Some Like It Scot (12 page)

She rustled a little, and murmured something drowsily.

“We don't have to board yet,” he said quietly. “Just rest awhile. I'll wake you when it's time.”

She nodded a little, murmured something that sounded like “that's good,” then snuggled against his shoulder and dropped back to sleep.

He slid his arm around her and was surprised to discover that, perhaps, he was the more comforted one. It felt quite normal, having her nestled there, as if she'd done so many times before. Flickers of images danced around the periphery of his consciousness, much as they had in the limo, but as he'd done then, he purposely shut them out, focusing instead on brushing the hair from her cheek with his fingertips, and allowing himself the luxury of simply drinking his fill of her.

Hell of a day
, he thought, but it was ending quite nicely.

He dozed briefly, but spent most of the next few hours watching her sleep…and imagining what it would be like, life on Kinloch with her in the mix. In his life. The boarding announcement was finally made, mercifully ending his prolonged game of What If. He gently nudged Katie awake. “They're calling for us to board,” he said quietly.

She nodded, yawned, then carefully extracted herself from his arms and sat up. If she'd been surprised to learn she'd been sleeping half sprawled against him, she didn't show it. But it took her a moment or two to blink fully awake. He wondered if she was like that in the morning, in bed—then shut that image out of his mind.

He stifled a sudden urge to yawn, and wished he'd spent more of the past few hours sleeping. She hadn't needed watching over, she wasn't a child. It was interesting to him, that protective streak he had with her. He'd never particularly felt that way about any one individual before, though he certainly had felt it collectively where his clan was concerned. Maybe it was just an extension of that.

Except it certainly felt more…personal. Like he was very specifically charged with seeing to her happiness and well-being. Which, if she had even an inkling of that, she'd be the first one to tell him where he could stuff those Neanderthal tendencies.

He'd told himself, while sitting there with her in his arms, it was strictly the notion that she was the one making the sacrifice for him, so naturally he felt responsible for her in return.

Aye. He didn't believe that. And yet, what else could it be?

They boarded the plane, stowed Katie's carry-on, and settled in their seats. Graham pulled down pillows and blankets for them both. And though he'd thought the intimacy of the plane, flying through the night, would give them a chance to talk further about what lay ahead and how best to handle it, both of them were fast asleep before the first bag of pretzels was served.

It was light outside when he opened his eyes again. He thought the captain had just announced their descent into Heathrow, but he might have dreamed it.

What was not a dream was the fact that Katie's face was pressed against his shoulder…and their hands were joined, fingers twined. He was already smiling before he could figure out what his reaction to that should be. She'd made it perfectly clear they were to progress forward as an all-business agreement, putting aside whatever it was that had been going on in the limo. And now…well, they'd both been asleep. It was simply comfort seeking comfort.

Yet he did nothing to disengage his hand from hers.

How was it that less than twenty-four hours ago, he hadn't known her, and the idea of holding her hand while she slept made him happy? Happy. Apparently he did still recognize the emotion.

She was right, smart even, to insist on a business-only arrangement. Not simply because of the crossroads she'd come to in her own life, but because there was simply no other way to approach it, given what they had to do in order to make it legal. They were, for all intents and purposes, still complete strangers.

Sitting there, still not sliding his hand from hers, he was quite content to know she'd sought the comfort of him while she slept.

She didn't feel like a stranger to him. Holding her hand, listening to her steady breathing, feeling the warmth of her, nestled against him, he relived in his mind, their time in the garden figuring out what she should do next, telling her why he was there. He thought of standing up inside the church—her church—and claiming her as his own, rescuing her from the ensuing mob that consisted mostly of her very own family members, carrying her to a waiting limo—in a wedding dress—a dress meant for another man. He pondered lowering her to her back inside that limo, intent on claiming her in another way entirely, feeling things that made absolutely no rational sense, but that had never felt more right inside that exact moment.

It was far more madness than any semblance of reality or normalcy. It begged for a business-only arrangement between them, for both their sakes. Anything else would be tempting all sorts of trouble, from a wide variety of sources.

