The Great Scot (14 page)

“I thought you said the charter took them to Inverness. I'm sure I can arrange something suitable to house them until we're ready here. Just let me get on the phone and—”

“What's wrong with your neck?”

“What? I beg your pardon, sir?” Her hand flew to her neck.

“It's all rashy. Do you have an illness, MacGregor? Because I'm telling you, we can't afford for you to be anything less than a hundred percent productive. So, don't even think about getting sick. And no more gallivanting about the countryside with the top down. You probably caught…something.”

“I wasn't gallivanting, sir,” she told him. At least not on purpose, anyway. “I was scouting a date location. And I haven't caught anything. Even if I had, it was worth it,” she added under her breath.

When Tommy shot her a sharp look, she hurried on.

“Worth it because the location is outstanding. Very private, and will need next to no prep on our part. Securing permission will be no problem, either,” she assured him, feeling her neck grow more splotchy the longer he stared at her. “Now, about finding rooms in Inverness,” she went on brightly, urging him forward now. “I'm sure I can find something discreet that will keep the women entertained but well out of the public eye.”

“See that you do. We can't have them down here just yet. This place is a nightmare of reconstruction.”

“Precisely why I thought it best to get Dylan, I mean, Mr. Chisholm, off property today, sir.” And as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew it was precisely the wrong thing to say, if Tommy's immediate renewed interest was any gauge. And it always was.

“Speaking of Mr. Chisholm, I need to talk to you about him.”

Erin tensed. Her entire body was probably splotchy by now. She felt like she was sporting a big neon sign over her head, proclaiming, “Yes, I kissed him, and it was pretty fantastic. So what?”

“I—I know he's been a bit of a problem, but don't worry, I have that under control.” Boy, she was becoming quite the accomplished liar today, wasn't she? But one way or the other, before the night was over, she vowed she would have Dylan Chisholm under some kind of control. Her determination fueled by the little show he'd put on back there. She wasn't fooled into believing he thought this was all fun and games. Where Glenshire was involved, it was anything but. So whatever his game had been just now, she realized it was because he thought he was gaining leverage to get his way later. In fact, maybe the whole seduction scene out by the rock had been more of the same.

Of course, she'd always thought herself a pretty good judge of character, and everything they'd talked about in the car on the way there led her to believe he was nothing if not direct and sincere, but still—

“MacGregor? Are you listening to anything I'm saying?”

“Yes, sir. Of course.” Christ, she really had to get a grip where Dylan was concerned. “I'll—I'll make sure he doesn't get in the way again. I know we're behind schedule and—”

“Get in the way? What the hell are you talking about?”

“The installation crew? I—”
I really wish I'd been paying closer attention
. “I'm sorry.”

He waved a hand. “Never mind. Just proves my point anyway.”

“Which is?”

“He's got the ‘it' factor.”

“The what? Who does?” Then a sick ball of dread formed in her stomach. “Dylan? I mean, Mr. Chisholm?”

“Who in the hell else have we been talking about for the past ten minutes? Yes, yes, Mr. Dylan Chisholm. The Great Scot himself.” Tommy stopped then and turned so he faced her, grabbing both her forearms in his tight, mad leprechaun grip. His grin was a fierce thing to behold, but not half as scary as his eyebrows, which arched high on his forehead as he shook her arms in his excitement. “I need you to have a talk with our Mr. Chisholm.”

Since when had Dylan become “our” anything, Erin wanted to know. Up until right that very second, Dylan had very specifically been
her
problem. And she knew Tommy. He only took credit for anything when it was a good thing. “What about?”

“I've been doing run-throughs all day, blocking out the grand staircase where we'll have our elimination ceremony.”

“I thought we agreed it would be best to have those by the fountain out in the front—”

“I changed all of that while you were gallivanting around with our Mr. Chisholm today.” He squeezed her arms so tightly she was pretty sure it would be some time before she regained feeling in her hands. “Don't interrupt. All day, all I've heard is chatter about the Great Scot.”

Erin frowned. This news did not come as a surprise to her. Tommy's apparent excitement about the problem, however, did.

“Everyone from the food services girl to the cleaning staff is gaga over him.”

