No.” Through the shadows, the only thing he could see was her outline, but by the way she held herself, he didn’t detect fear or anger. He should do something, though. Scoop her close. Hold her. He made a move toward her, then stopped.

Another choke came from her. This time it was tinged with…

Laughter.

The taut stillness in his body eased away, and he gave her a quick, relieved grin. Even in the dark, he noted the smooth length of her white neck, the way her mouth widened into beauty, the glint in her misty eyes.

“Why is she laughing, Da?”

“I don’t know.” He turned back and leaned in. Grabbing his son, he settled next to him, snuggling into the musky smell of fire ash mixed with boy. “Maybe it’s because she’s having fun.”

Rob scowled. “I don’t know if I want ye kissing her anymore.”

“Och.” Glancing her way, he noted she’d finished her laugh. She stood by the fireplace, sliding her average hands down her body in a useless attempt to straighten the clothes he’d been rumpling mere minutes ago. “Why not?” he murmured into a small ear.

“Because.” Rob took the hint and lowered his childish voice to a whisper. “I want her to be my friend.”

“She can only have one friend?”

“I’m leaving.” Her clipped voice broke between them. “Time for my own bed.”

“Good night, Jen.” His kid smiled, as if he’d won a great victory by keeping them apart. “I’ll see ye tomorrow.”

“Right.” She didn’t meet either of their gazes and the laughter appeared to be long gone.

He didn’t know what to say. What could he say in front of his child?

Come back here.

Stay. Please.

Let me kiss ye again.

All of those words hovered in his head, slipping in between the obligation to his child and the story he held so tightly in his skull. He’d never had other words and obligations distorting his work or his stories. He’d always been free to jump right into his story brain and rock on to the next big tale.

Now he couldn’t do it as easily as he once had.

Now he had his son.

Now, dammit, he might have Jenny.

“Good night.” She marched past his desk, on a mission. To escape his presence apparently. “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

The library door whispered shut.

“Da?”

“Yeah, Rob?” He tried to be okay with her leaving. But he wasn’t. His body hurt for hers. He tried to be okay with what was going on in his brain, but he wasn’t. He was angry. Sad. Mostly scared.

“I’m glad you’re home for good.” His son beamed at him. “I’m really glad.”

The anger, the sad, the fear still churned inside.

Yet along with it, came a pure joy.

“
I
’ll not have
this noise, Jenny.” Cam lurked in his usual corner in the window bay, glaring at the crew of landscapers roaming his garden. “I won’t.”

“Do you want your party?” She kept her fingers on the keys, waiting for him to get beyond his snit and start dictating again.

“Yes.” He swung his glowering glare back at her. “But not the noise.”

“You can’t have one without the other.” She gave him the same bland gaze she’d given her grandfather whenever he huffed and puffed about some decision she’d taken that disrupted his peace. “It’s only for ten more days.”

The day after she’d agreed to take on the party, she went to work. Her old contacts in London had provided a helpful list of vendors in Edinburgh. A few dozen calls and quite a sprinkle of money had produced signed contracts with a landscaping crew, a cleaning service, and a top-notch catering firm.

She’d made herself a deal. Organizing this party for Cam and his son would be her way of giving them something in return for the ring. Once the party went well, she’d take the ring and disappear.

“Ten fucking more days.” He pawed through his hair, leaving its dusky strands in familiar disarray. “I’m going to get behind and my agent won’t like that at all.”

“You told me this story was ahead of schedule.”

“Not ten days ahead.” His mouth tightened, drawing her unwilling attention.

During the last few days, she’d focused all her energy on the party, instead of thinking about her impulsive grab for Cam and his kissing.

A grab she’d regretted.

She’d given up being impulsive long ago. It had been the right thing to do then. And now, now when she’d come back to earth from her wild jump into Cam Steward, she’d realized it was the right thing to do at this time, too.

No more kissing.

He’d also kept away from her.

Much to her relief. Much to her despair.

Jen had run her mind over and over his sudden withdrawal that night before the fire. What had he meant when he’d said she was too much? She’d never been too much. She’d always been too little.

What had he meant?

