Mad About Plaid (10 page)

She'd somehow become a measure of time. Life Before Lucy. Life After Lucy.

Spending time with her while keeping his distance, when everything inside of him said, "touch her, damn it!" was beginning to eat at him. He couldn't get her out of his head, out of his dreams, and out of his fantasies in the shower every morning.

Whatever took the edge off.

He opened his bedroom door, mentally preparing himself for another day when he realized with sickening clarity. She'd be leaving soon.

Gone.

Ian stopped dead in his tracks. His heart skipped a hard, painful beat and his grip tightened around the doorknob.

A door opened down the hall and Lucy appeared. She began walking toward the stairs, but stopped. Sensing he was there, she glanced over her shoulder. Ian didn't move, he wasn't sure he could. After a long moment, she broke eye contact and came toward him, stopping several feet away. "Coming?"

"Yeah," he said, shaking off the heaviness he felt.

Ian was definitely distracted, Lucy thought, as they headed down the hall.

The last couple days were wearing her thin. They'd fall into conversation as easily as if they'd known each other their whole lives. Inevitably that would lead to one of them saying something intimate or suggestive, which would lead to long heated looks and then withdrawal. Distance.

She was getting sick of it. It wasn't working. It didn't make her want him less. It only made her want him more. So much so that she'd began tucking a Mammoth Man into her pocket every morning. Just in case. She felt like an idiot, but Ian . . . just looking at him, his hard body, rugged features, his I-could-rock-your-world-harder-than-diamonds grin. It was too much to take.

She wanted more than just his conversation, his tours, his presence. She wanted him buck-ass naked…

"Lucy?"

She blinked, finding her bearings. In front of the shed. Ian holding out a fishing rod. "Right. Fishing." Her cheeks were red hot as she took the pole. He looked really good today, aggravatingly so. Black T-shirts and Ian MacLaren should be illegal. Her frustration growing, she watched him load the Rover with fishing gear and then they were off to try and catch dinner. As they went, Ian explained all about fishing, the types of fish in the river, the popularity of the sport, and so on. She was pretty sure, on any other day, she'd find it interesting. But not today.

Today everything was getting to her.

This . . .
thing
with Ian, whatever it was, was getting to her.

And she knew something had to give.

And it started to give the moment, they exited the Rover and Ian knelt to help her put on waders. He knelt in front of her as she placed her hands on his wide shoulders. When he looked up at her and smiled, her heart tripped. As he shimmied the waders over her jeans and pulled the suspenders over her shoulders, she could smell the faint scent of aftershave or cologne.

He seemed to be taking an awfully long time.

The rushing water made the air cool, but it didn't stop Lucy from breaking into a sweat. She never knew being dressed in fishing gear could be such a turn on.

"One sec," he said quietly, leaning closer as he reached behind her to adjust a strap.

His neck was inches from her face. She drew in a deep breath of him and stifled a groan.

"What was that?" Ian straightened and stepped back, clearing his throat.

"Nothing." Lucy picked up the tackle box. "So we ready to do this? Catch our dinner, live off the land?"

He laughed, grabbing the rods and a cooler. They headed for the river. "Just warning you, once you've had my grilled trout, you'll beg me to come out here every week to—" Ian's mouth clamped shut, and he focused on the river with laser intent.

A sick feeling twisted Lucy's gut. She wasn't staying. There'd be no future days with Ian fishing for dinner, Ian helping her down from the boat, Ian smiling at her from across the kitchen table as Fran chatted on and on…

She might never see him again.

A sense of doom settled over her as Ian set the cooler down and took the tackle box from her hand. He rooted around the box and attached lures to their lines all while Lucy stared at the rushing water and the painfully beautiful view.

With an oath, he tossed a lure back into the box and stood. He paced, hands on hips, then stopped to stare across the river. When he finally turned around, he dragged a hand down his jaw. "This is crazy." He stepped close to her. "Is it just me, Lucy?" He scowled down at her with a fierce expression. "Am I the only one, the only one pretending like nothing's wrong? And why is it wrong? Hell, maybe it's right. Fuck. I don't know anymore…"

She couldn't catch her breath, couldn't seem to speak. His hands closed around her shoulders. He wanted an answer, wanted things she was too afraid to give. And she couldn't seem to make herself answer.

"Come on, let's just fish," he said, changing his mind, crouching down to retrieve the rods and a bag of what looked like corn. "Here." He tossed her the bag.

She was reeling from his words, from the fact that he felt just as lost and frustrated as she did. "What's this for?"

"The trout like them. That's our bait."

"Better than worms, I guess." She opened the bag of corn and made herself focus on the job at hand. "Do you mind if I take some pictures of the rods and tackle box? They'll look good by the river. For the article."

"Sure."

After she took the photos, they found a nice rocky spot on the edge of the water and cast their lines. Some of the tension wore off, and she found she enjoyed the quiet, and the repetitive motions of casting, waiting, reeling in, waiting some more. They didn't talk, yet, strangely, it felt like one of the most intimate moments of her life.

Until she got a bite and screamed, jerking the line and hooking a large brown trout. Fishing just went from calming to exhilarating in two point five seconds.

"Easy, Lucy," Ian called as he hurried to help. "Reel him in steady."

As the trout reached the shore, its body began flapping wildly. Lucy screamed. "Oh my God! What do I do?"

Ian knelt, held the fish still on the rocks, and removed the hook. "Nice job." He lifted the fish and grinned. "Say hello to dinner."

"No, don't say that!" Suddenly the idea of eating the poor thing made her rethink.

"You eat fish don't you?"

