Highlander Undone (Highland Bound Book 5) (7 page)

Dear heavens, but he was still the most striking man she’d ever come across, and the best lover she’d ever had. The man had rocked her world and then left her alone in the aftermath. Involuntarily, she shivered as she remembered the expert way his hands had roved over her body, plucking, stroking, and tickling. This was
not
sticking to her guns…

“Eyes up here, love,” Rory said.

Dammit!
Moira had been staring at his cock. She yanked her gaze upward, glaring, only to find a satisfied grin on his face. Heat suffused her face and that only made her madder.

He winged a brow, his lip curling in a way that made her want to slap him. “Your male friend is not satisfying ye in the bed chamber?”

“My love life is none of your concern,” she seethed.

“Ye love him?”

She groaned, remembering the one annoying trait of his that he took everything so literally. “That is also none of your business.”

Rory stepped forward, one muscular leg in front of the other, the rising sun hidden behind his incredible height and the air between them being sucked away before she could breathe.

“What if I make it my business?” His voice had grown deeper, more gravelly, the way it had right before he used to drag her toward his hard body and kiss her until she couldn’t stand up straight.

Moira stepped away, trying to catch her breath. She had to think, had to remember why she’d stalked out here in the first place instead of calling the cops, but there he was, the heat of his body flush to hers, his fingers sliding behind her neck, and his mouth descending. She could do barely more than tilt her head back, part her lips, watch as he closed the distance between them and finally he was kissing her. Every inch of her screamed in revelry, in merriment for what she’d dreamt about the past three years.

The scent of him, spicy and male; the taste of him earthy and sensual. His tongue slicked over hers. She couldn’t help but touch him, press her hands to his chest, breathe him in deep. He groaned, deepening the kiss, and Moira answered with a sound at the back of her throat that was a half-moan, half-whimper.

He pressed her back against the door, his body enveloping her in warmth and seduction. His arousal, thick and hard, pressed to the crux of her thighs.

And that was when she remembered she wanted to get away from him, that he’d up and disappeared after making her believe he’d loved her for over three hundred and sixty-five days. Moira pressed her hands to his chest and pushed.

“Stop,” she gasped.

Rory dragged his mouth from hers, but didn’t let go; he touched his forehead to hers. “Anything for ye, love.” His voice was husky, his dark eyes hooded, desire seeping through his stunning dark gaze.

“Stop calling me love. I’m not yours.” And she wriggled another inch of space between the two of them.

“I’ve missed ye.”

She wasn’t going to let him seduce her into forgetting what she wanted, needed. “I want ye to bring Shona to me,” she said. “I know ye said ye came to get me, but I can’t leave with ye.”

“Why?”

She glanced away, focusing on one of her flowerpots; it looked sad and empty since she’d yet to fill it.

“It’s complicated,” she answered.

“Dickie?”

Why did he have to bring Dickie into this? Dickie was nothing to her. A fling. Somebody to go out to dinner with, to have drinks with, or to sleep beside so she didn’t feel so alone in the world.

“Let’s not talk about Dickie.”

“Why not?”

“Because, its none of your business. Tell me about Shona.”

“How about a cup of that black stuff. I canna remember what it was called. Not tea.”

Moira rolled her eyes. “Coffee? I’m not an idiot. I know they have coffee in Grant country. I’ve been to Castle Gealach and drank it in the visitor’s center.”

Rory chuckled. “Ye haven’t changed a bit.”

Moira frowned, uncertain whether to be annoyed, offended or flattered, maybe all three. The way he said it sounded like a compliment, like he enjoyed her irritation, but a comment like that usually meant some sort of offense. So, which was it? Damn the man for being so confusing.

She crossed her arms protectively in front of her, tugging her robe tighter, feeling the need to pretend it was the cold that made her do it.

Rory stepped closer, and she felt herself moving backward until her back hit the door to her kitchen again.

“Let’s not argue,
love
. I’ve not seen ye for a good long while. How about that coffee?”

Needing to put space between them before she reached up and threaded her fingers through his lush hair to see if it was just as silky as she remembered, Moira reached behind her, fumbling for the door handle.

“One cup, and ye’d better be explaining to me all that’s happened in the past three years. I filed a missing person’s report for my sister for crying out loud. And the cops, they’re probably looking for ye, too.”

