To Scotland With Love (15 page)

She glared at him. “Of course not. You're harmless.”

“Right,” he drawled, not sounding harmless at all. “I thought we could sit by the fire. And talk,” he added as an afterthought.

Except she could read his mind. The two of them on the sofa, shagging.

She couldn't—wouldn't—be destructive with her life again. Tom had played her, known how to make her
succumb, like he'd read her instruction manual. He'd wooed her, cajoled her, and convinced her that they were two halves of one soul. But they were only empty words. He was incapable of real love. Like her da. Like all men she knew.

But even though she'd never fall in love, her body burned for Graham in a way she'd never felt before. Literally burned. If she went outside and sat in the snow, the white stuff would melt and go to steam in seconds.

“Deydie will expect me home at the cottage.”

Her gran, with her superpower hearing, made her way over to them. “Go on, now, but watch yereselves. I'm off to see Kenneth and have a wee bit of a nightcap with him and Moira.” Deydie yanked her coat off the hanger and Graham helped her into it. When she was sufficiently garbed, she turned to Cait. “Don't be long.”

He pulled her coat from the rack and slipped her into it. “I need to have a quick word with Father Gregory. Shall I meet you outside?”

“Sure.” To her own ears, her conviction sounded about as firm as the cotton batting in a soft quilt.

As he walked away, she said a small prayer.
Please give me strength.
But she was weak. And couldn't help falling just a little bit for the luscious man sauntering down the hallway.

She should just make her excuses and head back to Deydie's cabin alone. But when she stepped outside and Graham came toward her, any resolve she'd had got swept away with the wind.

Graham gazed into her eyes, and as if on cue, the wind died down and his wolfish grin faded. What was left was sincerity. He kissed her hand. “Ye are safe with me, Caitie. I promise.”

She tugged her scarf more securely around her neck. “Since you promised.” The problem was, could she trust herself?

Graham led them down the boardwalk, then up the path to his house. “You go in and sit by the fire.”

In the parlor, the first thing she noticed was that Graham still didn't have a tree. “Surprising,” she said aloud. He'd helped Duncan with his earlier. She wondered for a moment if Graham had an aversion to pine needles strewn all over his mansion. Her next thought was that it was way too intimate in here. She went around the room, turning on every light and even bolstered up the fire with extra logs. The place looked as bright now as if it were midday instead of Christmas Eve.

He returned, shaking his head. “Caitie, shame on you. Ye've doubled my carbon footprint.” He handed her a glass mug. “Let's just enjoy the firelight.”

He turned off the switches himself and came toward her.

She was one of those rabbits caught in the sights of a predator—too scared to make a run for it.

He reached out and gently took a lock of her hair, examining it as if it were a petal of a delicate flower.

It was a strange sensation, standing by the fire so—one side of her heated to the extreme, the other side chilly. Kind of how she'd felt about coming back to his place.

He leaned down and kissed her. It was all flame then—her insides skipping the pleasant middle ground and kicking straight into full-on desire. She could feel him holding back, and she knew it was for her benefit. He'd promised her safety. But her inner naughty girl took his restraint as a challenge. What harm was there,
really, in playing with fire? She deepened the kiss, slipping her tongue inside his mouth and exploring like she had something to prove.

He moaned, and her desire intensified. She held him tighter. Just to up the stakes a little, she found his waistband and tugged out his tailored shirt. Her hands traveled up his body to his warm chest.

“Caitie,” he moaned into her mouth. “What're ye doing to me?”

“Shut up and take it like a man.” Her wicked hands caressed their way to his back and downward to his waistband, this time moving into the lower region.

“My promise.” His plea came out a bit strangled.

“Screw yere promise.” She was surprised at how thick her own brogue had become. Her hands went downward, to the place of no return.

“Are ye sure about this?” he asked.

She kissed him back, hard. “It's Christmas,” she finally answered. “What the hell.”