"Well, yeah, but they come from the freezer section at the grocery story or magically appear on my plate at a restaurant. They don't look at me like that," she gestured to its gaping mouth and round eyes.

"This is where they come from. The rivers, the lochs, the oceans. That lunch you raved about the other day, that was a pike Hamish caught. This is part of the farm, part of the experience, Lucy. Our guests will have the freshest fish and meats and eggs and cheeses…"

Ian put the fish in the cooler.

He was right. Of course, he was right. She knew where her food came from. She just never thought about it much. This was farm life, estate life. Scottish life in the country. And, yes, part of the experience. "Should we catch a couple more for Fran and Hamish?" she asked.

Ian smiled. "They're off tonight to see their daughter, Sara. Dev and Jamie are eating at the pub tonight. It'll just be the two of us."

"You were serious about making dinner."

He brushed his hands on his jeans. "You doubted my cooking skills?"

Lucy returned his smile. "Guess we'll see…"

"You don't get off that easy. You're going to help."

Her eyebrow arched. Lucy and cooking did not go well together. "You sure about that?"

He cast his line. "Sure. The kitchen is ours. You ever cook a real Scottish meal before?"

"No. But let me guess, all part of the experience."

"Now you're catching on. Might as well learn something new, right?"

"Yeah. Easy to do when I have my own personal guide. Not sure what I'm going to do without you once I get home."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to take them back. Damn it. And they were doing so well. What would she do indeed. It was hard to imagine going back to New York and the tiny apartment she shared with Kate and Grammy Lin. Not having Ian around, exposing her to new things. Not that she needed him to. If it was one thing he'd taught her in the short time they had together, it was that she needed to push herself out of her shell, out of her fear, and take risks, try new things.

Ian gave her a lop-sided grin, obviously trying to make light of the moment, as he reeled in his line with practiced ease. "You're going to miss me, Walker."

Problem was, she would.

Lucy sat curled up in one of the large library chairs with the journal. After their day outside, Ian had gone on to take care of estate business while she returned for a shower and some R & R. She'd recorded her hours by the river, fishing, and the picnic lunch that followed, along with the stories Ian told about his childhood summers on the estate. She could picture him so clearly, lying on the blanket, hands tucked behind his head, eyes closed, face turned to the sun as he spoke. She'd stared at him the entire time, noting the way a slight dimple appeared in his left cheek when he smiled, the way his deep, soft laughter rumbled from his chest, the way his accent would thicken with certain words.

She'd fallen. Hard.

She knew it. But she wasn't quite sure what to do about it, if anything.

As she stared out the window, she wondered if she could make a life here. With him. Were they compatible? Was this just a fleeting thing—fall hard and fast, and then watch it burn out just as quickly? Then what?

Lucy MacLaren had a nice ring to it…

"Oh my God," she muttered at the ridiculous thought.

"Oh my God what?" Ian said from behind her.

Lucy jumped up, dropping the journal. "Jeez, Ian!" She hurried to pick it up. "A little warning next time."

"I'm going to grab a quick shower. You ready for dinner?"

He gave her a curious look, probably because her face was burning and she was acting like she'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

"Meet me in the kitchen in fifteen," he said. Surprising her, he leaned in, put a hand on her waist, and kissed her cheek.

He was gone before her wits returned.

"I don't want polite kisses," she mumbled to no one, grabbing her pen off the floor and then glaring at the library door.

She only had two nights left. And, damn it, she was going to make them count.

To hell with being scared or risking her heart. It was too late for that. She'd started all this with a spontaneous kiss and she'd see it through.

Lucy glanced down. Her T-shirt and khaki capris weren't exactly seduction material.

No, she needed something special. Something that would knock Ian's socks off and, lucky for her, she had just the thing.

Chapter 10

Ian walked into the kitchen with a smile on his face. It surprised him, how much he looked forward to making dinner with Lucy, how much he wanted her to like his cooking. After all his boasting he had a lot to live up to.

She wasn't there.

He waited. And waited.

Still no Lucy.

Finally, he headed out the door and through the castle to the main stairs. As he rounded the bottom of the steps, preparing to go up, he saw her only a few steps from the bottom. They both froze. His jaw went slack. He tried to form words, to greet her, but his mouth didn't seem to be working. Jesus.

"Hi."

He heard her shy greeting, but all he saw was the hottest pair of blue plaid heels coming down the stairs. His mouth went dry. He couldn't seem to drag his gaze away. Visions of all the naughty things he wanted to do while she was in those heels played through his mind and stole his breath.

Finally, he tore his gaze away, traveling up those incredible legs to the flowing hem of the sexiest little baby blue dress he'd ever seen. It just kept getting better. The dress sported just enough cleavage to make a man notice, not to mention the hem draped over the middle of her thighs like an invitation. He wanted his hand there, on her bare thigh… Her hair was down in a mass of loose, sexy waves.

Ian swallowed. Dinner was going to be hell.

But he'd faced worse, he reminded himself. He could handle Lucy. He hoped.

Ian cleared his throat. "Lucy."

She bit her lip. The expression in her eyes shifted from worry to hope to determination, as though she was in the middle of an internal war. He wanted to kiss her, to put an end to the constant tension. Then she gave him a look of such blatant lust he nearly fell over. He went hard. His heart pounded. And he couldn't fucking see straight.

Lucy moved to the edge of the step in those hot little heels. Her front touched him, scorched him. Her breasts pressed into his chest. He was going to die right there at the bottom of the stairs.

Lucy's gaze held him enthralled—so wide and sultry and vulnerable. Her hands slid up his bare arms. They were hot. Up his biceps then over his shoulders. "Ian?" she asked, so close, so sweet.