Some Like it Scottish (26 page)

Her passion evaporated. She wanted him to be serious.
Wanted him to finish the sentence of a moment ago!
She pulled away, crawling off his chest, sitting up with her feet dangling over the side of the bed.

She was a mess! She obviously couldn't have it both ways—casual sex and a man who loved her. No. She was going home soon. Ramsay was just a distraction—a Scottish fling to make up for her less-than-successful business venture.

He sat up, too, and exhaled heavily. She didn't blame him. Her hormones and her emotions were at war, and it
had to be tough on him trying to figure her out. Heck, she didn't have herself figured out, either.

“Come here.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders tenderly, turning her slowly, pulling her down to the mattress. But this time he was on top, trapping her, gazing into her eyes.

She smiled up at him sadly. “Sorry.”

“There's nothing to be sorry for.” He caressed her cheek. “Every once in a while, I can be an arse. It doesn't happen very often, mind you, but it does happen. I should've wooed ye instead of rushing ye. I'm the one who's sorry.” He tapped her nose, trying for playfulness. But that serious expression came over him again. He frowned as if he was concentrating very hard. For a long moment he searched her face.

She waited, holding her breath.

Finally he spoke and she knew he spoke from his heart. “I love that your eyes are green. The kind of green that comes to the trees and the fields when winter fades away and summer's on the horizon. I've never seen anything like yere eyes. Lovely.” He fanned out her hair and took a handful. “I love that your hair is soft. It's softer than anything these fisherman hands have ever held.” He kissed the handful and then gave it a gentle tug. “But yere hair needs to be longer. A man needs something to hold on to when he's after making love.”

“I'm growing it out,” she offered, not wanting the moment to end, soaking up how he gazed at her, as if she were a treasured gift.

He gave her a light kiss on her lips, a taste really. “But most of all, I love kissing you. Kissing you, lass, is like the best day at sea. But I won't pressure you. If you want to
just lie in the arms of this son-of-a-fisherman, I would be as happy as a North Sea clam.”

She put her hands on both of his cheeks. “I like kissing you, too, Ramsay. But could you shut up now and have your way with me?” She looked at her watch. “We only have thirty-nine minutes left.”

“Aw, lass, don't rush me.”

Before she could argue, he captured her lips with his.

R
amsay peeled Kit's clothes off slowly, cherishing every bit of exposed flesh, kissing each inch of her that he could reach and going after some he couldn't. When he laid her bare, he sat back and marveled at how beautiful she was.

“Stop that.” Her cheeks colored to an adorable pink before she covered her face with her hands.

“Ye're just . . . Ye're just so . . .” He wanted to say
damned beautiful
, but that would've revealed too much, and he'd already said enough. “Ye're just so
naked
.”

She dropped her hands and rolled her eyes. “You'll never change, will you?”

“I don't think ye want me to.” He ran a hand over her thigh.

She snatched his hand and tugged. “Fine. You're right. Now come on.”

He didn't budge, not letting her pull him on top of her. “Ye can't rush this Scot.” He didn't stop gazing, either.

“Weren't you ever told that it's not nice to stare?”

“Oh, it's nice all right.” This time he ran his hand down her length, barely touching the side of her breast. “At least from this angle.”

“Well, ogling doesn't get the job done,” she complained. Or perhaps she meant to challenge. “I guess I could start without you.”

Like a flash, he covered her body with his again. “Not on yere life,” he growled. “It's my responsibility to make sure the job is done right. Do you hear?”

She laughed. “Now who's assuming too much responsibility?”

He loved that she nipped at his biceps, and he nibbled at her ear in retaliation, knowing it drove her crazy. He couldn't hold back anymore. He whispered his feelings, letting the words pour from him in Gaelic, knowing she wouldn't understand, so he didn't have to weigh and measure each word.

Then she pushed down his boxers. When her hands would no longer reach, she used her foot to free his feet from the fabric, all the while gazing into his eyes.

He was mesmerized. “Aw, lass.” He started to drive himself into her, but she put a hand on his chest, halting him.

“Condom.”

“Aye,” he said hoarsely. At least one of them was thinking straight. It was hell being the more affected of the two of them. But so it was—he couldn't stop what he felt for her or change it. He leaned away and pulled open the night table drawer. He retrieved what he needed and slipped it on. Those couple of seconds gave him a little breathing room.

If his stupid heart kept on the way it was going, he would pronounce his undying love before he came inside her.

She lay on his pillow, one arm out, relaxed, one hand toying with her hair, a lady in waiting. So beautiful.

Gawd, I'm in trouble.

“Are we back in business?” she purred.

“Aye,” he growled, positioning himself above her. She seriously had him by the balls and didn't have a clue as to the power she had over him. He could do nothing about it, either.

