KiltTease (6 page)

But after seeing this glimpse of Quinton’s life, could she really say she was his type? No. So how could he know she wasn’t the kind of person who would blab about his business to further her own status in life? He couldn’t, but he must see something within her that he trusted.

The nerves in her stomach transformed into angry butterflies. How deep did this rabbit hole go?

“You said yesterday this could help you. How?”

“I’ve a shite reputation. Pictures of me with you could help close a deal or two. It’s a picture. One they would take anyway. Might as well use it to my benefit.”

She could definitely see his point there, but how did she feel about being photographed? Mentally poking at the sensation rolling around in her gut didn’t tell her much. Unease? Nerves? No. Just a mild trepidation. But she had no concept of what he meant. People didn’t follow her around to take candid shots of her doing anything.

That’s when she understood the short glimpses of a quiet but intense man. He’d been on his guard with her and others. His life kind of invited a peanut gallery. Yet he’d given her permission to see what lay behind his guarded walls.

That caused a whole other flutter in her stomach. “As long as I’m not naked in any of these pics.”

In a flash, humor filled his gaze again. “No sex tape then?”

“No,” she answered with force just in case he was only half joking.

He made a soft sound of disappointment. “That’s probably for the best anyway. You being naked could cause a riot.”

“We couldn’t have that,” she replied dryly.

Kate gave herself another moment to find a downside. So far, no one had approached them—or him, for that matter. Last night people had been overly friendly with him, and that made a lot more sense now. The paparazzi hadn’t been parked outside his home. He didn’t seem freaked out or perturbed, so she’d take his lead.

She nodded. “Your rules seem easy. It won’t be a problem for me.”

His shoulders lowered, and the tight lines around his mouth smoothed at her agreement. “That’s it. No media. Don’t talk about me with anyone. Outside that, you can do whatever you want, lass. You can have whatever you want while you’re with me.”

Quinton had gobs of money, ex-girlfriends who hunted him down, and the press snapping pictures of it all. He shied away from the spotlight because his life was already under a microscope, despite being retired. It made her really, really curious about him outside their current context. The first free second she had alone, Kate would research him and rugby to see what popped up.

If he was as famous as he claimed, would she treat him differently? Probably not. She liked Quinton Baird, a man who crept up on her stealthily and kissed her to say thank you because he just wanted to kiss her.

“Whatever I want?” she asked to lighten the mood.

His whole body shifted, coiling like he was preparing to pounce on her. The subtle give drew her attention to his chest and lower.

“What is it you want?” he asked, his voice low.

Him
. Seriously, Quinton was a cocktail of testosterone and man-pretty that kept tripping her up. He was also sharp to boot. She had to watch herself around him.

So it was imperative for her to say, “A mimosa. I love brunch. It’s the only time where it’s okay to drink before five o’clock and not seem like a lush.”

His expression said,
Well played
. “Let’s go then, Kitten. It should only take me a few minutes to get myself together.”

She exhaled slowly. That nickname kept hitting her right in the chest. “My rule and probably the only one I’ll have: Don’t call me Kitten.”

He put his finger on her chin, his eyes serious now as he inspected her face. Quinton gave a slight nod. “Awright. Any more rules?”

What would her grandmother have demanded? Well, her favorite saying was church would be boring if everyone was actually a saint. If a man wants you, make him work for you. Always wear clean underwear; you never know. You’ll regret the things you didn’t do more than the things you did do that turned to shit.

So, yeah. She was all-in for this ridiculousness and his conditions. For a pretend boyfriend, he wasn’t half-bad. “No, that’s it.”

“You’re an interesting one, Katherine Campbell.”

“I’m not,” she assured him. “You seduced me with clothes and wit. I’m a traveling registered nurse, who is only required to work three to five hours a day. Even the pretend me, who is dating you, knows nothing about rugby. I’m that girl.”

“What girl is that?”

“The one who dates athletes because they look good in their uniform.”

“There are worse things, Kate, believe me, but you’re not that girl.” His gaze roamed over her again and he looked…hungry. “Do you know how to tie a tie?”

