Some Like it Scottish (22 page)

Ramsay would reassure her, but they wouldn't discuss her leaving again. “Ross and John have offered to do the rest of the prep on the boat for me while I'm gone today.” Without thinking it through, Ramsay reached over and took her hand, squeezing it. “I don't want anyone else driving you, either.”

He glanced over. Her gaze was fixed straight ahead and her cheeks were bright pink. He could've kidded her about it, but he cut her some slack. “What were you up to this morning?” Once again, he thought about her lying on top of him. “I mean after you left the house.”

“I spent time at Quilting Central with Harper and my clients.” She turned toward him in the seat. “Believe it or not, some of my women are very good at sewing. I don't know if their nannies taught them, but a few of them sure know their way around a machine.”

“I bet Deydie was pleased,” he said. It was strange how the old woman had taken to Kit. And the other quilters had taken to her, too. Outsiders weren't easily welcomed into Gandiegow.

“Deydie started them on a special project.”

“What project?”

“I don't know. When I asked, she told me it was none of my damn business.”

“Sounds like Deydie. How's yere sister?”

“It was hard to leave her today.”

“So meeting this bloke is that important?” It irked him that she'd drop everything for another man, which his tone must have made clear.

“Yes, that important.” She pulled her hand away. “It's not just him that I'm interested in. It's his connections as well.”

It struck Ramsay, not for the first time, that this woman was all wrong for him. She came from the same country-club world as the rich bachelors she sought. She might not be wealthy now, but she sure was comfortable with it. Ramsay, on the other hand, didn't give a crank about the rich and famous. He only cared about being his own man and making a living.

Within the hour, they reached a very large manor house with a reflecting pond, making the estate look more English than Scottish. The lawns were pristine, the foliage trimmed. Ramsay hated the man already.

He shut off the car. Kit didn't move, though. She just sat there, watching as a man exited the tall, ornately carved double oak doors and gave them a little wave.

“What's wrong?” Ramsay asked.

“I think I made a mistake.”

“What kind of mistake?”

“That's not who I thought I was meeting. All this time, I thought I had been e-mailing and texting the younger Art MacKay. But apparently, it's been the senior.”

“He's definitely not one of the young bucks ye've set your sights on for yere stables. He looks at least fifty. I see by that look on yere face that his age is a problem.”

“It's just that all my clients are in their late twenties and early thirties.”

“Do you want me to turn the car around and leave?” he asked.

“No. We'll stay.”

Art was at her door and opened it.

She gave Ramsay one more glance and he squeezed her hand to fortify her.

“It's lovely to finally meet you, Miss Woodhouse.” Art took her other hand and helped her from the car.

Ramsay rushed around to her side to break contact between Kit and the old bachelor. And perhaps to break a few of Art's fingers in the process.

“You're just in time for tea,” the older gentleman said. “I hope you're hungry.”

Ramsay stood close to Kit. “She's always hungry.” He stuck his hand out to Art to take his measure. “Ramsay Armstrong. Kit's bodyguard.”

She shot him a pair of green daggers.

Art laughed and took a step back. “I hope you're hungry, too, Mr. Armstrong.”

Art led them inside to the massive dining room. At tea, Kit and Art talked about her business and her strategy for this expansion. Kit pulled Ramsay into the conversation, insisting he tell Art about his fishing tourism business. Art gave him several suggestions—all sound ideas—then the topic turned to the possibility of Kit finding him a match. His wife had died five years ago and he was ready for companionship.

That's when Ramsay saw it. Not that the old guy was hitting on Kit like all the other horny bastards they'd encountered. But he saw that Kit and Art would make the perfect couple. With Kit being as smart and astute as she was, she could surely see it, too. She and Art had so much in common. They both had a head for business, spoke the same language, and she seemed to soak up his every word.

It hit Ramsay in the chest. Younger women marry
older men all the time. He wanted to stand up and declare that Kit was taken.

Ramsay stopped breathing.
Taken
?

Did he really want to stake a claim on Kit Woodhouse? He didn't know. He only knew that he wanted to get her out of here, wrap her in his arms and kiss her, and make her forget the likes of Art MacKay. And think only of him.