Except maybe kiss her. He did, deeply, doing his best to make her feel as he did.
Undone. Utterly and completely undone.

Soon she was writhing underneath him, and he knew it was time. But he had to get one thing straight with her first.

He pulled away. “I have to know. Do ye want me, lass?” He had to hear her say it. He needed some kind of pledge. He wanted her to want him—body, heart . . . and soul. The way he wanted her.

“Yes,” she said, breathlessly.

“Open yere eyes and tell me. I have to see that ye mean it.” The waiting was killing him, but he would have her answer.

She opened her eyes slowly and gazed up at him. “I want you, Ramsay. You know I do. You can have all of me.”

He heard the truth of it in her words and saw the certainty of it in her eyes. “I want you, too.” He'd never been more serious in his whole life.

He gazed upon her as he slid inside, feeling relieved that his passion for his
darling sprite
could finally be unleashed.

And unleash he did. He loved her with his body as he'd done to no other. He made sure she felt cherished while in his arms and in his bed, kissing and caressing each perfect part of her. He had the desperate feeling that he had
to do this right; he had to make her see the truth—that she belonged to him. In the back of his mind, he knew that in the throes of passion, one could think all sorts of crazy things, perhaps say things that you'd want to take back in the morning. But the truth of it was, he knew that what he felt for her wasn't going to change tomorrow. Or the day after that. Or the day after that.

He came undone inside her. He didn't mean to; he'd meant to make sure she'd had hers first. But then he realized that she was coming with him, moaning his name, and it pleased the hell out of him. He gazed down at her. Her eyes were still closed, ecstasy written all over her face. The way she looked when she was loving him was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
His lass. His love.

For the first time in his life, he could see it. He saw what millions of men before him had apparently seen and understood.
This was why men got married
.

The future loomed before him, every detail clear.

“Aw, gawd.”
He couldn't breathe.

*   *   *

“What's wrong?” Kit said. She got that sinking feeling that she'd had the ultimate lapse in judgment. She'd offered herself up to Ramsay and he was rejecting her.

He confirmed it—his brows knit together. She didn't understand. How could he have just given her the best sex of her life—even more mind-blowing than the first time—and then act like it was all a mistake?

“Nothing's wrong.” He pulled out of her and rolled away. He scrubbed his hand over his face as he sat on the edge of the bed, then snatched up his boxers. “I'll be back,” he said, and left the bedroom.

“Shit,” she whispered to his empty room. An old feeling came back to her.
Regret.

Clearly he felt it, too. Well, she couldn't be there when he came back. She hurriedly dressed, ran her fingers through her hair, and made it out of his bedroom and out of the cottage before she had to see that look on his face again. His regret was more than she could take right now.

Outside, the Highland night air helped to cool her cheeks. She felt altered, changed, even more so than last time. She was getting used to how Ramsay made her feel. So cherished, so feminine. With him, she felt safe to explore being a woman.

But damn him
. Why had he acted so strange afterward?

She loved it that he'd lost control. His need for her was the biggest turn-on of all. And the Gaelic he'd whispered in her ear was so sexy.

Damn him again
. She'd just decided that she could have a fling with him—her Scottish Highland fling—and then he had to go all moody on her. For once, she wished the old teasing Ramsay had been in bed with her instead of the one who made her feel all sorts of crazy emotions.

Well, whatever his problem was . . . it was his problem.
Not hers
. She had problems of her own. She realized she was standing outside the restaurant, the music reverberating through the walls, the sound mingling with the crashing of the waves against the containment wall. Her problems lay within the restaurant, twelve single people for whom she was responsible. No, ten. She remembered Moira and Davey had left. How many others had slipped out over the last hour while Ramsay was having his way with her?

She opened the door just as John, Maggie, and Dand were on their way out.
That was cutting it close,
Kit thought, remembering Ramsay walking naked from his room with nothing on but a condom.

Kit made a quick decision and nabbed Maggie's arm,
pulling her aside. “I'm going to stay the night with Harper. But I'll be back to make breakfast so you don't have to get up in the morning.”

Maggie looked up at John as a concerned glance passed between the two of them. She laid her hand over Kit's. “Nay. Don't fash yereself about the morn. I'm fine to get up with the men.”

John put his arm around his wife's shoulders but spoke to Kit. “Is everything all right?” He tilted his head as if to acknowledge the direction of their cottage, and there was a protective edge to his voice. His next words confirmed it. “Do I need to kick some arse for you?”

Maggie looked up at him with love in her eyes, like he had offered to kick someone's ass for
her
.

Kit mustered a genuine smile. “I'm fine. But thanks. Really.” It was kind of nice to have a big brother.

