Scot of My Dreams (13 page)

While I was still gasping for air, he entered me again and picked up the pace. The aftermath of my climax sparked to life as Bryce possessed me completely. He was determined and dominant and out of control. I loved it.

He shouted and buried his face in the side of my neck as his body shuddered and quaked. I stroked his hair. “You okay?” I asked when he hadn’t moved for several minutes.

“Aye.” The word was muffled and less than believable.

I knew sex was just sex. I was past the age of romanticizing physical encounters. In fact, I had decided long ago that the morning-afters weren’t worth the fleeting release. Thus the dismal state of my dating life in general.

Bryce’s weight on top of me was nice. I felt as if I could float up to the ceiling, but he pinned me down. We had each rested enough that we had trouble falling asleep again. I knew Bryce was awake from the sound of his breathing. I toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. “You need a haircut,” I said lightly.

“Good thing I have my own in-house barber,” he mumbled.

When I thought about cutting his hair, my pulse ratcheted up. I’d given haircuts to hundreds of men over the years. But Bryce? Even the thought of it made me quivery.

I was startled when he rolled to his back and slung an arm over his eyes. “Tell me about your childhood,” he said.

I winced inwardly. “It’s no charming Scottish folktale.”

“Willow…” I heard the warning in his voice. He wasn’t going to let me off with a flip answer.

Well, crap.
“It started out okay,” I said, editing in my brain as I went along. “But after my father left, and we lost the house, I didn’t like moving from place to place. Even though we had a roof over our head and a bed to sleep in, I didn’t have a home. Not like this.”

“No castles in Georgia?” he queried.

“It’s not just the stones and mortar,” I said. “You belong here. You can trace your lineage for hundreds of years. This land and this place are part of who you are. I envy that.”

“’Tis true. I can’t imagine my life without Dunvarstone. Though there are days when I would gladly walk away and never look back.”

“We slept in our car one week.” I blurted it out, ashamed even now, years later.

I felt him flinch as he gathered me close. “You poor bairn. It must have been so frightening.”

I let him comfort me, simply because it felt so good to be held. “It was. I was afraid to fall asleep, terrified we would be robbed. Occasionally the police knocked on the window and told us to move along.” Even now the memory hurt my stomach.

“Your mother must have been scared as well.”

“I’m sure she was. But she was the adult. I was the kid. I swore that when I got out on my own in the world I would never lean on a man to the point I couldn’t take care of myself.”

“So you turned yourself into a responsible business owner.”

“I tried.”

“I’m guessing it was hard to get away for this trip.”

“Yes. But it’s been worth it.” I paused. “You have a lot of responsibility, too.”
Duh, Willow.

His chest rose and fell. “I don’t mind it so much. At least not usually. I wish I could woo you as I want to. We’re always going to be stumbling over dogs and relatives and my obligations.”

“You want to woo me?” Perhaps it meant something different in the Scottish vernacular.

He turned his head and stared at me. I’d left a nightlight burning in the bathroom, so I could barely make out his features. “Isn’t it obvious?”

I shook my head, tugging the sheet up over my shoulder. “No. Not at all. I thought this was about us enjoying each other while I’m here. We can’t make rash decisions based on hormones.”

“I’m a grown man, Willow. With a complicated life. I’m accustomed to denying myself in a great many situations, but this is no longer one of them. I want to make love to you whenever and however often we can manage it. And I’d prefer to think of it as more than a one-night stand. I’ve had my share of those. They leave a bitter taste in my mouth.”

It was quite a speech. I would have enjoyed it if I hadn’t been both shocked and dismayed. I didn’t want Bryce to make this real. I could enjoy a fantasy and go home to my routine life at the end of the month. If he used words like
woo
and
making love
, I was apt to do something stupid like tumbling headlong into a serious relationship with the laird of Dunvarstone.

The room fell silent after that. Maybe because I never responded to Bryce’s declaration. Did I want him to woo me? Of course I did. I wasn’t made of stone. But the idea of being so vulnerable was terrifying.

I kept my breathing steady, hoping he would think I had fallen asleep. My head was fuzzy. All I wanted to do was soak up the sensation of lying in Bryce MacBrae’s arms. Cozy. Warm. Safe.