“I know I promised to keep him out of—did you say gaga?” She'd been so prepared for the complete ass-chewing she was going to get from Tommy due to the delays, she simply couldn't process the sudden direction change Tommy was taking with this. “Gaga?” she repeated.

Tommy gave her a knowing look. “Come now, MacGregor. I know you're not exactly a man-eater, but even you've obviously come under his spell. Which I suppose, in a way, merely underscores my choice. If he can get to you, no woman is safe from his charms.”

“Charms?” Since when did Dylan have charms? Well, charms that anybody but her knew about? And what did Tommy mean by that “not exactly a man-eater” crack? He, more than anybody, should be thrilled that she'd devoted her life to her job, thereby avoiding distractions like outside relationships. But that didn't mean she didn't want a relationship, or couldn't get one if she tried. Just because she wasn't the giggling, flirty type who wore form-revealing clothes and sported perfectly plucked eyebrows, did not mean she wasn't interested in men.

She was very tempted to tell Tommy that she had charms, too, and that if he hadn't called earlier, Dylan would have had said charms naked and writhing in pleasure. Luckily for her, he was already talking again. Her job was safe another day.

“Chisholm seems to communicate well with you,” Tommy was saying, although she could have done without the “why, I have no idea” tone underscoring the statement. “You've gotten close to him, he listens to you, am I right?”

She'd gotten close to him, yes, she had. Whether that meant Dylan would listen to her now any better than he had before was anybody's guess. But Tommy obviously needed reassuring, so Erin said, “I will be talking to him later. Is there something you want me to bring up?”

“Perfect!” Tommy was grinning broadly now, which was almost scarier than when he scowled. “I knew I could count on you, MacGregor. I'm sure you'll have no problems getting him to agree to be our next Prince Charming. He is just the fresh angle we need to keep things lively and interesting. The Great Scot.” He shook her slightly. “My god, ratings gold, I tell you!”

Stunned, she could only gape at him. “You want me to
what
?”

“Honestly, Erin, you need to keep up.” And with that they were walking again. And she was Erin now, which meant this really was important to him. “You were able to talk him into giving up control of a four-hundred-year-old house, surely you'll be able to make him see what a wonderful opportunity this is. He is exactly the kind of available bachelor we're looking for, toss in the accent, the ancient history—ooh, do you think he has any royalty in him?”

Erin was still stuck back on square one. “You want Dylan Chisholm to be our next Prince Charming?”

Tommy paused for a second, waving off the phalanx of assistants who rushed toward him the second they stepped through the back door. A thunderhead of furrowed eyebrows threatened to mar his heretofore grinning countenance. “Is there a problem? He is available, is he not?”

Erin swore Tommy flickered his gaze to her pink, razor-burned neck, but she couldn't be absolutely sure. Not that it mattered. Just thinking about it had likely caused her to break out in self conscious hives. “Um, well, I'm not exactly in the position to know about his personal life and—”

Tommy stared her down.

“Yes, as far as I know he is. He's a widower, though, you know, so I don't know if—”

Tommy clapped his hands in glee. “A widower you say? Magnificent!” Not exactly the reaction she was hoping for.

“Maybe for you,” she murmured beneath her breath, but at his glare, she cleared her throat and said, “I'm not certain he's ready for a relationship.”

“Well, that's even better. How long since his wife passed on?”

“Around two years or so.”

Tommy snapped his fingers. “Perfect. And he's kept himself alone here in this house. My god, it just keeps getting better and better. He's ripe for the picking. He'll be irresistible. Oh, the ad campaigns we can run. The marketing will be brilliant. We'll have every corporation in the hemisphere begging for commercial time.” He broke off, seemed to refocus, looked her directly in the eye and demanded, “So? What are you waiting for?” He clapped his hands. “Get to it!”

“But the phone conference? And we need to discuss the location I found today.”

“Strike while the iron is hot, Erin.” Now she was certain he was looking at her neck. “I'm assuming you know a little something about that, eh?”

She was certain she flushed clear to her roots. “Ah, yes. Yes, sir. I'll—I'll get right on him—I mean. Sir.” Images of her getting right on top of Dylan flashed immediately to mind. There was a lot of nudity involved. And pistoning hips. She immediately shut the images right back out again. Her cheeks couldn't be any hotter. Dear lord, she hoped she hadn't moaned out loud.