“Let's go home,” Maggie said. “We'll see you tomorrow, Kit.” She had
I mean it
behind her Scottish lilt. “Dand?”

The boy ran over and hugged Kit's legs. “Are ye ready to go home, Auntie?”

John unlatched the boy and slung him up on his shoulders. “She's going to spend the night with her sister.”

The boy leaned over his dad's head, trying to look him in the eye. “Ye mean I have another aunt besides Aunt Kitten?”

“Aye.” John winked at her. “Now stop asking questions. It's time for yere bath.”

Dand's complaining began as the family went down the walkway.

Kit couldn't help smiling. Even though she was extremely close to her sisters and was comfortable taking care of them, it was nice to have someone looking out for
her
for a change. And it wasn't just John; little Dand had weaseled his way into her heart, too. She could be an aunt to Dand if she wanted to, couldn't she?

Kit pushed her thoughts aside, went into the restaurant, and focused on the present. Her sister was being chatted up by two Gandiegow men whose names she couldn't remember. Only one of her socialites, Mercedes, remained, slow-dancing with Colin, Ramsay's friend, the one who owned the farm nearby.
Well, maybe at least one of my clients might end up with one of the bachelors.
Two other couples remained. Mac was chatting with Sinnie, and Kolby, the fisherman, was feeding Rowena a chip. They all seemed pretty damned cozy. And nothing had turned out like Kit had imagined. She'd lost her touch.

She trudged over to rescue Harper from the local men. “Excuse us, fellows. I need a word with my sister.”

Harper let herself be led away. She glanced over Kit's shoulder. “These Highlanders are a persistent lot.”

“Persistent and hardheaded.”
Sexy and confusing
.

“Where did you run off to?” Harper's voice was laced with laughter. “As if I didn't know.”

“We're not going to talk about it.” Kit gave her a sad smile. “Please.”

“Talk about what?” Harper wrapped her arm through hers. “Should we start cleaning up?”

The music had stopped but Colin and Mercedes kept dancing. Ailsa and Aileen, two of the matronly quilters, started picking up dirty glasses.

Deydie lumbered toward Kit, smiling. But when she got close, she frowned. “What happened to you?”

Kit panicked. Did Deydie know that she and Ramsay had slipped off together?

“It's that damned Ramsay, isn't it? I'll take my broom
to him.” Deydie snorted as she lumbered away, determined.

Kit was afraid she'd go back to the cottage to get him, but Deydie only went back to the task of bossing the others around to pick up the restaurant.

Kit turned to Harper. “Is it that apparent?”

“I could say that it's written all over your face, but we're not talking about it, remember? Come on. Let's help clean up.”

Kit picked up a centerpiece and clutched it to her chest. “I'm coming back to stay with you tonight. Can I borrow pajamas?” She couldn't go back to Ramsay's. Harper studied her face worriedly. But she kept her promise and didn't pry. “Of course you can.”

It didn't take long for the restaurant to be put back to rights, especially with so many hands to help. Kit wished her life would so easily be put back together—her career, her confidence, and her beliefs. The mixer had dashed her hopes of making the Real Men of Scotland a success. And Ramsay had knocked her off balance.

Kit and Harper hurried back to the quilting dorm. They had the place to themselves because her socialites were busy elsewhere. In Harper's bedroom, Kit chose the twin across from her sister's full-sized bed. Kit only wished she had reminded her girls about the importance of contraception before the mixer. But they were grown women and would have to face the consequences,
and their families
, if one of the fishermen's swimmers took root.

“Here.” Harper tossed her a nightshirt.

Kit took it and slipped it on, sighing heavily as she climbed into bed, exhausted.

Harper turned out the light. Kit heard her sister's bed squeak as she crawled into hers across the room.

Harper whispered into the night, “Sleep, rest, talk, or play?”

Kit smiled into the darkness, grateful to have at least one of her sisters here with her.

Harper cleared her throat. “I said, sleep, rest, talk, or play?”

As tired as she was, Kit was afraid sleep would be elusive. “Talk.”

Kit had never talked to her sisters about her problems before, or even their mother. She'd always been the adult, her sisters' sounding board and confidante. When she was worried about paying for groceries, school clothes, or tuition, she'd kept it to herself. It occurred to her that the only person Kit had ever confided in about her overwhelming responsibilities . . . was Ramsay.

Boy, that was irony for you—he was the only person she could talk to, but now she needed someone to talk to about
him
. The man was too much for her to handle on her own.

For the first time, Kit was ready to open up to her sister. Maybe here in the dark she could share what had happened with Ramsay. Her sisters always told her everything about their relationships, right down to the nitty-gritty. Maybe she could at least give the abridged version of the fiasco with Ramsay to Harper now.