Scot of My Dreams (8 page)

We were dining on locally caught salmon and some kind of delicious brown bread. “Well,” I said, not wanting him to think me ridiculous, “it’s a beautiful country, you know.” I hesitated to talk about the Outlander stuff. When I’d tried to explain that to my fellow travelers at the hostel, they had looked at me as if I were crazy. I didn’t want Bryce to also think I was eccentric.

He leaned back in his chair, his small smile making me want to jump his bones. “There are a lot of beautiful countries,” he said. “Why Scotland?”

The man wasn’t going to give up. I bit my lip. “Have you heard of a television program called
Outlander
?”

“Aye.” He surprised me. “The news did a piece about it some time ago. The producers have been filming in Scotland, right?”

“But you haven’t actually seen it.”

“No.”

“It’s amazing,” I said. I proceeded to tell him the storyline and the characters and McKenzie’s generosity and the vision that had brought my friends and me across the pond to seek adventure and romance. Actually, I skipped over the romance part.

After my impassioned speech, Bryce stared at me so intently, I squirmed. “I can’t quite figure you out, Willow,” he said.

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Based on our acquaintance so far, I had you pegged as a woman who was straightforward. Maybe even a wee bit cynical. I’d never have guessed you had a romantic side.”

What he said was spot on, but I bristled anyway. “There’s nothing wrong with romance.”

“Of course not. Actually, I’m damn glad to hear about the whole Outlander experience. I think it bodes well for my chances of getting you into bed. You know, the kilt thing and all.”

My mouth dropped open, but I snapped it shut. I looked around us to make sure no one had overheard. Restaurants in Scotland were much smaller than those back home. The tables were tucked closely together.

Fortunately, other diners were engrossed in their own conversations. “You can’t say things like that,” I hissed.

“Why not?”

Why not, indeed?
“I do prefer honesty and plain speaking,” I said, sounding pedantic even to my own ears. “But you and I barely know each other.”

“Is that a prerequisite for a vacation romance?”

I felt myself getting heated. In more ways that one. “Hayley and McKenzie are the ones who think they’re going to find their soulmates in the Highlands, not me. All I want to do is learn how to relax.”

“I’m happy to offer my services in that regard.” He leaned back in his chair and played with his wine glass. I couldn’t help but notice his hands. They were large and tanned and graceful. It was easy to imagine him wearing one of those fluffy shirts with the lace at the wrist.

I was sure those big hands with the long fingers would be infinitely talented in pleasuring a woman. The knowledge was instinctive and based entirely on the unsettling sexual awareness that simmered between us.

On his right hand, he wore a signet ring that looked old and valuable. “Is that a family crest?” I asked, pointing to his ring and hoping to shift the conversation to less volatile topics.

His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. “Aye. Every laird of the MacBraes has worn this ring at one time or another. ’Tis been passed down through the generations.”

“Your father wore it?” Bryce had allowed me to change the subject, but the amused twinkle in his shockingly blue eyes told me he was merely biding his time.

“He did. For a number of years. When I turned twenty-five, though, my mother’s declining health convinced him they needed to move to Italy, where she was born. They’ve been raising grapes and enjoying a golden early retirement, although they did come back to Dunvarstone for six months when Abigail’s husband was killed. She needed all of us to get her through that rough time.”

“And your grandfather?”

“He died young. My uncle Horatio, whom you met, has been a de facto grandparent to Abigail and me.”

“But he didn’t inherit the castle and the estate?”

“Sadly, no. It goes from father to son.”

“Sadly?” I couldn’t see why owning a castle was a bad thing.

Bryce’s gaze was guarded now. “I never wanted to be the laird. I’ve had a millstone around my neck for twelve, almost thirteen years now. ’Tis not the way I imagined living my life.”

He lifted a hand for the check. I sensed he had said more than he intended. But at least we were no longer talking about sex and romantic Scottish novels. I had a breather to regroup and decide how to proceed.

As we left the restaurant, Bryce touched my arm. “Do you feel like walking a bit?”

“Of course.” It was a beautiful evening, warmer than the ones previous.