“See that you do. Report back to me later this evening. I'll handle the phone conference.”

Panic set in and Erin spoke before she thought better of it. “Shouldn't we finish up the immediate details of the current show before we worry about—”

“Are you telling me you can't handle this assignment? Because I was pretty sure I made it clear that I don't want to wait. You know as well as I do that our bachelorettes are arriving here shortly. Twelve gorgeous women with their clocks ticking and marriage on their mind. Do I have to remind you of what that's like? We want him signed, sealed, and delivered before he gets any ideas about romancing any of this season's castoffs.” He flicked a glance at his watch. “Get back to me by ten this evening. I should have a few minutes then. And we can go over your day's agenda as well. I want to hear about this site, and hopefully you'll have lined up the last remaining one by then. Perhaps our newest Prince Charming can suggest another one, eh?” He grinned and patted her on the arm. “I want good news, Erin. Good news.” And then he was gone in a swarm of P.A.'s and cell phone chatter.

Leaving Erin standing in his wake, dumbfounded…and more than a little aghast at the job that had just been thrust in her lap. “But I just do locations,” she said to no one in particular. “I don't do Prince Charming. It's not in my job description.”

“Good. Let him get his own lass,” came a deep voice just behind her.

She turned to find Dylan standing there. Smiling. Well, she'd soon take care of that. Her heart sank. So much for hot waterfall sex.

“We need to talk,” he said, his gaze intent on hers in a way that made her body come immediately to life.

She was going to have to find a way to control that. “Aye,” she said, stifling a deep sigh. “That we do.”

D
ylan wasn't sure what reaction he'd expected from her, cornering her so soon after that little stunt he'd pulled out in the rear courtyard. But it wasn't the rather gobsmacked expression she was currently sporting.

He glanced in the direction of her recently departed boss. He hadn't overheard any of their conversation, but he'd come down the backstairs in time to see some of the director's facial expressions and gesticulations. The diminutive man looked rather like a despot ruler of the fairy kingdom. But he'd also looked quite delighted. Dylan had been banking on the fact that he'd been happy to hear that Erin had secured another date location. “Are you all right?”

“Define ‘all right',” she said, somewhat wearily.

Hmm, so all was not well. Hopefully he hadn't added to that. “Perhaps I can make your load somewhat lighter.”

His assurance didn't have the hoped for result either. If anything, she looked more stressed. He plowed on, thinking he could only improve her mood with his news. “I've been upstairs to talk with the work crew, and—”

“Dylan, is there somewhere we can talk?” she asked abruptly. He wasn't even sure she was listening to him. “The office you mentioned earlier today maybe?”

He frowned. “If you'll hear me out, you'll see that your boss no longer has to worry about my getting in the way. I've managed to resolve my differences with the workmen, and without resorting to violence, I might add.” She didn't smile at that. She was looking past him. “It seems I even owe you something of an apology. Their work, while at times a bit on the creative side, has been of a higher caliber than I expected and they have shown some ingenuity in dealing with some of the more antiquated materials I feared would be damaged. Although I admit I wasn't happy when I found them up there working away before I'd given the okay.”

“I told them to go on,” she told him, snapping her attention back to him. “We had contractual rights and we couldn't afford the time loss. I know you're worried—”

“Was worried. Are you even listening to me? We've come to terms, Erin. All is resolved. There were a few adjustments made, but none that we can't both live with. I should have had more faith in your claims, but you'll have to forgive me for being a wee bit overprotective of the auld lass. But all is well that ends without coming to blows, aye?” She didn't smile, or look relieved. She was staring right at him, but her thoughts were clearly on something other than what he was saying.

He waved a hand in front of her face. “Am I getting through? Has something else come up?” He frowned again. “Has there been something damaged?” That would explain her distraction. She was afraid to tell him they'd broken or irreparably harmed something.

“What? No, no, nothing like that. Not that I know of anyway.”

“Well, then, what could be the problem? I thought you'd be relieved to hear all is well.”

“I am, I am.” She took his arm and steered him through the back kitchens, out into the foyer, ducking under ladders, stepping over cables. And studiously avoiding making eye contact with him or anyone else. “I need to discuss something else with you. Office?” she queried, as they headed toward the family wing.