T
hat was all Graham needed. Still kissing her, he scooped her into his arms. He had a hard time of it making his way up the stairs, trying not to trip or bump into a wall. He used his elbow to switch on the lights and lay her on his bed.

“
Now
you want the lights on.” She said it playfully and looked smoking hot at the same time. He could've lit a firecracker with her. And if he didn't get inside of her soon, he'd go
bang
just at the sight of her lying on his bed.

“Ye're driving me crazy, lass.” He ran a hand through his hair. He wanted her to strip so he could revel as every bit of her came into view.

“Turn off the light and come here,” she answered, rising up. She looked completely sure about herself now, none of the worry he'd seen earlier. She'd crossed some hurdle, and he was glad of it.

He hit the switch, thankful for the full moon and the skylight positioned over his four-poster mahogany bed. “God, ye're beautiful,” he said.

He went to her, and she kissed his neck while she unbuttoned his shirt. He stood very still, taking her torturous
loving caresses, knowing instinctively she needed to be the one who took this first step, be the one in charge.
Only for now,
he consoled himself.

She made a path down his chest with her mouth, his hard-on straining upward against his pants. She undid his belt and slipped it off. There was no time for teasing with this woman. Next she went for his zipper and pressed his pants to the floor. He stepped out of them, but she wasn't done with him yet. She slid her fingers under the waistband of his boxers.

“Ye're killing me,” he groaned.

“I know.” She laughed and ran her tongue over his hard nipple. She pushed his boxers down and wrapped a hand around his dick.

And the game was up. He put his hands around her face and pulled her lips to his, working hard at kissing her tenderly. Only it came out as much more. Every emotion he'd felt for her since he'd met her went into that kiss. He burned for her. Not some little matchstick flame but a full-blown bonfire, out of control.

But all of a sudden, something shifted in her. She pulled away from him and got into bed resolutely, and he wasn't quite sure what he'd done wrong. She no longer looked like an eager lover but a dutiful one. For a second, honor had him close to throwing on the brakes to find out what had changed with her. But blood surged through him on testosterone overload.
No, Graham. Don't you dare miss this opportunity.
He let his hormones win out, and he joined her on the mattress, rolling on top of her, careful not to squash her.

But he was naked and she was fully clothed.

“There's something wrong here,” he said lightly, not wanting to distance her further. “Yere clothes.”

She wriggled beneath him until he felt the coolness of her bare legs against his.

“I'm ready,” she said.

He couldn't ignore her strange mood this time, but he tried once more. “That's all I get? Those tights off?”

“My panties, too. That's the important stuff,” she defended. “Are we going to do this or what?”

Pride had him close to redressing himself.

His penis, though, would never forgive him for throwing in the towel.

“Do you have anything?” For as sexy as it sounded, she could've been asking for a fucking Band-Aid.

“Fine.” He sounded like a prat, but he didn't apologize. He retrieved a condom from the bedside drawer.

“Can I help you with that?” Like offering to help tie his shoes.

“I've got it,” he hissed and slipped on the rubber. He might be peeved at her, but his pecker was still hard as a hammer. And he had some banging to do.

No!
He stopped himself. This was Caitie. Except she hadn't been herself in the last few minutes.

He rolled on to his side, finally acting the gentleman instead of a horny bastard. “What's going on here?” he said gently. “I thought you wanted this.”

“I'm cold.” She pulled the covers up over her nearly clothed body and lay as stiff as a corpse.

“It's my job to keep you warm.” He took off the condom and pulled his boxers over his disappointment before joining her under the covers. “Come here.” He slipped his arm around her shoulders.

“I don't know what's wrong with me,” she whispered.

He didn't know if she'd said it to him or the darkness.

“Nothing's wrong with you. Apparently, it wasn't the right time.” His dick would've begged to differ.

“No, it's me. You're perfect.” Her thick Scottish burr had vanished, becoming a sort of forced American accent. “The timing is fine. I'm just damaged good-ds.” There was a catch on the end of her voice.