The whine of a vacuum cleaner sifted under the firmly closed library door, pulling her out of her thoughts. The noise was accompanied by a loud clatter as another suit of armor was pulled down for a thorough scrub.

“How the hell am I supposed to think?” he roared.

Sighing, she eased back in her chair. “Perhaps you should take a break from the writing until this is done.”

Her reasonable suggestion was met with…

“Baw!” He swept around, all animal antagonism, and paced to the other window bay.

She hid a smile by turning back to the computer.

“Where was I?” he muttered.

A sturdy knock echoed from the door.

“Jenny.” His growl rolled through her, a heated threat. “If ye don’t do something about this, I swear—”

“Come in,” she called in a calm voice.

The manager of the cleaning crew, a happy-go-lucky young man with a perpetual smile on his face, poked his head in. “Sorry to disturb you. Need to know if you want to dispose of some of the furniture that’s falling apart or if we should store it in one of the empty rooms.”

“I don’t want to keep any of the damn furniture!” The male roar thundered through the room and the perpetual smile fell off the manager’s mouth.

She jerked around and stared at Cam. “You don’t like any of your furniture?”

“No, hell no.” He stuck his hands in his black jean pockets and gave her another glower. “I had nothing to do with any of it. Why should I like it?”

“Then who—”

“My dead wife. Who’s been gone for years.”

The sudden dullness in his voice was such a contrast to his normally vibrant tone, it shocked her. This man seemed to soar through his life, focusing on the fun, never on the worrisome aspects of living. She’d known vaguely about a dead wife, but she hadn’t understood the pain this death had left behind. “I’m sorry—”

“Naw.” His big shoulders shrugged and swung away to stare out of the window. “It’s nothing I want to talk about.”

“Well.” The manager’s face was filled with discomfort, yet he professionally plodded forward with the subject. “I still need to know what you want to do about the furniture.”

Making a decision, she stood. “Robbie does like some of it, and it’s his house as well as yours.”

Cam grunted, though he didn’t disagree.

His response gave her courage. Jen walked to him, not daring to touch, but pushing herself to come near. “I think we need to go through the house with your son and decide what you want to keep and what you don’t.”

The manager had apparently had enough. “Let me know what you plan on doing.” The door closed behind him.

“You’re trying to distract me.” He turned to her, his two-toned eyes narrowing.

“Yes. Exactly.” She braved a grin and got a tiny one in return. “Come on. You can’t write. Let’s turn this house into a place you want to live in.”

“I don’t know if that will ever happen.” He looked down, cutting their connection. Yet the wistfulness in his voice tugged at her heart.

“This is Robbie’s home.” She wanted to touch him so badly. She kept to herself, however, knowing it was smart. “So you should try and make it the best for both of you.”

He made a sound of disgust deep in his throat. “I suppose we’ll have to hie ourselves up to Edinburgh and do some shopping.”

“If you had an internet connection here, we could do it online.” Crossing her arms in front of her, she gave him a mock scowl. “Which begs the question as to why you don’t have one.”

“Hmm.” His tawny brows drew together in a familiar frown. “Tre always took care of that kind of thing.”

“Tre?”

“My, um, friend.”

“Friend.” Why did he appear as if she were putting the screws to him? “And something more?”

“A bit.” He flashed her a real scowl, then went back to glaring through the window.

She didn’t make it a practice of grilling anyone, yet her curiosity about this man and his life was too great to deny. “A bit of what?”

“He used to be my transcriber, okay?” His disgruntled words flew around the library as he prowled over to the African masks. “He used to help me tell my stories.”

“You tell your own stories.” She stayed where she was, but she couldn’t let that comment pass.

His paw waved her observation away. “Anyway, he was my photographer when I traveled.”

“I see.” She did. He’d lost a lot coming back here for his son. And the losses still hurt. “He was your friend, your typist, the photographer for all your reporter stories. Plus, he handled all the details you didn’t want to.”

“Correct.” He shrugged, his body communicating that it wasn’t a big deal what he’d lost.

“Why don’t you ask him his advice on setting up broadband here? I’m sure he’d have some ideas.”

