The Great Scot (23 page)

“That's up front, and I appreciate that. So I'll respond in kind. I confess I accepted your invitation for much the same reasons.” She smiled briefly. “Don't let it go to your head, but ye plague me, too.”

“You're getting far too accomplished with that accent,” he said, enjoying the return of her warmth as well as her acerbity. There was a sense of security in that.

“It's a skill I picked up growing up. I could mimic most of the staff, and did a dead-on impression of the head mistress. I figured out early on that I could win friends and influence people by making them laugh.”

“Was that your goal then, when you moved to Hollywood? Were you hoping to be a performer?”

“No. I fell into my job entirely by accident. I had just finished my marketing degree and was working for an ad agency in L.A. and…long story short, I ended up helping Tommy's then location coordinator after overhearing her trying to work a deal with a maitre d' where I ate lunch. I stepped in, set her up, and it turned out well. Really well in fact. Tommy offered me an assistant's job. It sounded exciting and it was crazy to take the leap, but the promise of travel really grabbed me, so I took a risk and went for it. Then my boss got pregnant and left, and I got her job.” She smiled and for the first time her face truly lit up. “Truly a dream come true job.”

Her eyes finally sparkled, he thought, and it wasn't for him, but for his number one adversary: her occupation.

Didn't that goddamn well figure.

“You're a lucky lass, then. To have married work and life together in such a blissful union is the best of all rewards.” He pushed to a stand, needing to step away from her, this aborted morning, all of it, and reclaim a bit of himself. He'd allowed himself to indulge in the fantasy and look where that had taken him. But perhaps, given his inability to be the juggler, that was for the best, too.

Now it was back to the norm of his life. Cold, harsh reality. One thing was for certain, if he couldn't manage to separate the two in such a short time with her, that certainly cemented the truth that he was no' cut out to court a dozen women as their next leading man. He began to see the truth behind her explanation of why the men in question on her program fancied themselves in love with someone they'd hardly just gotten to know. Constant exposure under extreme circumstances did interesting things to one's perception and logic.

Good thing he'd figured out that he was merely suffering from a cause-and-effect situation and by extracting himself now, he would swiftly return to reason and rational thought.

Now if he could only be certain he'd also have dream free nights, as well.

“Leave the blankets and picnic basket. I'll return for them later. We should be getting you back.”

“Are you sure? I can carry the blankets if you can get the basket and lantern.” She glanced down at what had been the scene of his planned seduction. “I'm not sure about the pillows.”

“Leave it all. I'll bring the basket if you want to snack a bit on the ride back. I've bottled water and bread. The cheese is probably fine. There are some grapes.” And oh, the midnight tryst he'd had imagined, exciting all the senses with the crisp taste of fruit, the heady scent of wine…He wondered if it would have made a difference in how this morning had turned out, but refused to allow himself to make any more of a fool of himself than he already had by even speculating on that possibility.

She grabbed a plump, square pillow and stood, the not-quite-sparkly smile pasted back on her face. “I really do appreciate all the trouble you went to. I'm sorry we didn't give the feast its proper due.”

“It's okay,” he said, wondering if his own smile was as noticeably forced as hers was. “Come on.” He led the way, needing to leave as much as she did, only perhaps for different reasons. He'd missed the feast. And not the one that included grapes and chunks of cheese. But the feast of Erin. He hadn't even managed to handle that right, for memory's sake.

“I'll drop you round back at the service entrance so you can head in and freshen up a bit and no one will be the wiser.”

Hugging the pillow to her chest, she passed him as he gestured for her to take the stairs down first. “Very gallant. I appreciate that, thanks.”

Gallant. Hardly. He found himself resisting the urge to apologize all over again. Clearly she didn't feel the lack of romance last night, or hadn't been looking for it in the first place. She'd said all the right things. If he were truly gallant, he'd follow her lead, both figuratively and literally, and let this one night be what it was. A sexual release of pent up need, ne'er to be repeated. He should be thankful he'd gotten that much.

They were halfway back across the valley, the ride spent almost completely in silence, not as companionable as their easy silences of the past. He abruptly pulled off the road and tugged the pillow she still hugged from her arms. No more shields, no more barriers.

“What's wrong?” she said, blinking at him in sleepy surprise, as she'd been half drowsing. She was fully awake now.

“This. It's all wrong.”