He didn’t respond, just stared at her. “Ye have no idea how much I’ve missed ye, Moira.”

She could have melted. Could have slid right up against him the sound of his voice was so inviting. So instead, she whipped around and nearly fell onto her tiled kitchen floor in her haste to get away from him, and retorted, “Ye said that already.”

“Looks the same,” Rory said, nonchalantly stepping inside.

He walked to her cupboard and pulled out two cups. He’d not been bothered to remember her at all the last few years, so she tried not to care that he recalled the placement of her cups.

“Sit down. Don’t touch anything.”

Rory held his hands back, in an
I surrender
pose, and sauntered to her small, round kitchen table, unfolding his body into one of the chairs, dwarfing the piece of furniture.

Moira turned her back on him, working on the coffee, even though she felt wired enough from his presence to skip the caffeine altogether.

“Tell me about Shona,” she encouraged as she dumped two lumps of sugar into each cup.

“Shona is well.”

“Ye mentioned that yesterday,” she said, trying to keep the irritation from her voice. “But I want to know more. Why didn’t she contact me? It’s been years, I thought she was dead.”
Ohmygod, what am I doing? She could be dead and her murderer sitting right here in my kitchen!

Moira jerked her gaze toward Rory, taking him all in. She’d never been afraid of him before, and even given the circumstances, she was surprisingly not afraid of him now.

“Ye have nothing to fear of me, lass,” he whispered. “I know none of this makes sense, and it barely makes sense to me either, but ye have to listen. Ye have to trust me.”

Moira carried the steaming cups to the table and handed him his. Their fingers brushed for the faintest of moments, but it still sent spirals of pleasure and excitement racing over her wayward limbs. She shook her head, disappointed that three years, a whole lot of torment and her missing sister hadn’t made her more cautious—or at the very least, taken away her desire for the man.

“I will listen,” was the only answer she was willing to give.

Rory cleared his throat, and then took a giant gulp of his coffee, wincing as the heat burned his tongue. Her first reaction was to reach forward and touch his hand in comfort, but before her fingertips made contact, she yanked them back. He’d seen her movement and gazed at her with longing in his eyes.

Moira swept her hair back and pretended it hadn’t happened.

One slight raise of his brows told her he wasn’t going to pretend.

“Well?” she said, trying to push past her instincts to touch him.

Rory sighed. “Three years ago, something happened. Before I met ye, I—” Abruptly he stopped and leapt to his feet. “Someone’s here.”

How could he know, no one had even knocked—and then the front door shuddered beneath a heavy-handed bang. Suddenly, her belly was flipping up toward her throat. “Dickie.” She forgot all about telling him she’d go for a jog with him before breakfast. The tea-tasting room and spice shop she and her sister owned—well, mostly her now that Shona had disappeared—was closed today. Her only day off during the week.

Rory started to walk toward the front door, but Moira scrambled from her chair, grabbing hold of his arm. He glanced down at her with thunder in his expression. Dear Lord, how did she stop an angry, jealous, possibly murderous Highlander from attacking her current boyfriend?

“Stop,” she hissed. “Just don’t. Dickie…” She trailed off, not knowing how to say that the man she dated was a jealous arse when it came to competition. Hmm… Much like Rory.

“I’ve heard about Dickie.” Pure disdain filled his voice.

“So ye said,” she murmured. “Let me answer the door. Ye hide.”

“Hide?” His expression turned incredulous. “I dinna hide from anyone.”

Moira tightened her hold on his arm, positioning herself between him and the front door. “Please, for my sake?”

“What? Why would this man be angry?”

Thinking quickly, she raised her brows, and said, “What would ye think if ye came to fetch a lass ye’d laid claim to and found her in her robe, in the wee hours of the morn, drinking coffee with another bloke?”

His expression dawned understanding. “Ah, I see. Where should I hide?”

The door shuddered again beneath Dickie’s fist. “Moira! Open up! I can hear ye talking in there.”

“Oh, jeez,” she said, hating the panic that raced through her blood. She’d done nothing wrong. Rory was a guest, nothing more.

Even if she did feel the heat of his muscled arm beneath her fingertips and even if that feeling led to rather sordid memories of them falling into bed, or up against a wall.

“The cellar. Hide in the cellar.” She tugged him toward the small door that led down to the old, dank cellar. A place she never went because it was too damned scary.