“Nonsense.” He pulled her close. “Ye're a piece of work, Caitie Macleod. I'll give you that. But it's not damaged goods that ye are.” He kissed her temple. “You're a masterpiece. Do ye hear me? A masterpiece.” A warmth came over him and woke something deep inside, a fierce beast. If it was her dead husband who'd done this to her, Graham only wished the motherfucker were still alive so he could make him pay. Maybe it was something else. He only knew that he'd do everything within his power to make this woman happy.

“A masterpiece,” Graham repeated to the night.

She began to cry and curled into him. He felt helpless. He did the only thing he could do—held her closer. “I promise you, Caitie—”

He stopped himself—threw the throttle in reverse. He'd almost made a fucking declaration. Was he crazy? He did not make pledges or vows.

Even worse, he actually had no idea what it was he so desperately wanted to promise her.

* * *

Cait heard the words but didn't respond. Her heart was broken. This wonderful, amazing man thought she was a masterpiece, while she'd spent most of her life believing she was a bit of dust gathering in the corner.

She felt awful that she had led him on and then put on the brakes. She couldn't believe he wasn't furious with her. Taking care of her emotional needs when his carnal
needs hadn't been met? Graham was an extraordinary man. Hell, Tom wouldn't have cared.

They lay entwined in each other's arms until she got her emotional breakdown under control.

He kissed the top of her head. “Are ye all right, then?”

She looked up at him from the crook of his arm, his face a mixture of helplessness and stoicism in the moonlight. She sat up. “I'd better get back to the cottage. Deydie wouldn't approve of me in your bed.”

“Ye're probably right.” He sighed. “I'll walk you home. I need to get to Duncan's anyway.” He slipped out of bed.

She searched for her discarded tights and undies, finding them in the folds of the comforter. Embarrassment swept over her, and she was grateful he hadn't turned back on the lights. After they were both dressed, they walked back down the hill in silence.

Outside Deydie's darkened cottage, Cait put her hand on his chest. “You can't come in.”

“I know.” He kissed her on the forehead.

She slipped into the cottage without a backward glance.

Because the lights were out, Cait expected to find Deydie in bed. Instead, she found her gran sitting in her rocker by the fire. “The little one needs to go out,” Deydie said without looking up.

That was the nicest thing she'd called the puppy since he'd come to stay.

“I'll get him,” Cait said.

“Ye do that. And keep an eye on that scoundrel. I need to run up to the big house. I forgot to check on the turkey.” Deydie grabbed her coat and left.

“Oh God,” Cait said to Dingus. “Lucky we didn't get caught.”
The bed, Graham, Cait's tights in the sheets.

She picked Dingus up and ran her hand over his plump wriggly back. “I guess it's just you and me.”

The dog yawned in reply.

“Or not,” she said. But she wasn't truly on her own anymore now. She had her grandmother. She rubbed her cheek on Dingus's fluffy fur, then took him outside. When she got back in, she quickly set up her sewing machine and grabbed the quilted potholder. It took only minutes to put the finishing touches on Deydie's Christmas present. She hid it in the small Christmas bag she'd brought with her just before her gran returned.

Deydie took off her coat and sat by the fire again.

“Tomorrow—” Cait started.

“Now, tomorrow is a busy day.” Deydie said it like today had been one of idleness. “Most of the day we'll be preparing the Christmas feast.”

“And where are we celebrating it? Here, just the two of us?” Cait asked, not sure what to expect, especially after the “checking on the turkey” comment.

Deydie eyed her closely. “Ye're not getting all squidgy over Graham, are ye? He's one who'll never marry again.” She glared a moment longer, then sighed. “We tried, ye know. We wanted Duncan to have a proper mama, not us old ladies watching after him. But our Graham declared he'd never wed again and he's held to that promise.”

“Who's talking about getting married? That's the last thing I want or need,” Cait defended. “I was just asking about Christmas. Are we having it here or not?”

“Not.” Deydie looked like a churlish child with a secret.

Cait put her hands on her hips. “Fine. Then I'll assume we'll be at Graham's.”