He led me through the older parts of town. “Inverness has a rich history, as you might imagine. Historians have documented proof of a settlement here as far back as the sixth century. The actually city charter was granted in the twelfth century. Our little metropolis is growing rapidly, in part because of the quality of life.”

I nodded. I couldn’t imagine anywhere more charming to raise a family.

Though it was Friday night, the streets were peaceful. Occasionally, noisy music and laughter spilled from a pub or a restaurant, but the shops were closed. I was content to walk with Bryce and revel in the simple pleasure of an evening with an interesting man.

We turned a corner, and I found myself staring at the hotel where I had spent my first night in Scotland. My heart clenched with sudden longing to see my two friends. Was this how Claire felt when she discovered she couldn’t get back to modern-day Inverness? Though she had found much to enjoy in 1743, did she feel as if she were two different people?

I shook my head slightly, trying to separate fact from fiction. I may not have traveled back in time, but the truth was, my current situation was so far removed from my day-to-day life that I was disconcerted.

Bryce stopped and examined my face. “What’s wrong?” he asked, with annoying perception. I didn’t want anyone to know me that well.

“Nothing. Not really. I suppose I’m a little homesick.”

It was a partial truth at best.

He stared down at me as if trying to read my mind, a feat made more difficult by the gathering gloom. “Let’s sit for a minute,” he said. Steering me toward a bench beneath a lamppost, he sighed. “I want to ask you something.”

My heart pounded. Whenever I was scared, my default was to make jokes. “It’s far too early for a proposal. We just met. And if you’re about to proposition me, I have to tell you I don’t put out on a first date.”

Bryce groaned aloud. “‘Put out?’ What kind of terrible American expression is that? No wonder you don’t believe in romance.”

“I believe in romance,” I said quickly. “At least in theory. But romance has a tendency to make women stupid.”

He sobered. “That sounds like the voice of experience. Have you had your heart broken, Willow?”

“Yes. But not in the way you mean. My father abandoned us when I was in the fourth grade. My mother was helpless without him. She had spent the duration of their twelve-year marriage becoming the perfect wife, mother, and homemaker. The idea that he didn’t love her anymore was soul-crushing.”

“What happened after that?”

“I don’t know why I’m telling you this,” I said. I hated talking about my past. Even McKenzie and Hayley didn’t know much about what happened to me in the years we were out of touch. Maybe I was trying to prove to myself how incredibly foolish it would be to fall victim to the romance of being wined and dined and seduced by a handsome, sophisticated Scotsman.

We didn’t say anything for a long time. It must have been late, but I didn’t care. Back at the hostel, there would be another group of strangers for me to meet. At the moment, I knew Bryce MacBrae better than anyone else around.

And he must have known me, too, because he didn’t argue with me or try to persuade me to go on. He simply sat in silence and let me be me.

At last, I exhaled. “It takes a very long time for a bank to foreclose on a mortgage. My mother had no job. She was paying only the electricity and the water bills, and somehow she had enough for food. At least in the beginning.”

“Your father didn’t offer financial support?” Bryce sounded disapproving. Undoubtedly, he was the kind of man who took his obligations seriously.

“No. We didn’t even know where he was. The credit cards were in his name. He cancelled them all. I think my mother had a modest savings account. I remember she began taking me to rummage sales on the weekends and selling off our things little by little.”

“I’m sorry, Willow.”

“The change in our circumstances didn’t really hit me until the police came and evicted us. By then I was in sixth grade and old enough to be humiliated and embarrassed. We drove across town to my aunt’s house. She took us in for seven or eight months. But it was a tiny place, and that arrangement ultimately ended. Then it was one family member after another, until eventually even friends weren’t exempt from my mother’s sob story.”

“Children need security.”

“Yes.” I swallowed hard. “At fourteen, I got a job at the neighborhood supermarket. I gave my entire paycheck to whichever family member was feeding us. It was the only way I could hold my head up.”

“And your mother?”

“She never got over my father. She still thinks he may come back one day.”

I don’t know what I expected from Bryce. Already, I regretted my candor. I think unconsciously I was trying to enlist his support, so we would both know not to get involved in something ill-advised.