She yanked open the door, and tried to stuff his bulk through the small entry. “Go!”

Rory chuckled. “I’ll not make a peep.”

Moira rolled her eyes. “Ye’d better not, else Dickie decides he wants to take up mixed martial arts instead of running.”

She quietly shut the cellar door in the face of his confusion. Did he truly not know what MMA was?

Rushing to the door, she opened it up just as Dickie was about to bang again.

“Babe, what took ye so long?” he asked.

She smiled, hoping her face didn’t show her worry. “Sorry, was on the phone.”

“Who with? It’s so early.”

Without thinking, she said, “Shona. Turns out she’s been up north the past few years. Fell ill with amnesia and couldn’t tell anyone who she was.”

“Wow. That’s a relief.” He tugged her forward and planted a kiss on her mouth—which felt extremely lacking compared to the one she’d just shared with Rory. He maneuvered himself inside. “Why aren’t ye dressed?”

“I’ve been on the phone forever. I’m so sorry, I’m going to have to cancel our run.”

“What?” His eyes flashed anger. “Ye haven’t seen or heard from her in three years and now ye’re going to give up on our plans because she called?”

Moira ignored the selfish tone, and calmly explained, even though it was a lie. “I’m going to see her. I’m sorry. It’s not that I’m giving up on our plans, but my sister, she’s been sick. She needs me.”

Why was she still dating Dickie? He was such an arsehole.

“Moira—”

She cut him off with a gentle stroke on his arm. “Please, don’t take this personally, Dickie. I promise I’ll call while I’m away, and as soon as I’m back, we’ll get together.”

He shook his head, looking obstinate. Moira reined in her temper when she was ready to smack him.

“I’ll come with ye.”

“No!” she said a bit too loudly.

Dickie’s face screwed up the way she’d seen it do when he didn’t get what he wanted, though not normally directed at her. She wasn’t sure why with him she couldn’t speak her mind. She’d never had that problem with Rory, and in fact, Rory seemed to enjoy her bossing him around a bit. Not so, with Dickie, if he was denied anything, he became irate. The problem with a privileged life she supposed.

“What?” he asked faintly.

Moira swallowed, and tried to offer him an easy smile that felt forced. “I haven’t seen her in so long, so I would really like to go by myself at first. Ye understand, don’t ye?”

“I don’t like it,” he grumbled. “But I suppose it’s fine.” Changing the subject he said, “Is that coffee? Can I have a cup?”

Ugh, she was hoping he would just leave, but having already disappointed him once, she decided what could it hurt? Rory would simply have to stay put a few minutes longer.

“Yes, of course, come on.”

Dickie walked behind her, rubbing her shoulders as they went into the kitchen.

“I’ll get ye a cup.” She reached up for the cabinet.

“What the hell is this?” Dickie held up Rory’s cup.

Dammit!
She’d forgotten all about it.

“Why do ye have two cups of warm coffee sitting here?”

Moira swallowed, then let out a nervous laugh. “Oh, that’s nothing.” She grabbed him a cup. “I was so shocked on the phone with Shona that I forgot I’d already poured myself a cup and ended up pouring two.” She moved to the coffee maker, pouring the liquid into his cup. “Honestly, I can be so dumb sometimes. One lump or two?”

Dickie came up behind her, grabbing her hips and grinding his crotch against her arse. “How about these two lumps?” He squeezed her butt.

No way was she going to have sex with him with Rory in the house. No freaking way! Besides, Rory had hit the nail right on the head when he suggested that she wasn’t being satisfied in bed. Dickie had a great body, but that was about it. Not a bit of skill, and his selfishness tended to trump her pleasure. Again, why was she still with him?

Turning in his arms, she playfully swatted at him. “Stop it. Here ye go.”

Dickie eyed her as though he were trying to figure out what she was hiding, and then took the cup, sauntering to the table and sitting in the same chair that Rory had.

“So, if she’s gotten her memory back, why didn’t she just come home?” He frowned, looking into his cup. “No cream?”

“Oh, sorry, forgot.” She grabbed the jug from the fridge and brought it to the table, not bothering to offer him one of the fresh scones she’d baked the day before. She didn’t want him staying more than this cup. “Looks like she just”—she raised her hands up in the air in question—“woke up, or whatever they call it.”