There was a long silence while Deydie creaked back and forth in her rocker. Finally, she looked up. “Watch yere heart, Caitriona Macleod,” Deydie warned. “It's a hard thing to take back once ye've given it away.” By the fierceness on her face, she looked like she could've written the book about love lost.

Cait eased into the other rocking chair beside Deydie. She wanted to reach out and touch her but didn't.

“I know something about giving my heart away,” Cait said. “Believe me. I know what a mistake that can be.” But her heart seemed to have a mind of its own. Graham had called her a masterpiece. He'd been nothing but wonderful to her. And despite all of Cait's rational reasons for not wanting to get tangled up in a love affair, her heart had a mind of its own.

It wanted to defy everything and wrap itself in pretty paper and give itself to Graham as a present on Christmas morning.

* * *

Christmas Day started at five
A.M.
with her gran rushing around like she'd downed a case of Red Bull. Deydie bossed Cait from one end of the cabin to the other. But Cait occasionally caught her gran stealing moments alone with Dingus, sitting in her rocking chair and holding the little guy close. If Cait even looked their way, her gran would harrumph and put the dog back in his box.

Before they left, Deydie dug a red ribbon from her sewing box and tied it around the puppy's neck. “Not a word from you, missy,” she growled at Cait. “I'm doing it for Graham.”

Cait raised her hands. “I didn't say anything.”

Gran put the dog back in his box. “Take yere nicest clothes. We'll be dressing for dinner.”

“Okay.” Cait had anticipated this and dug around in her suitcase for an outfit.

“Hurry up, now,” Deydie complained at the door. “We've things to do.”

Cait rushed to Graham's as sweet anticipation flowed through her.
It's Christmas,
she told herself, and her butterflies had nothing to do with a possible crush on a certain someone.

But when they arrived at his house, Graham wasn't there. It felt like the Grinch had stolen her Christmas. At least the turkey smelled good.

Cait put a cap on her feelings lest Deydie get the wrong idea about her relationship with Graham.

“Put these in the parlor.” Deydie stacked the gifts into her arms.

Cait took them there but had no tree to deposit them under.

She heard the back door open, and her heart skidded to a stop. Deydie started caterwauling from the kitchen like a near-murderous fishwife.

“Watch yere feet. Not on my clean floor.” Her gran's frantic voice got closer and closer, her pitch higher and higher. “Oh, Graham, stop.”

Mattie, still bundled up, appeared first, his cheeks glowing from the outside. Then came Graham, dragging a tree behind him. Deydie followed, ranting about her floors.

“Ye're making a mess. Look at those pine needles. If ye'd warned me. Oh, dammit.” Gran huffed back to the kitchen.

Cait smiled at Mattie and stood beside him. “Now
that's
a tree.”

The boy laid a possessive hand on one of the branches
and ran it along the length. When he looked up at her, she saw a little pride there.

Graham propped the eight footer in the corner. “Mattie found it and cut it down with my da's saw. You should've seen him.” He turned to his grandson. “Run out to the shed and get the tree stand.”

The boy raced from the room, snow dropping from his soles, his boots echoing as they thudded across the hardwood floor. Graham and Cait were alone.

She raised her eyebrows at him. “Cut it down
all
by himself, did he?”

“With a little help.” Graham stalked up to her, playfulness and determination etched into his grin.

Signals were sent out to her nether parts to prepare for an invasion. It warmed her through and through.

He stopped directly in front of her. “Is Duncan here yet?”

The question threw her, since the only thing she could really concentrate on right now were the golden flecks in Graham's brown eyes.

“Haven't seen him.” Her voice sounded hoarse. Probably from lack of oxygen.

“Good.” Graham took her arms and adjusted where she stood. “Mistletoe,” he said as way of explanation. “Making it legal.”

Before she could protest, he'd pulled her to him and kissed the dickens out of her. She was so shocked by the electric heat roiling through her that she didn't have time to relax and enjoy it.

“My turn,” Duncan said from behind.