“Through the double doors, down the hall. Fifth door on the right.” She was a woman on a mission and he decided it best to let her forge her own path. For the moment anyway.

There was the niggling concern that if she wasn't worried about their work-related issues, then this need to talk might have something to do with the rather non-work related issues that had, er, risen between them earlier that afternoon. But who would know about that except the two of them? Perhaps it hadn't been wise to goad her in front of her coworkers, but he couldn't imagine her getting into any kind of real trouble over such a tiny thing. If anything, he'd assumed the entire crew had been happy to have him and his complaints out of their collective hair for the afternoon.

And it wasn't as if Erin hadn't been accomplishing work-related tasks. Surely her boss wasn't such a stickler that he'd reprimand her for taking a wee bit of time for herself while there. And hell, they'd hardly had any of that before the man had so rudely interrupted them and dragged her back for some meeting or other.

Brief images of the two of them sprawled on the rock flashed through his mind, the thundering falls matching his thundering pulse as he dropped kisses along her jaw, then alongside her neck, before dedicating his attention to the rewarding path downward…or it would have been rewarding if her blasted mobile hadn't begun chirping.

Better not to think about that at the moment. He'd spent the ride back to Glenshire trying to sort out just what had happened to him during those few hours he'd spent with her. He hadn't come to any concrete conclusions as yet, but he wasn't a heartless bastard, either. He had no interest in complicating her life. If he had done something to put her job into jeopardy, he would do whatever necessary to set things right.

“This one?” Erin asked, already turning the knob on the door.

“Aye.” He reached past her and took the knob, pushing the door open for her. “Let me get the lights.”

She stepped past him as he found the wall switch. It took several flickering moments before the lights came on and stayed on. The current wasn't entirely reliable in some parts of the house.

She stopped short and he heard her gasp. “This is some office!” She turned in full circle, her expression one of awe and wonder.

He smiled at that. Clearly she was taking in the two walls of bookcases that extended up to the fourteen foot ceiling, or the pair of imported Italian glass windows bracketing the far wall, or the massive mahogany desk that sat opposite the equally immense inlaid tile fireplace. The fireplace sported a marble frontispiece, above which hung the heavily gilded portrait of his great-great-grandfather Rahnald Chisholm, seated astride his dappled stallion, with his faithful hunting dogs at the ready.

Just as clearly she wasn't seeing the dark brown water stains creasing the buckled linen wallpaper that lined the space between the windows, or the gaping cracks that ran alongside the fireplace where the heavy stone centerpiece had settled more rapidly over the past century or two than the walls on either side of it. Or the ganglion of exposed wires strapped down along the baseboards, the result of his mission to bring the internet to Glenshire.

He motioned to the settee and two high-backed chairs, all grouped facing the fireplace. “Sorry there's no fire to ward off the evening draft. I could start one if you think we've the time.” Summer days were long in the highlands, but once the sun dipped toward the horizon, the winds could put a chill into even the warmest rooms in the house. Considering most were somewhat dank and dark even in the zenith of sunlight, an evening fire was commonplace any time of the year.

“No,” she said, pacing the length of the room, looking along the shelves at some of the spines. “That won't be necessary.”

She had her arms folded across her body as she said this, and he felt a chill in the room that had nothing to do with temperature. “Will you have a seat?”

She took a few more steps, and he thought he saw her gather herself somewhat, before she finally turned to face him.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, because it was clear that there was. “Did you take a bit of flak because of our trek today? Was it anything I did or said that—”

“No, no, it's not that. I mean, yes, Tommy wasn't thrilled with my absence, but I had to scout out locations and I'd have been gone for some period of time whether you'd been with me or not.”

He was standing a bit too far away to tell, and the golden glow of the lighting in the room masked it as well, but he wondered if that was a blush stealing into her cheeks. Was she having a hard time suppressing images of their activities earlier this afternoon, as he was? It surprised him how badly he wanted to ask her just that. As if he were some callow schoolboy in need of confirmation of his attraction. “True,” he said, walking over to the sideboard. “Can I pour you a drink? Whatever the issue is, you're looking a bit vexed by it.”