“Yes,” she answered, a little breathless at his expressive stare. “A patient taught me a few years ago. He had Parkinsons.”

He buttoned his shirt, covering those beautiful abs, and then lifted his chin to expose his thick neck. Ah. She’d get an excuse to touch him, and he was giving her one. Without hesitation she began, uttering the instructions under her breath, and as she did, that tempting smile of his spread.

This close, she was getting a damn good view of all of him. His muscles hadn’t gone doughy yet, so that meant he kept up his same regimen or close enough.

“When was the last time you played?” she asked.

“Six months ago.” His voice went gruff again.

She bit her lip and went for the next question that had nagged at her. “When did you break up with Angeline?”

“Six months ago.”

Kate didn’t dwell, but that didn’t mean she didn’t notice things. He’d worn a shoulder brace for his workout. It could have been a habit to throw one on, and he could have been self-conscious enough to keep up his old routines, but a shoulder injury made more sense. A man in his prime didn’t quit his well-paid career on a whim. Now that she thought about it, she remembered seeing him wince more than once since they’d met. She knew that small facial tick, had seen many of her patients with it.

Carefully, she said, “You retired six months ago and broke up with your girlfriend at the same time.”

He put his hands over hers. His hold wasn’t tight, but it was firm. And so warm. “Let it go, lass.”

So…this was a touchy subject for him. She closed the top button on his shirt and pulled the tie up. “Too tight?”

“It’s fine.”

And because Kate was so close, she ran her hand down the tie, his chest, and stomach. His rules shifted into better focus. He’d retired because of an injury and didn’t want anyone to know. She was here in Scotland, fulfilling a promise no one would even keep tabs of.

Whatever you want
stuck in her mind. Did she want a man who was probably keeping secrets from his friends, his family?

He brought her hands up to his mouth and placed kisses on her knuckles. The gentle brushes of his lips were…overwhelming. Her throat, her insides, went tight and soft at the same time. Gooseflesh had prickled over her skin. When he kissed the inside of her wrist, she moaned. Her skin had become so sensitive.

He was whatever she wanted. If and when they did have sex, it was going to be good. His mouth was a very good indication of that. Oh, yeah. She wanted this man despite his secrets. She was just a temporary fixture in his life anyway. What right did she have to judge him? Or to demand he change his life for her?

He introduced a little bit of tongue when he brushed his mouth over her knuckles. Yeah. Yeah. She wanted more of that.

And because she knew what the kisses meant, Kate murmured, “You’re welcome.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Quinton took the gentle ribbing all afternoon, even now as his brother clapped him on the back. This part of the MacDougal castle sat in ruins. The cliffs were sharp, the water treacherous, the wind biting, but his brother paid it all no mind.

No surprise. This was Callan’s second marriage. The first had ended in tragedy. Maybe that’s why this time around he seemed even more lovesick. Finding the kind of love that spurred marriage was lucky. Finding it twice was almost cosmic.

Callan threw his arm over Quinton’s shoulder. “So tell me why are you fucking Baird’s nurse?”

The subtle weight sent an ache through his shoulder that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. Quinton had pushed himself too much that morning during his sets. He shook off the embrace and gave his brother a sidelong glance. “We’re not, but if we were, would you really want to know?”

His brother’s brows furrowed in concentration. Like everyone except for his wife-to-be, Victoria, Callan had had his fair share of champagne during the brunch. “Not really. You’ve just been quieter than usual, so I was curious if it had anything to do with her. She seems nice though.” Callan ruffled Quinton’s hair and pushed him away. “I know you won’t talk to me about whatever it is that’s bothering you, but you can, if you need it.”

Callan made a disgusted noise and added, “The scent of beer makes my lass sick, so I haven’t had a proper pint in months. That weak drink has gone straight to my head. It’s making me want a heart-to-heart with you.”

Talk about how his life had turned inside out? Pass. “When do Marcus and Da get in?”

Callan glared at the obvious avoidance of the offer. “The day of. Fine by me. The less time Marcus and Da spend together, the better.”

Quinton winced. “Aye. You’re right there. They’ll come to blows if we let them. I’ll play referee if I have to.”