Yet, sitting there, thinking quite clearly back through every second of time they'd shared, he thought what she felt like to him was…right. Just…right.

It was as if there was, deep inside him, a sense of…relief. That was the word, the feeling, that resonated inside of him. He couldn't explain it, not in any rational sense. Nor could he discredit it. He felt it. Purely, simply.

The pilot announced again their impending descent. Katie rustled a little beside him. He rubbed his thumb along the side of her fingers where their hands were joined, in an instinctive move to soothe her, as if he'd done it oftentimes before.

She woke more fully then, and sat up straight as she blinked herself into awareness, slipping her hand from his as she reached up to rake her hair from her face. He wasn't sure if she realized they'd been holding hands, which was okay with him. He knew.

“Are we—?”

“Almost there? Aye. We'll be landin' in a few minutes.”

She looked up and saw the seat-belt sign wasn't on yet. “I need to…”

He shifted out of his seat, grunting a bit under his breath as his body protested stretching after sitting so long in one position.

Katie skimmed by him and headed to the back of the plane without saying anything else.

“No' a morning person,” he murmured, smiling briefly as he watched her retreating form, thinking back to how groggy she'd been waking up in the airport.

He rummaged in the overhead bin, then moved a bit as she returned, looking a bit fresher of face and light of eye. “Good morning, sunshine,” he said, smiling.

“Amusing,” she said, dryly.

He settled next to her again and offered her a piece of chocolate. “You are to me. Want a bite?”

She eyed him warily, then the proffered candy bar. “Chocolate?”

“We'll stop and get a full meal once we've gotten the next leg settled, but in the meantime, with no coffee, I thought this the next best substitute. Actually,” he said, snapping a bite off the end, “I'd choose this every time if I could.”

“Don't talk with your mouth full,” she said, somewhat grumpily, but snatched the chocolate from his hand when he started to move it away.

“Ye're welcome,” he said, as dryly as she had, when she closed her eyes in momentary bliss as the chocolate melted in her mouth.

“Mmm-hmm,” was her only response. She cracked one eye open as she finally swallowed. “Don't tell me, you're one of those unbearable morning people. You probably don't even drink coffee.”

“Cappucino, but aye, I'd rather have tea.”

“Tea.” She made the word sound like something one might scrape from the bottom of her booted heel.

“I am from the U.K., after all.”

She nodded and slumped back in her seat. “Aye,” she said, her imitation of his brogue getting better with each go. “That ye are.” She rolled her head so she could make eye contact with him. “So, what is the next leg of our adventure, oh kilted one?”

He'd never heard her sound so cavalierly insouciant. Not that he'd had extensive exposure to her. She had been swearing quite the blue streak before their paths had literally crossed in the churchyard the day before. But, in both instances, rather than being off-putting, he'd found her lack of pretension rather charming. “You really do need coffee, don't you?”

However, as he wanted to keep his manhood intact, he refrained from sharing that with her. He knew that much.

“Like a sailor needs a strong breeze,” she responded, with the kind of conviction only a true addict could convey.

“Well, I canno' claim that we make the best of the regular brew here, but if you don't mind something a bit stronger, we are quite adept at making cappuccino.”

“How strong?”

“How does black as pitch sound?”

“Heavenly.”

“Then we shall have some as soon as we step foot on solid ground.”

“Bless you.”

He smiled at her. “You're welcome,” he said, quite sincerely. He enjoyed making her happy, though he couldn't have said why exactly. Certainly there was the pending agreement to be signed, but he was already quite well aware he'd have felt that way about her regardless.

“What is the next leg, anyway? I can't believe I slept all the way from—well, from the limo onward, for all intents and purposes.”

“It was a pretty big day yesterday. Emancipating oneself from a previous life can take it out of a person.”

“That it can,” she said, the words trailing off as her expression turned largely internal.