Ramsay stood. “We really should be heading back.” He put his hand out to Kit.

She looked a little startled at first, but she laid her hand in his. “Ramsay's right. I have my clients waiting for me back in Gandiegow. I do hope we can work together,” she said to Art. “We'll talk soon about lining up a few dates for you.”

“That would be great.” Art turned to him. “Ramsay, keep me apprised of how your business goes. I think you have a gem of an idea there.”

Ramsay nodded, but he didn't give a shit what the guy thought about his fishing business. He only wanted to get Kit away from there and have her to himself.

K
it ran after Ramsay to the SUV as the sky let loose with a downpour of rain. Her driver seemed to have flipped a switch from being fun and charming to grim and determined. As soon as they were both in the car and heading down the driveway, she turned to him.

“What was that all about?”

He ignored her.

She frowned at him and touched his arm. “What's wrong?”

He looked in the rearview mirror, pulled the car to the side of the road, and threw it into park. He unsnapped his seat belt, and hers, and pulled her into his arms, kissing her.

She ignited. It was passionate and uncontrollable. Whatever had prompted this kind of kissing, she was all for it.

“He's too old for you,” Ramsay growled into their kiss.

She pulled back. “Who's too old?” She knew he had to mean Art, but she couldn't imagine why Ramsay would bring him up at a time like this.

He brushed her hair away from her face and kissed her again. “You need someone closer to your own age.”

“Who kisses like you, I suppose?” she dared to ask.

“Aye. A sonovabitch who can kiss ye into silence.” He positioned her head the other way like he wanted to attack her mouth from every direction.

And he did.

She was vaguely aware that the storm outside was getting worse, the wind rocking the vehicle.

Ramsay growled again and pulled away. “I better get ye home.” He put the car into gear and began driving, although he didn't look happy about it.

Her lips still tingled. If it were up to her and her lips, they would stop the car again.

They rode along in silence. She wasn't sure what this was between them, but from a purely business standpoint, Ramsay had been good for her. As a matchmaker, she needed to experience a little lust every now and then—and Ramsay definitely provoked her in that department. Luckily for Kit, however, she wasn't out hunting for The One. All she needed was the occasional outlet while remaining in control of herself at all times.

She smiled at the deluge pounding the windshield. Yes, she was lucky. She had no intention of marrying. She was already married to her career and her responsibilities, and that wouldn't change. A memory came back to her—the first time that she'd gotten a glimpse of her future and the life that lay ahead of her. It was picking out her father's casket. Alone. Her mother had been too distraught and fragile to go to the funeral home with her, and Kit had shouldered it all. She had made a thousand other decisions alone since then, and was the stronger for it.

She squared her shoulders. When her father died she had had to be strong enough for her whole family. She would continue to be strong for them for the rest of her life.

“Oh, shite!” Ramsay slammed on the brakes.

Kit gasped, peering through the windshield, but she only saw rain. “What is it?”

“The bridge is covered in water.” He threw the car in reverse and did a three-point turn.

“What do we do now?” Kit asked. “Is there another way back to Gandiegow?”

“Not until the water goes down.” He drove back up the hill. “I saw a side road up there. That's where we'll park and wait.”

“But for how long?” Panic began to set in. “What about Harper and my clients? I can't just leave them for the night!”

Ramsay pulled into what was nothing more than a path and stopped the car. “You do realize that you left your kin and clients with the most capable women in all of Christendom. Deydie, Cait, and the other quilting ladies will take great care of yere girls.”

Kit pulled out her phone, looking in vain for a signal. “But they'll worry about us.”

“Nay.” He covered her hand that held the phone. “They'll have a little faith and only think the obvious—that we got caught in the storm. Which we have.” He kissed her fingers. “I promise, it'll be okay.”

“How long will it take for the water to go down?” She knew he couldn't possibly know, but she needed assurances.

“Certainly by morning.” He shut the SUV off. “There are blankets in the back. It'll get cool tonight. You won't mind helping me to conserve heat, now, will ye?” Laughter edged around his smooth voice as he teased her again.