Before she could ask him to elaborate, he leaned across the center stick and reached for her. She was still getting her senses straight, which was probably why she let him without any attempt to pull away. “Dylan, what are you—”

“Once we get back, the craziness will consume you again. I know that's your world, and you thrive on it. I'm glad we had the night, but I apologized before not because I was disappointed in you, but because I'd wanted it to go differently than it did.”

She sat up a little straighter, alert now. “Different how?”

“I wanted all night with you, not such a hurried rush. I knew it might be one night and one night only and I'd meant to make the most of it. And instead—”

“We both reacted to the moment the same way. You didn't see me objecting to that.”

“I know. We took the edge off what we'd been building since, well, since—”

“You startled me into almost falling over the railing in front of your house,” she said, with a hint of teasing smile. “Or maybe it was later for you. But I wanted you right then.”

The confession both poleaxed him, and gave him the exact toehold he needed to finish what he'd once again begun. “I wanted more than that edge removed, Erin. I wanted…” He trailed off, not sure what the words were he was looking for. So he showed her. “I wanted this.”

He tugged her close and this time when he took her mouth, he claimed it slowly, thoroughly, and completely, seducing her with his tongue, with his lips, with everything he could pour into one, soul-searing kiss…until they were both left leaning limply in each other's arms, trying to draw a regular breath and finding only partial success.

“Um…wow,” she breathed, moments later, her fingers still entwined in his hair, her face pressed into his neck.

He turned his face into her hair. And grinned madly. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Exactly.”

E
rin was still reeling when Dylan gently disengaged her arms from his neck and tucked the pillow back against her body. A moment later they were spewing gravel as he peeled the little roadster back onto the track and shot them like a bullet across the valley floor.

What in the hell had just happened? She'd had an hour or so of hot, sweaty, wild sex with this man, with him thrusting everything he had into her and taking her screaming over the edge into a violently satisfying orgasm. It had been raw and visceral, exhilarating and staggering, all at the same time.

And yet it hadn't even hinted at the intimacy he'd just shared with her in that one, soul-searing kiss.

She couldn't string coherent thoughts together, much less actual words. She couldn't even bring herself to look over at him. So she simply stared ahead, clutching at the pillow in her lap, wondering what in the hell happened now?

It had cost her everything she had to play the unaffected, one-night-stand girl this morning. Yes, when she'd spied the blankets, the basket, the lantern, the pillows, her little romantic heart had gone pitty-pat. She had visions, albeit brief ones, of them slowly undressing each other in the moonlight, taking the time to explore each other's bodies, making slow, sweet, mind-blowing love to one another as stars shot across the sky overhead. Ah yes, she'd had it all plotted out in under five seconds.

And had quite willingly thrown that scenario right under the bus when he'd grabbed her and pulled her down on top of him. Something about an alpha male like Dylan wanting her, average Erin, so badly he could barely be civil, had been possibly the most exciting thing she'd ever experienced. She had thrown herself completely into the moment, and at him, with great and willing abandon. No complaints on her part.

Then, afterward, when they were lying there, sprawled on their backs, staring sightlessly up at the sky, breathing hard, with big, stupid, satisfied grins on their faces, a little of the romantic in her began to creep back in when he pulled her into his arms. She'd listened to his breathing smooth out as she let sleep claim her as well. There would still be morning, she'd thought. Or perhaps sometime in the middle of the night, they'd wake each other up, start slowly, enjoy each other again, only more lingeringly and with great tenderness, as he'd shown her in those kisses earlier in the evening. Only when she'd opened her eyes again, dawn had been breaking, and Dylan had been sound asleep, his arm still carelessly slung around her. She'd watched him sleep, toying with the idea of waking him up, seeing where the morning might take them. She'd let her fingers do a little exploring, but stopped before she got too bold.

The longer he slept without so much as a murmured whisper or grunt of awareness, the more she started to think. Never a good idea the morning after a night like they'd shared. It had been sex, she'd realized. Raw, passionate, primal sex, but what they'd shared could in no way be construed as personal. And she wanted more. She wanted lovemaking, she wanted him to look into her eyes while he made love to her.

She wanted exactly what she'd been trying to avoid wanting.

Emotional involvement.

Which was when she'd gotten up and slipped on his shirt—so she'd wanted the scent of him on her a little longer, so what?—and wandered a safe distance away. Before she did something truly foolish.