He rose abruptly and stared down the street, his back to me. Hands shoved in his pockets, he remained still as a slight breeze ruffled his hair. Finally, he turned back to face me. “If you expect me to feel sorry for you, Willow, I don’t.”

I stood as well, feeling the sharp sting of regret. “I didn’t ask you to.”

“But you did want me to know why a beautiful woman like you isn’t interested in romance.”

“I should go now,” I said. “It’s late.” Ironically, this was the same bus stop where I had begun my trip to the hostel. I knew I could stay here, and sooner or later a bus would come by. It was hard to make an indignant exit, though, when Bryce was standing in front of me and wouldn’t leave.

He signed audibly. “Let’s try an experiment,” he said quietly.

Without any more warning than that, he slid his hands on either side of my face and tilted my head. His lips found mine. Everything around me melted away. No Inverness. No bus stop. Only the frantic pounding of my heart.

He kissed me without apology and without hesitation. No fumbling, no awkwardness. We might have been doing this forever, so easily did we slip into the posture of lovers.

I leaned into him, even as he gathered me closer. “God, Willow,” he groaned.

Though I didn’t know exactly what he meant, I had an inkling. If he was even half as dazed and incredulous as I was, we were both in trouble. I had my arms around his neck so tightly, it was a wonder I didn’t choke him.

Through layers of clothing, his and mine, I could feel his thundering heartbeat. I was tall, but he was taller. The sensation of being folded against a big, strong male made me weak.

That was enough of a red flag to smack some sense into me. I stumbled backward and sat down hard on the bench. My hands were shaking, so I clenched them together in my lap.

Bryce didn’t move except to rake his fingers through his hair. His chest rose and fell with his labored breathing. He must have been waiting for me to speak. Either that, or our crazed kiss had fried his thought processes.

I cleared my throat. “That wasn’t romance,” I said.

“No?”

Even now, I detected amusement in his voice.

“Nothing but pheromones,” I said breathlessly. “Chemistry. Not reality.”

“Chemistry’s real,” he said. “I scored top honors in it. But I don’t remember anything in the textbooks like this.”

Down the street, I saw the 107 bus appear, heading in our direction. Disappointment flooded my stomach. I knew it was a sign, a nod to sanity. I stood, prepared to make a quick departure.

Bryce growled. At least in hindsight, that’s what it sounded like. Men didn’t actually sound like dangerous animals. Even so, the hair on my arms stood up.

He stared me down. “You are not getting on that bus. We’re not done here.”

I couldn’t let myself be stupid. I wasn’t my mother; I didn’t need a man to lean on. “I really should,” I whispered.

“Please, Willow. Please don’t go.”

It was the gentle honesty that did me in. He sounded at least as bewildered as I felt. The bus pulled up alongside us. The door opened. I’d been in Scotland less than a week, and already I’d had my fantasy encounter with a handsome Scotsman. A lovely evening of make-believe. Plenty to report to Hayley and McKenzie at the end of the month.

But to stay would mean it was real.

Three seconds passed. Then four. “Okay,” I said. I waved off the bus driver, and he pulled away. “Now what?” I asked.

Bryce held out his hand. “Now I ask you my question.”

* * *

He made me wait, quite a long time actually. As we strolled along the dimly lit streets back the way we had come, we passed small groups of people heading home for the evening. Bryce had his arm around my waist. To the casual observer, we must have looked like a loving couple on our way to a night of wonderful sex and a sleepy Saturday-morning lie-in the next day.

I had never really been part of a couple, so the comparison made me antsy. “Start talking, Bryce. What is this mysterious question you have for me?”

We reached his car, and he opened the door for me with care. “We’ll drive,” he said. After he slid behind the wheel, he started the engine and opened the moonroof. Clouds had rolled in, but the rain hadn’t started yet.

I leaned back in my seat and half-closed my eyes, feeling the brisk night air and wishing I knew more about men. “You’re stalling,” I said.

He shot me a sideways glance. “Maybe.”

“What could possibly be so difficult to talk about?”