It was the best of all worlds.

* * *

When I woke up the next morning, Bryce’s side of the bed was empty. I wasn’t too worried about his absence. I knew instinctively that he wouldn’t want Abigail to see him playing musical bedrooms.

Truthfully, I was relieved he had gone back to his suite before daybreak. I needed some mental space to decide how to handle him. Even the concept of handling a man like Bryce was laughable. He was not a callow youth easily manipulated with sex and empty promises.

I made it down to breakfast on time, but I felt awkward and tense. You’d think several amazing orgasms would have mellowed me out. Sadly, as good as the sex had been, it had raised more questions than it answered.

Abigail was animated, practically bubbly, as she described the basic
Outlander
plot to her brother. He listened with half an ear, his attention also on his uncle, who was as lethargic as Abby was energetic. The old man seemed to be fading day by day.

When the professional attendant came to take Horatio back to his suite for physical therapy, Bryce, Abby and I finished our eggs and toast and lingered over cups of hot tea. Abby didn’t appear to notice anything different about me this morning. I kept my attention fixed on her and not Bryce.

Every time he caught my eye, I felt my face get hot. It was difficult, if not impossible, to pretend we hadn’t been intimate the night before.

Bryce stared at me over the rim of his beautiful china cup. His hand looked large and masculine in comparison to the fragile dishware. “So tell me, Willow. How did you manage to walk away from your business for an entire month? You must have a phenomenal staff.”

I nodded, feeling myself relax. I was passionate about my hair salon. I could talk about it at length. “I definitely do. We have four stylists other than me. They agreed to divide up my clients while I’m gone.”

Abby snagged the last piece of bacon. “But what about bills and paperwork?”

“My business partner handles all that. When we opened the shop five years ago, I didn’t have the money for my share, but I applied for a small business loan. Evelyn came up with her half, and we signed the mortgage. I’m responsible for the day-to-day operation of the shop. Appointments, ordering supplies, overseeing employees, including janitorial and a part-time tech person who keeps our Internet running.”

I didn’t tell her that Evelyn and I weren’t on the same page when it came to Hair Essentials. There would be time enough when I got back home to correct what I had come to believe was a mistake. I had wanted so badly to open the shop that I let myself be talked into taking on a partner I barely knew. Evelyn was a friend of a friend, but our approach to the business was more and more out of sync.

“Could you teach me how to cut hair?” Abby asked impulsively. I noticed that her attention tended to flit from one thing to another. She was easily distracted. But cutting hair was a good life skill. “Of course,” I said. “I find it therapeutic, to be honest. There’s a great deal of satisfaction in helping people—women especially—look their best.”

Bryce had found something of interest on his iPad and was reading an article. It occurred to me that the no-technology pact I had with my friends meant I was sheltered from the constant barrage of news. Although not entirely a bad thing, I was not the type to stick my head in the sand. I felt vaguely guilty that I wasn’t as informed as usual about current events.

Abby reached across the table and touched her brother’s arm. “May I tell her about the ball?”

Bryce grinned. “Be my guest.”

“Ball?” My ears perked up.

“I looked at your calendar, Willow. You’ll still be here. I need you for moral support. I haven’t attended since my husband died.”

“Ball?” I said again. I needed more tactical info.

Bryce shook his head, noting his sister’s flustered excitement. “It’s a party we throw here at Dunvarstone every other year for charity. All our friends and neighbors for miles around are invited. This year we’ll be supporting a children’s home, a cancer hospital, and a group that works to preserve the Highlands.”

Abby interrupted to give her pitch. “It’s an amazing night. The men wear formal kilts and the women are in evening attire. Oh, Willow. You’ll love it. It’s a thoroughly Scottish evening. First a sit-down dinner, and then dancing until the wee hours. Please say you’ll stay for it.”

“Of course she will,” Bryce said. “She’s going to attend as my date.”

Shock flashed across Abby’s face. She glanced at me as if expecting to hear a denial.

“It’s true,” I said, playing along, although the wily man had never said a word about it. “Bryce has been kind enough to invite me to be an honorary part of the family. At least for this month.” I added that last bit in case he had any ridiculous ideas about the future.