And thus, one-night-stand girl was born. She'd learned early on that the best defense was always an awesome offense. Being the first to rise gave her the distinct advantage of setting the morning-after tone. She could be cool, she could be unaffected, she could be blithely blasé about the fact that not six hours ago she'd had hot monkey sex with this guy. She could if it meant keeping her heart intact, anyway. Because if she let herself want, or wish, or hope, for one teeny tiny second, that things had gone a little differently, she'd be doomed.

She liked Dylan Chisholm. She liked his complexity, his moods, his laughter, his intensity. She appreciated the tough choices he'd faced, and that he wasn't a hundred percent okay with every one he'd made. Who was? She certainly wasn't. She had enormous respect for the choice he'd made now, in coming back and taking on such a monumental task. She'd like to think she'd have done the same, but it was so far outside the realm of any part of her past, she couldn't really know for sure. He made her think about herself, about her life, about the choices she'd made.

But it was the very difference in their paths that held her frozen in that seat, clutching a stupid pillow, instead of reaching for him. She'd been able to divert, intentionally misread, or just plain pretend she didn't understand what he was getting at back at the ruins. She'd expected him to take her nonchalant lead gratefully and go with it. She hadn't expected that maybe he'd woken up with the same confusing swirl of emotions she had. Because to even consider that complicated things in ways she had no hope of handling.

Until just now. When he'd taken matters into his own hands. Taken her into his own hands. And put an indelible stamp on her, so she had no choice but to understand exactly what he was thinking, exactly what he was wanting. And what terrified her most? She was secretly thrilled by it. Totally, want-to-jump-up-and-down, squealing like a Barbie, happy toes, thrilled by it.

She wanted Dylan Chisholm. And, by all that was holy and truly incomprehensible, he seemed to want her too.

So now what in the hell did she do?

Given what had just happened, she doubted Dylan was going to sit idly by and wait for her to set the pace. No, he was going to go after what he wanted. And damn if that didn't make a girl squirm in her seat, in the most pleasurable of ways. She wondered what Dana would say. For about a second. She knew exactly what her assistant would say.
Go for it, you big dummy!

She sneaked a peek at him from the corner of her eye. The play of muscles in his forearm as he shifted gears. The solid length of his thigh, which she happened to know was perfectly muscled. Restoring a centuries old mansion was apparently better than a regular gym workout. And it could all be hers.

Temporarily.

And for a price.

Given how her secretly mushy heart was currently oozing all over the place, the price tag would be a hefty one. She'd get involved. Okay, more involved. Who was she kidding? And then what? Even if she stayed in Scotland to do the advance prep work on the next season when everyone went back to California to do the post production on the piles of film from this season, it would only extend her stay here another few months at best.

Just enough time for her to fall well and truly under his spell, before having to say a tragic good-bye.

She was never going to watch Brigadoon again.

Erin came out of her fog in time to notice they were pulling into the service lot behind the hotel. Dammit, she'd wasted all this time mentally fencing with herself and hadn't figured out what she was going to say to him. Fortunately or unfortunately, as it turned out, she didn't have to.

In the service lot were two of the production crew's oversized van rentals. Both of which were spewing out a cluster of gorgeous women in a tumble of hairspray and laughter.

“Oh crap. They're here,” Erin muttered.

“What?” Dylan asked distractedly.

Erin sighed and glanced over at him. Yep. Glazed eyes. “You sure you don't want to be on the show?” she asked dryly, while he stared in unabashed awe at the women as they continued to step from the vans. She made a hand gesture like a game show girl. “All this could be yours, Mr. Chisholm,” she intoned in her best hostess voice. “Twelve beautiful women, all dying to have you.”

She already had her hand on the door. It was for the best, anyway. Took care of her stupid fantasy issues real quick. Now she didn't have to worry what to do. Then Tommy was squeezing himself through the throng and suddenly appearing at her car door, flinging it open and pulling her out. “What is this?” he demanded, tugging the pillow from her arms and tossing it back in the car. “My god, you look like something the cat refused to drag in. Anyway, no time, no time.” He clapped his hands. “Listen up. What is this I hear about you taking off this weekend for Inverness?”

“I'm still scouting that last overnight,” she said, not really lying through her teeth since she planned to kill two birds while there. “I've got everything covered here, don't worry.”