He wondered at her thoughts, and wanted to ask if she was experiencing any morning-after regrets. But he wasn't fully prepared to hear her answer. As she'd already proven, he doubted she'd dodge the direct question.

“But I did it, didn't I? I mean, here you are, and here I am. No longer in Annapolis. Not married to Blaine. I didn't dream it all, right?”

He shook his head, holding her gaze. “No, no you didn't.”

She smiled then, and it was as if the sun itself had come out to bathe him in its radiant warmth. “Good.”

“Aye,” he said, and smiled back.

K
atie followed in the natural wake Graham made through the throngs at the airport in Glasgow. She felt like she'd been on the lam for days now. But at least the fatigue of it kept her from thinking too much. Or, thinking more than she had to, which was still more thinking than she wanted to do.

Up until the day before, she'd understood her life plan—as it had been presented to her. Admittedly, one she'd signed off on, versus dealing with the alternative. Until then, she'd been a rational, educated, engaged-to-be-married, hardworking business-woman, dedicated to the greater good of family and company. Given they were synonymous in her world made achieving that goal much simpler.

In a matter of just under twenty-four hours, she'd become a jobless, homeless, disinherited, single renegade, on the run with a man she'd just met, who was wearing a kilt, and who she'd promised to form a legal bond of matrimony with, in a foreign country.

Totally sane.

She lugged her heavy roll-on behind her, wishing she hadn't been so adamant about dragging it herself. Graham was so tall it had bounced behind him like a child's pull toy. Besides, he'd done an amazing job getting her mountain of luggage moved from one arrival destination to the following departure destination, like a pro who traveled often, which he'd assured her, he was not. And she was, after all, an independent woman. Hear her roar.

She sighed. And kept lugging.

They still had a train ride and a ferry boat adventure ahead of them. They wouldn't reach Kinloch until after midnight. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. Part of her hoped Graham could secret her onto the island and tuck her away, where she could sleep for a day or ten, then emerge when she was well rested, clearheaded, and had at least partially regained her agile mind and sharp intellect. She'd settle for sanity. But the business-woman who had spent years knowing it was best to tackle a problem head-on, find out up front what all the particulars were going to be, so she could hit the ground running, thereby creating the greatest opportunity for success…that woman wanted to debark from the ferry into the throng of MacLeod's and McAuley's and learn straight off what lay in store.

At the moment, she was leaning—heavily—toward the first part.

“Almost there,” Graham assured her.

She felt like—and knew she looked like—a rumpled rag doll who had seen better days. Months. Graham, on the other hand, looked like a cavalier, devil-may-care clansman off to meet his band of merry men. He was steady, solid, always had a smile for her, and a supportive hand to her elbow or the small of her back. He was never patronizing, nor had he invaded her personal space unless no other option presented itself.

He'd never once mentioned that each time she woke up from another doze or sleep fest, she'd been all but wrapped around him. Given her ultimatum at their arrival at BWI—was it only yesterday?—he'd had every right to call her on it. But he'd been the consummate gentlemen. Of course, he wanted something from her. A big something. So, it was imperative he treat her with the utmost respect.

It was therefore intensely perverse of her to be feeling a little bit put out with him for not being more…whatever it was he'd been back in that limo. God knew she'd seen herself in the mirror in the ladies room upon arrival. She was hardly enticing. But…if the truth were to be told, she hadn't exactly sought him out only in an unconscious state. More than once she'd been well aware of where she was, and who she was leaning on…and who was gently stroking her fingers after she'd “sleepily” woven her hand in his.

Perhaps not the coolest thing she'd ever done, but dammit, she was embarking into a whole new world. She was not going to apologize for taking a bit of solace and steadiness where she could find it.

She watched him stride ahead, her gaze raking him from head to toe, completely unaware of the crowds of people jostling by, her focus narrowed down to his shaggy hair, ridiculously broad shoulders, lean hips, fine ass—from what she could tell—and amazing calves. What red-blooded woman wouldn't want to lean on that? Just for a bit?

Once she'd gotten settled and her feet under her again she'd be fine completely on her own. Surely. She had to be.