“Thank you, but I'm fine.”

So polite, so reserved. Not his Erin at all.

She walked over to the settee, as if she were going to finally perch somewhere, only to turn back to him again and blurt, “I have a proposition for you.”

A slow smile spread across his face. Well, well. This was unexpected. But given the immediate reaction his body had to the news, quite a welcome surprise. “Do ye, now?”

She held his gaze for a moment, then, quite uncharacteristically, broke the connection and looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers together.

It was so unlike her, he immediately crossed the room, taking her hands in his and holding on more firmly when she instinctively tried to pull them away. “If this is about this afternoon…I hav'na quite figured out how to feel about it either, but…” He paused, and when she didn't look up, he ducked down to catch her gaze, smiling as he did. “Have no fear, lass. I'll no' force my attentions on ye. But if you are interested…” He let go of one of her hands and tipped her chin up as he straightened and stepped closer to her, his body brushing fully against hers. “Well, then, I'm open to discussion.”

“Dylan, I—”

The words came out roughly, and something about hearing his name, with such emotion, spoken in that flat American accent, did things to him that made absolutely no sense whatsoever. Despite having just sworn that he wouldn't needlessly complicate things, he was dipping his mouth to hers, intent on tasting those parted lips, without even a moment of caution. He captured her mouth boldly this time, remembering her fierce return of his last kiss.

She planted two fists on his chest and he thought she was going to shove him away, but he took the kiss deeper, eliciting a little moan of capitulation from her that set his body instantly on fire. Instead of pushing him away, she dug her fingers into his shirt, then slid them up to his shoulders as he took her fully into his arms.

As capitulations went, she somehow managed to find a way to give in to his demands and make him prisoner to her response at the same time. There was absolutely nothing polished or rehearsed about the way Erin MacGregor kissed. She laid claim to his mouth as if it were her first, and possibly last kiss ever. As if she'd hungered for a very long time, and so she fully intended to feast her fill lest she ever starve again. And he readily admitted that being the focus of such a ravenous appetite shot him right to the edge of restraint.

There was a long groan as she slid her tongue along his, dueling now for control of the kiss, of him, and he distantly realized, as she moved against him, that the groan had come from him. So long, so very, very long, since he'd felt anything like this. This punch to the gut, this hard yank at the very core of those long-suppressed needs completely unleashed them for the first time in far too long, and they threatened to completely consume him. And whatever shred of composure he might have retained, she was systematically dismantling by teasing his tongue, toying with his hair, pulling his tongue into her mouth, then slipping hers into his, not to mention the way she rose onto the tips of her toes, straining to match her hips to his.

He had too much of a height advantage for that, but that was quickly remedied when he lifted her from the floor and backed her slowly up against the shelves, knocking several books off their perch. He left them where they fell and pinned her there. He slid his hands down her sides, over her hips and along the back of her thighs, urging them up so she could wrap her legs around his hips, so he could—“Dear God, there is a heaven,” he breathed as he finally settled himself fully between her thighs, making both of them groan in deep satisfaction.

And still it wasn't enough. He wanted to devour her whole. He wanted to strip her naked and have her, right then, right there. Repeatedly and with absolute dedication, until neither of them could breathe much less stand. He couldn't recall, at any point in his life really, feeling such out-of-control lust. Of course, he'd never denied himself for so long, but he'd never truly felt the lack, and taking matters into his own hand on occasion had been enough.

But this…this went somehow beyond merely slaking pent up need. He could have done that a dozen times over, twice that, had that been the case. There had been no shortage of offers. He'd never once been tempted.

No…this…this was insanity. Not of the sort that he'd indulged in shortly after Maribel's death. No, this wasn't anything like that. This was…more. More of everything. What should have been a simple slaking of desire suddenly felt anything but simple.

He must have instinctively tensed as that realization sank in, because a second later she was twisting her mouth away from his. “Wait, wait,” she said breathlessly.

He didn't want to wait. He wanted all of her, all of this, right now. He'd wanted it to be mindless, immediate, primal. Why the bloody hell had he let his conscience have even a sliver of a toehold at a time like this? He tried to capture her mouth again, but she dodged his kiss.

“We can't do this,” Erin gasped, her chest rising and falling against his.