He dramatically gestured behind her. “Well, I think it's quite obvious plans have changed. They're here early and I'm not set up. I need you to—Oh.” He broke off when a sudden squeal rose through the cluster of contestants and they both turned to see Dylan swarmed as he got out of the car.

“Is that him!” one woman excitedly squealed, starting a mad rush.

Tommy shot Erin a quick, almost naughty wink. “Well, why didn't you just tell me you were sealing the deal. Bravo.”

Before Erin could open her mouth to—well, she wasn't sure, to what. Lie, cover her ass, cover Dylan's ass? Slap Tommy for even insinuating she'd do something like that as part of her job description?

As the women swarmed Dylan, the petty, insecure side of herself reared its vulnerable little head and she decided he could save his own sexy ass. What she couldn't do was let him tell Tommy he wasn't doing the show. Of course, another ten minutes of being pawed by a handful of the most gorgeous women in the world, he might change his mind and solve all their problems.

All but the one that made something inside her chest twinge painfully tight as she was forced to watch them touch his chest, lean on his shoulder, take his arm…and she was forced to acknowledge the twinge was rampant jealousy. She wanted to fling herself in front of him and proclaim him off limits, to loudly and definitively state that she and only she had the right to fawn all over him, thank you very much.

At which point they'd all take one look at her and laugh themselves sick. And the worst part is, Dylan might have joined them. Well, no, he wouldn't have, but far worse would be the look of “Sorry, what was I thinking?” he very well might send her way.

Every rejection she ever faced as a child at Crestview came roaring back, as crystal clear as if they'd happened yesterday. Which was completely ridiculous. This had nothing to do with that. That was ancient history she'd long since settled within herself. But it didn't stop the little knot of anguish from forming in her belly anyway.

Then Tommy was in her face again. “God, he is marketing gold. Do I have an eye or what? But we have to get him the hell away from the women before he spoils them for Greg.” He clapped his hands again and raised his voice to be heard. “Ladies? Ladies, please, follow your handlers to the rooms we've set aside for you. We'll have people in there to prep you for your first interviews shortly.” He turned and shouted. “Sebastian, did we get the hair and makeup people in yet? Where the hell is Tanya?” And whatever else he'd been about to lecture Erin about was lost in the ensuing melee of production assistants, hairdressers, and handlers.

Erin was tugged away in the throng and the last she saw of Dylan, they were prying one particularly clingy contestant from his arm. She ignored the wrenching pang in her gut, telling herself she deserved nothing less for being foolish enough to entertain even for one split second that this was going to end well for her. Maybe she should be thankful. Cut it off dead now, before she got in any deeper.

Yeah, thankful. That was going to take a bit longer to embrace.

“Oh, thank god!” Dana materialized from the craziness and took Erin by both arms. “You're back. Where have you been? I've been paging your room for the past hour.” Then she looked past Erin's shoulder. “And who the hell is the rock star over there? My god, you'd think these women had never seen a tall, good looking guy.” And then she was looking back at Erin and froze in the act of leaning in to give her a half hug. She leaned back and studied Erin's face, then shifted her gaze to the rapidly disappearing Dylan, then back to Erin. “Oh. My. God.
Him?
Really?” She pulled her glasses out and jammed them on her cute button nose, lifting up on tiptoe to see over the crowd in the lot. “Score.”

Erin grabbed her arm and tugged her around the side of one of the parked vans. “We need to talk.”

“Sure thing, boss. What's up? Wait, wait, first I have to know one thing.” She stared Erin right in the eyes, studied her for a long few seconds, then grinned. “Oh my god, you did, didn't you?” She raised her hand in a high five gesture. “You go, boss.”

Erin tugged Dana's hand down and pulled her farther around the corner, away from the insanity. “It doesn't matter. Listen. I need you to go to Inverness this weekend for me.”

“But Tommy has me on Barbie Patrol twenty-four-seven.” She leaned in and lowered her voice. “And I swear they gave me to this season's psycho-drama-bitch. I kid you not, this woman has at least three personalities living inside her at any given moment. She'll never make it past the first elimination, but mark my words, she'll get her fifteen minutes worth. Ratings gold right there. Tommy is probably peeing his pants just watching her deliver the crazy. But for me? Not as much fun. I could do without so much crazy.”