“Here we are,” he said, turning to her with that easy smile, and those kind eyes.

There was absolutely no reason, none at all, why those kind eyes frustrated the ever living hell out of her. Where were those intense lavender eyes from the limo? Raking over her like he wanted to devour every inch of her? Where was that guy from her stress-induced—she was convinced—hallucinations? The one rolling her around on sheets of fine linen…pumping himself into her like the world was going to come to an end if he didn't find that explosive climax between her thighs.

“Are you okay?” he asked, looking quite concerned.

She pulled to a stop beside him. “Yes. Why?”

“You groaned a little. I know it's been a long journey and we've a ways to go. Are you sure I can't take that for you?” He reached for the rolling bag.

She yanked it closer to her, like it was some kind of stuffed bear. “No. I have it.”

He lifted his hands. “Fine, fine.”

She blew out a long breath. She was being a bitch. A totally uncalled for, unfair bitch. “I'm sorry. I'm just—”

“Tired, I'm sure,” he said, with sincere understanding, ever the solicitous one. “It's okay.”

“It's not okay. I've slept almost every minute since we left the States. I have no excuse. I travel all the time for my job. This is nothing.”

He turned toward her, creating an intimate little circle, making her realize that people were staring and perhaps, just perhaps, she'd been raising her voice a tiny bit.

“You're emotionally exhausted, and your life is not the same one it was when you were traveling for business. It's okay, Katie. Truly. Let me help you.”

It's the least I can do
. He didn't say it, but she heard it nonetheless. The perversity continued as she didn't want him to be Mr. Understanding. She wanted him to tell her to knock it off, then put his hands on her face and look at her the way he had in the backseat of that limo…only she wouldn't push him away.

Man, she really needed some fresh air, decent food, and some time completely alone. She was losing it.

“Thank you,” she said. Again. “I—why don't I go check on the train situation?”

“Why don't you wait for the bags and I'll handle that. You don't have—I'll need to be the one to do that.”

Right. She'd forgotten. All she had to her name was her passport. And suitcases full of clothes. No phone, no cards, no cash. “Okay, no problem. I can do that.”

Graham turned and secured the help of a skycap with a big cart, then walked back to her. “I won't be long. I just need to book passage and get us transport to the train station.”

“Do you—have you called anyone? Called home?” She'd been dying to ask. He hadn't said a word, so she'd put it off. But the time to keep her head buried in the sand, or in sleep, had come to an end.

He shook his head. “I will.”

“Do you know what you're going to tell them?”

He stared at her for a long moment without saying anything, then the luggage carousel kicked on, startling them both. “I'd better go get things settled,” he said.

She noticed no one in particular paid any attention to the man in the kilt. Not like in Baltimore. They were in Scotland. He was home. Not that there were many kilted men strolling about the airport, but she assumed it wasn't exactly an oddity in these parts. Scotland. She hadn't seen any of it, yet. She wondered what the train ride would be like. Would there be wonderful countryside vistas? Time for her to really regroup and settle herself?

“Miss?”

She turned to see the skycap gesturing to the moving luggage belt.

“Do you need assistance there?”

“No, no, I have it, thanks.” She wedged herself into the crowd that clogged the line along the moving track, wondering if they had to do customs again. “Never again will I travel with so much stuff.”

The irony was that until she sorted out things at home, it was all her stuff. As in
all
. It would quite likely accompany her anywhere and everywhere she went—at least for the time being.

Graham returned as the skycap was rolling their luggage-laden cart away from the conveyor belt. “This way,” he said.

She merely nodded and followed. Once they were settled on the train, she'd talk with him. About everything. She needed a plan, and to make a plan, she needed information. Most immediately, she needed to know exactly what to expect when they arrived on Kinloch, exactly what his plans were where she was concerned, especially as they pertained to her being his guest. Where was she staying? With him? With relatives? In a hotel? Did they have hotels on Kinloch? He'd made it sound pretty rustic.