“Ta.”

Silence fell between them, but it was a comfortable one as they continued to watch the sea crash against the cliffs. They had enough years apart in age to have to work hard at being close. Not to mention, Quinton had been raised by both of their parents. Their father, Tavin, had been a different man when their mother was alive. Fuck, Tavin had actually been there as a father.

But after their mum died, Quinton and their older brother, Marcus, had decided they were old enough to take Callan but too young to raise him right. By then Quinton had been on the road for games more than six months out of the year. Marcus was working his way up the CEO chain. Douglass was still raising their cousins, so it made sense to have Baird become Callan’s guardian.

He took in his brother’s flushed face. Callan was one drink away from being pissed, but he looked happy. Letting Douglass raise Callan as his own had been the right choice, one Quinton never regretted.

He said to his brother, “Let Victoria drive you and Douglass home. I’ll catch you on your stag night.”

“At this rate, I’ll be as soft as cotton and sick on my wedding day. Auch.” Callan grasped Quinton’s shoulder and squeezed. “One more thing…”

Fuck
. A flash of white flickered over his sight. He gritted his teeth and rode out the pain. “What, you fanny?”

“Be careful with Katherine. I’ve seen that look in her eyes before, in my own.”

His brother had lost his first wife, and that grief had eaten at him for years. Probably always would in some small measure

“I’m not blind.” Quinton may have taken things lightly with Kate, but he’d noticed the haunted look in her eyes.

Most people with their feet firmly on the ground didn’t up and leave their home to travel alone. They brought along friends, family, or a lover. And Kate seemed to make friends with everyone she met. He wasn’t that selfish or horny to ignore it. That was partly why he’d filled a room in his home with trinkets and clothes.

She was the first woman who had made him want to give without her having to ask first. Kate didn’t make hints or have any expectations. The only time she talked about money was to let him know she needed her job and her savings for the trip.

And she’d fought him on those very gifts. Practically told him she only kept things that were a necessity. He didn’t want to think too hard about how that made him feel. She wasn’t just a means to an end, but she wouldn’t be, couldn’t be much more than that.

This time, Quinton threw his arm over his brother’s shoulder. “You’re making me an uncle. We haven’t talked about that.”

His brother grinned, but he grouched anyway. “We did when I told you.”

“That was four months ago, over the phone.”

Callan sighed, a laugh leaking out of it. “Go ahead. Make the jokes.”

“Auch. Your sourpuss face has taken all the fun out of fucking with you. Go to your woman.” He hesitated and added, “I’ll take care of Kate.”

“Awright.” His brother’s demeanor turned serious. “Take care there, I mean it.”

Since his little brother never asked for anything, Quinton promised he would. With his arm still around Callan, they walked back to the MacDougal’s main castle.

Victoria stood on the steps just inside the big oak doors, chatting with Kate, while Douglass focused on her belly. When they got close enough, Quinton could see that her stomach jerked and moved under the dress.

She smiled at him after following his gaze. “I think I’m harboring a rugby player. He’s doing plenty of damage in there.”

A bittersweet tang rose in his mouth. He had never thought much of the future; the present had always been more compelling. Still, there was a time he’d imagined playing the game with his kids or nieces and nephews. Quinton couldn’t now. The risk was too great. He was lucky to have avoided his worst-case scenario before retiring.

“Who knows,” Quinton said, letting the bitterness go. It would serve no one. “The wee bairn might like American football.”

His brother stiffened at the unfunny joke. “Fucker.”

Quinton laughed and pushed Callan back, his attention settling on Kate. The fierce wind and wet had destroyed the manicured coif his borrowed Yank had put together. If she’d asked him, he’d be honest and say he liked her hair better a bit wild. Fuck, he’d had to fight the urge to drag her into him and steal a kiss even while his family stood there.

Her eyes were bright when she looked at him. Everything else fell away. He asked, “Have you ever been in a castle, Yank?”

“Yes,” Kate answered. “I spent two months in Ireland. When I wasn’t working, most of that time was spent on cliffs and in castles.”

“Auch. There goes my next plan to impress you.”