“I didn’t want to pester him.” His shoulders rolled, as if trying to sweep away her suggestion. “He’s busy with his adventures.”

Adventures he missed. It was clear in the tight set of his jaw. “He’s your friend. Why wouldn’t he want to help you?”

He swung around, his predator eyes piercing her with annoyance. “Because I’m stuck here. For good. I didn’t want him to get pulled into my mess.”

“Cam.” She puffed out a disbelieving breath of air. “This isn’t outer Mongolia. You aren’t stuck anywhere.”

“That’s not—”

“If this Tre is your friend, then he should be glad to help.”

A look of puzzled confusion crossed his face. “Ye think?”

“Yes. I think.” She bustled to the desk and shifted through his mound of papers. “Here’s your mobile.”

“At least I have one of those, eh?”

Jen smiled at the tease. “At least. Now, call him.”

Pacing to her side, he glared at the phone sitting in her hand. “Internet, here in the hinterlands.”

She risked a touch and grabbed one of his hands, slapping the mobile into his palm. “Call him.”

One big finger plunked a time or two on the screen and then he lifted the phone to his ear.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Why?” His eyes widened in feigned surprise. “You’re the one that’s forcing me to do this. If ye leave, I might cut the call.”

Chuckling at another clear tease, she leaned on the desk and waited.

“Tre.”

A deep voice drifted from the phone, unintelligible to her.

“I’ve got a wee lass here who insists I get internet installed.”

The deep voice spoke again, and Cam’s mouth twitched. “Yes, yes, we can talk about that later, but what I want to know is if it’s possible out here.”

Talk about what? Jen’s mind wandered through the possibilities, and a blush threatened. Were they talking about her? Was this Tre teasing his friend about her?

“Ye don’t say.” He humphed. “Why didn’t ye tell me that six months ago?”

The answer didn’t appear to please him. “Don’t be a dobber.”

The deep voice went on for quite some time. Cam’s eyes closed, as if he were hearing words from hell, and finally, he blasted his own voice out. “Stop, then, Tre. You’re giving me a headache.”

The other man’s voice started talking again, but before he could finish a sentence, the mobile phone got thrust into Jen’s hands. “Ye and Tre deal with all this gobbledygook. I’m taking a walk on the moor so my head doesn’t explode.”

Before she could stop him with an objection or a yank of an arm, he stalked out of the library, slamming the door behind him.

Jen placed the phone to her ear with a hesitant slide. “Hello?”

“Typical.” The man at the other end of the line didn’t appear to be fazed. “As soon as I go into any kind of detail, Cameron loses it.”

“Um.”

“Ye must be the wee lass.”

“I guess.”

“What’s your name?” The voice matched Cam’s in its rich burr, yet there was an underlying seriousness that rarely inched into his friend’s tone.

“Jennet. Jen.”

“Jen.” A splash of voices burbled in the background before a door closed. “You’re his new transcriber, I bet.”

“Yes.” A pang ran through her, because she heard in his voice the resignation of being replaced. “But he misses you.”

A short, surprised laugh was her response. “Don’t tell me he told ye that. The intrepid, impervious Cam Steward?”

“He didn’t have to.”

This time, his response was a short, sharp pause. “Fascinating,” he said. “I can’t wait to meet ye.”

The blush threatened once more, and she made a sudden decision to make herself scarce during the party. She didn’t want to be drawn into any more of Cam’s life. She’d meddled enough as it was. And being scarce would be fairly easy to do. Someone would have to manage the proceedings. That someone would be her. “You had some instructions for me, I take it.”

“Changing the subject. This gets more and more interesting.”

“Instructions?”

Tre obediently gave her what she needed. A contact number, a personal friend, a company that would be glad to put anything together for the famous writer, Cameron Steward.

“I have it.”

“Aye, I think ye do.” His tone went straight from serious back to humor. “I guess I’ll see it for myself in a few short days.”

She ignored his innuendo, because whatever he was thinking, he’d soon see there was nothing. By the time Tre and all the guests departed from the party, she’d have left, too.

Left a lonely little boy and his surly, sexy father.

Tre would not like her then.

Neither would Cam Steward or his son.