Once all that was settled, they needed to talk about what he would expect from her in regards to the deal. What he was willing to offer her, and what, specifically, would be required of her if she agreed to go through with it.

That was just to start.

But it was one train ride. If she could get that much information, she'd be happy. She knew it was her last chance to have him exclusively to herself. Once they were on Kinloch, once he was home, all bets were off, and her standing would be far more subjective. She had no idea how easily influenced he might be by his friends, or the people he was doing this for. She understood that. At least where the business dealings were concerned, she understood that. She used to make her living understanding that.

As to the rest, to the personal part…she had not the first clue. She wanted it to be all business. But in their case, business meant marriage. How were the island folk going to react to the “business arrangement”? And how, exactly, was that arrangement going to work between them?

She'd kill for her BlackBerry. She needed to make notes, make sure she didn't forget to cover anything pertinent.

“Katie?”

“What?” she said, a bit distractedly. When nothing else was forthcoming, she glanced up to see they'd come to the taxi queue outside the airport. “Oh.”

She turned to the skycap, who, along with Graham and the driver, had loaded one of the cute little traditional British cabs to the hilt with her bags, including inside. It was a small miracle there was room left for the two of them. “Thank you,” she said, automatically reaching for her purse, to tip him, only to realize, then flush a little as she had to step back while Graham took care of it. “Thank you,” she said again, humbled anew at her circumstances. It would be temporary, she'd already determined that. Some way, somehow, she was going to earn her own keep. And not just by signing some damn marriage contract.

She'd call home. At some point. Maybe not right off. She didn't want to risk anyone tracking her down until she was good and ready to risk being found. One thing she had concluded was they might cut her off from the family trust, but she had her own money—money she'd earned working for McAuley-Sheffield. It was a blip on the chart of what she'd been technically worth before she'd been carried out of her own church, but it was enough for her to start over. Or to
begin
starting over.

It was a start, dammit.

She refused to be dependant on Graham's kindness and generosity a moment longer than she had to. She had two feet. And she planned to stand on them.

So it surprised a squeal out of her when she found herself suddenly scooped up in Graham's strong arms and carted around to the other side of the cab. She'd forgotten about the wrong side driving.

“What are you doing?” she spluttered, as the rain she hadn't noticed was falling, caught her full in the face. “Oh!”

“Puddles. Deep ones. Mind your head,” he said as he gently stuffed her inside the backseat of the cab and followed her in. It was no limo, and though she scooted over as quickly as she could, they were all but in each other's laps once he was safely inside and the cabbie had shut the door. Graham had to duck his head and slouch a little to fit.

“Sure ye don't want to sit up front here?” the driver asked as he jumped into his seat and closed his own door.

“No,” they both said simultaneously, then caught each other's gaze. And smiled.

It was the first truly personal moment she'd felt that they'd shared since leaving the States—if you didn't count the times she'd woken up snuggled next to him, hands entwined.

Times she supposedly didn't recall because she was groggy with sleep.

She sighed a little, and concern caused those sexy little creases at the corners of Graham's eyes to crinkle up a bit.

“It's no' too far to the station. The train will be a lot roomier than the planes have been. You'll be able to stretch a bit. And walk about, if you want. We'll get something to eat after we get underway.”

She wanted to tell him to stop taking care of her. Despite allowing her parents and Blaine's to run roughshod over her life plans, she wasn't exactly coddled in her day-to-day life. She worked. Hard. And took care of herself. Okay, perhaps not so much her living space, which was her own private suite in the family homestead, and it was true she'd rarely cooked for herself. But at work, she ran the show in her division. No one tended to her.

But Graham did. He thought he had to, she realized. But he didn't. She should tell him to stop it. And she would.

Except it was kind of nice to think that someone would want to do that for her, just because. She'd done that for Blaine—because she loved him, and because, frankly, he needed a keeper. He had definitely been the skirt in the relationship. So…it was kind of nice to be the girl. Not so much pampered, as…tended to. Like there was some honest affection there.