Something of the strained atmosphere between me and my Scottish lover must have been evident to Abby, because her eyes widened and she stared from one of us to the other. “Well, that’s brilliant,” she said. “There’s a lady in Inverness, Willow, who can whip up a gown in no time. And she’s very reasonable.”

Bryce frowned. “Willow’s dress will be my gift. We don’t need to skimp. The Dunvarstone Charity Ball is a night to remember.”

I didn’t argue, but there no way I was going to let a man buy me a party dress. Especially not when I was eating his food and sleeping in his house. I had to draw the line somewhere.

“Where are we off to today, Abby?” I asked, desperate to shift the conversation to less-personal topics.

She gave me an apologetic smile. “I have a dental appointment. Bryce has promised to take you to Culloden. It’s cloudy out, but there’s no rain in the forecast.”

“I see.” I looked at the man who had spent most of the night in my bed. “Do I get a vote?”

“You’ve let Abby schedule your days up until now. I assumed you’d grant me the same privilege.” His eyes dared me to protest.

I
wanted
to go to Culloden. I even wanted to go with Bryce. However, to make this trip on the heels of what happened last night made me uneasy. I didn’t know how to act around him now.

“What time should I be ready?” I asked, not willing to make a fuss in front of Abigail.

“How about ten? I’ve asked Bibi to prepare a picnic basket for us.” His gaze held mine for several long seconds. Abby’s attention was on Brodie as she fed him scraps under the table, much to her brother’s disapproval.

“Ten is perfect. If you’ll both excuse me, I’d like to get a few things ready to pop in the mail.”

I fled the breakfast table, my heart beating rapidly. Some women would be able to handle this situation with equanimity. But not me. I felt gauche and out of my depth.

My mail consisted of postcards to my mother and one to each of the stylists who worked in my shop. I decided to skip the one to Evelyn, my business partner. We didn’t exactly have a warm, fuzzy relationship.

The only downside to having a small, practical travel wardrobe was that after the first ten days or two weeks, a woman starts to get bored. I had bought a pair of khakis in Inverness one day, but they needed washing already. Instead, I was wearing one of my thin jumpers that was black and gray. My cheery yellow T-shirt was about as close as we were going to get to sunshine today.

I loaded my raffia tote with anything I might need for the morning’s outing and met Bryce downstairs. He looked like he had walked straight out of a catalogue for rich, Scottish country gentlemen. With tan, wide-wale corduroy pants, he wore a pale blue cotton shirt and a dark-brown tweed sport coat. His leather walking shoes were un-scuffed but not new. Clearly the laird of Duvarstone didn’t run around sightseeing in denims and T-shirts with beer slogans.

“I’m all set,” I said, a tad breathless, but only because I had rushed around getting ready. It wasn’t because of Bryce’s masculinity.

He touched my arm briefly. “Don’t regret last night, Willow.”

I hadn’t expected such bluntness. We were alone in the front hallway. No one to notice when he bent his head and kissed me slowly. I dropped my tote. My hands clenched his shoulders. “What are you doing?” I gasped.

“If you have to ask, I must need practice.” He gathered me closer and tilted my chin, his blue eyes warm. “I thought we’d get the awkwardness out of the way first thing.”

I was ruefully aware that if he had asked me, I would have foregone the tourist agenda and followed him back upstairs for an afternoon of lazy loving between the sheets of his bed or mine. Since that wasn’t a practical option, I let him kiss me long and deep, his tongue tasting the recesses of my mouth so gently my knees lost their starch.

When he finally pulled back, he put his hands at my waist to steady me.

“You do that really well,” I muttered, chagrinned at the way he had reduced me to quivering need.

“You inspire me,” he said, deadpan. But his eyes danced.

“Culloden must be old hat to you. I can go on my own,” I said.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“I’m sure you must have things to do.”

He rubbed my cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Don’t be scared, Willow. I’m no threat to you.” His steady gaze sent me a message, but I couldn’t decipher it.

I doubted his claim was true. If the man kept stealing pieces of my heart, how was I supposed to go home?