She flushed as she thought about the times she'd
cuddled up to him on his couch, but she wasn't going to make it easy on him now. “If I'm forced to.”

Now he laughed outright. “Who forced you back at the house when you climbed into my arms night after night?”

“Sleepwalking.” She made sure to keep a straight face. “It's a nasty habit.”

“Well, I better hold you tight tonight. If you decide to do a little sleepwalking, you might end up down in the burn.”

Kit thought about her theory—the one where Ramsay and the lust he inspired might be good for her and her career. Her veins sizzled with excitement and anticipation. But she wasn't kidding anyone, not even herself. If she went to bed with him, it wouldn't be for her career. It would be because she wanted him and nothing else.

She chewed her lower lip. “Can you make us a bed in the back?”

There. She'd said it. She hadn't been as direct as she had been when she'd been tipsy, but it was the most direct offer he was going to get from her tonight.

“Are ye sure?”

All Brawn was no dummy; he knew what she meant when she said “us.” He had a heck of a brain at the top of that beautiful, sexy body of his.

“Yes, I'm sure,” she said. “But there are some caveats.”

He laughed. “Of course there are.”

“One—you have to be able to make our bed without either one of us going outside and getting wet. That would dampen the mood.” She didn't wait for his answer. “Two—do you have protection?”

“A life vest? Surely the water won't get that high,” he teased.

“You know what I mean. Do you still have it in your wallet?”

“If ye're speaking of a prophylactic, I have several of them at the ready,” he answered.

She held her hand up. “And three—we have to agree that what we're about to do doesn't mean anything. We're just two adults out to have a bit of fun.”

“A bit of fun?” He was clearly irritated with her choice of words.

Thunder crashed, echoing his darkened mood. She saw the storm in his eyes.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” he rumbled. “I'll get to work on our bed.”

*   *   *

Ramsay squeezed into the back and tamped down his anger while he spread out the blankets. Talk about dampening the mood. Aye, he wanted to roll around with Kit in the back of the SUV, but not under her stupid conditions. If he was any kind of businessman, he would be negotiating his own terms with her right now.

He wanted her naked and burning for him. And only him.

He wanted her crying out his name.

He wanted to ruin her for all others.

Aye. They could have a bit of fun, but he wasn't the type to leave his feelings at the door. Kit had come to mean something to him.

Maybe he'd give her a dose of her own medicine. Hold out on her. Sure, he'd make her come, but for his sake, not hers. And he definitely wouldn't leave a piece of his heart behind in the process. She was, after all, only passing through. She'd said so earlier.

“Get back here, sprite,” he said more gruffly than he'd intended.

She crossed her arms over her chest and kept facing forward. “You have to tell me why you're in such a foul mood first.”

“I'm cold. Come back here and warm me up. I get grumpy when my body temperature drops.” He poured it on thick. “Brrr.”

“I've changed my mind.”

“Gawd, ye're a stubborn woman.” He lay down, stretched out, and stacked his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling of the SUV. His hard-on had no problem with her wanting to use him for fun. What was wrong with the rest of him?

“You, sir, don't understand a thing about wooing a woman.”

“I read yere website. Ye're the one who said that it goes both ways. That a woman has the same responsibilities as the man—that she has to be willing to put herself out there and woo him right back.”

“Did you not see the part about how important it is for the man to be the man?” she grumbled.

That was all the encouragement he needed; he sprang into action, wedging himself between the two front seats, ready to be the man.

And he kissed her. He kissed her with enough passion to let her know that he didn't want her to think about the things she had in common with Art MacKay. He kissed her to let her know that he did care about her. He kissed her to let her know that he wanted to be with her for whatever time they had left together before she went back to America.

He kissed her . . . because he had to.

He heard it again. He heard himself groaning for her. There was nothing he could do about it, either. When he had her in his arms he wanted her so much that he wanted to howl at the moon.

She pulled away, breathless, but laughing. “I was wrong, Ramsay Armstrong. You know a helluva lot about wooing a woman.”

He rubbed her arms. “Ye're cold. Get yere arse back there so I can warm you up proper.”

“Such a charmer,” she muttered.

He moved away, making room for her to climb through the bucket seats. But when she joined him in the cargo area of the SUV, she didn't lie down. He sat back up as well, pretty sure she was having second thoughts.

“Aw, hell.” He put his arm around her. “We don't have to do anything, kitten. But for heaven's sake, let me hold you. John would skewer me for sure if you caught your death of cold. In the morning, I'll return you home—safe, sound, and unruffled.”

“That's not the problem.” She sighed heavily. “I want to be ruffled.”

His deflating pecker jumped to life. He rubbed her arms again. “What's the problem then?”

“I like you. You're a fine person.” Her tone made it sound like it was a bad thing.

“Such high praise.”

“But I can't get involved with you on an emotional level.” Now she sounded as if she was trying to convince herself. “I mean it. I have too much on the line to get serious about anyone.”

What the crank? How was he supposed to respond to that? He cared about her and he just wanted to show her. But what good would it do for him to get inside her
pants if she kept her emotions all buttoned up and tucked away from him?

“Fine,” he said, his pecker making the decision for him. “Sounds perfect to me.” Also for his pecker. “What man doesn't want the kind of relationship ye're talking about?” His pecker was such a prick. “Give me a beautiful woman with no strings attached and I'm as happy as a clam.” But he wasn't happy. He was angry. His pecker, though, wanted what it wanted.

“Fine,” she echoed back. She didn't sound all that happy, either. “Let's get this over with then.”

Aw, gawd! He was going to do something stupid and his pecker was going to be very, very disappointed.

She kicked off her shoes as she went to unzip her dress.

He stilled her hands. “Sorry, kitten. That's not going to work for me.” He really wanted to see what lay beneath her clothes. But he forced himself to think with his head and not his groin. He put his arms around her and pulled her down, wrapping the quilts around them as he snuggled her to him.

He tucked her under his chin and whispered into the night. “Listen to me, sprite. I'm going to tell you how it is. When I make love to you—”

“Sex,” she corrected.

“Sex, then.” He started again. “When we're together, when we're being intimate, I'm going to take it slow and easy.”

She shivered, letting him know that she felt every word he was saying.

He moved his head, rubbing his chin over her hair. “The magic that happens between a man and a woman is not something to get over with. It's to be savored.”
And cherished, but he wouldn't voice that girly sentiment out loud. He kissed the top of her head. “You've now heard my terms. When ye're ready to accept them, then I'll be happy to seal the deal.”

She sighed in his arms. “Is that you being the man?”

“Yup.” He chuckled. “On this, babe, it's either my way or the highway.”

She rested her head back and looked him in the eye. “I guess I have no choice then but to accept your terms. Will you kiss me?”

He brushed her hair back from her eyes. He wished they were in his bed. With the lights on. He wanted to see the emeralds in her eyes as they sparkled for him. He wanted her to know that he meant what he said. He would savor this moment. Perhaps for his whole life.

He leaned in and kissed her. He meant it to be slow and tender, like the lovemaking that he'd promised. But his shy kitten of a moment ago turned into a hellcat, wrapping her legs around him and pulling him down on top of her as he tried not to crush her. She kissed his lips as if she'd been starving and he was the only real food she'd tasted in a long, long time. Then she kissed his eyes, his jaw, his neck. She pulled at his clothes.

He captured her wrists and held them over her head, growling at her. “I will keep my promise.”

She laughed. “Like hell you will. I can't wait. You've teased me from the moment I set eyes on you and I'm ready to explode.” She ground her hips into him. “I promise we can do it slow the next time. Take me now, Ramsay.”

“No.” He nibbled at her ear.

“But you're killing me.”

“Then a slow death it will be.” He suckled at the pulse on her neck. “I'm the man, remember?”

“Oh, my, how could I forget?”

He chuckled, but he felt frantic to get at her, too. Down, boy, he told himself, and he kissed her tenderly. He must've done it right because his kitten mewed.

He switched places with her, rolling her on top of him, her hands still shackled by one of his. He made short work of the zipper of her dress, and slowly kissed the fabric away. To slip her arms out, he had to release her, and Kit started tugging at his clothes once more.