To Scotland With Love (12 page)

“Why don't you have that moment now? Come here.” He pulled her to him and put his arm around her.

She should've relaxed, but she couldn't. Surely, he'd guessed by now that her nerves unraveled the closer his body got to hers. She started prattling. “There's so much I need to do. I haven't checked my e-mail. I have boxes to unpack. Which reminds me. Do you know of any place to store my things until my house is rebuilt? It might be a long time, since Mr. Sinclair can't really do much until spring.”

“My outbuilding is nearly empty. And anything of value, like photos or anything else, you can store in one of the bedrooms upstairs.”

Okay, when he said bedroom, she went straight to sex. And dammit, it conjured up the movie he'd done with Antoinette. She'd showed her boobs in that one. Big fleshy double D's like Bonnie's. Those love scenes had been hot and heavy. Cait saw green, and it wasn't the green plaid from Mattie's quilt. She pulled away from Graham.

“What's wrong?” he asked. “There are locks on the bedroom doors and on the outbuilding. I promise not to rifle through your personal belongings.”

She couldn't make that same promise to him. In fact, the next chance she got, she planned to pick through his home as if she were an archaeologist on a dig. “Nothing's wrong. Just thinking about Antoinette. She's gorgeous, and I hate her. Tell me she's stupid.” Normally, Cait wouldn't be so frank, but it was late and the coziness of the fire made it easy for her to loosen her tongue.

“Sorry. Antoinette's a Rhodes Scholar. Brilliant in mathematics. She couldn't pass up making millions with her looks and acting skills. She says when her acting career is over, she'll get her doctorate and teach.”

Cait rolled her eyes. “Figures.”

He pulled her back to him. “Ye're beautiful, too, lass.”

“Now you're just being ridiculous.” But she stayed under his arm and leaned her head back. “Some of us are just passable. We can't all be beautiful like you and the marvelous Antoinette.” She turned her head to look at him, which was a big mistake.

He stared at her lips like they were juicy orange slices and he wanted to suck on them. He moved in and did. Very tenderly and carefully. She tasted him back.

Then he eased away from her. “We'd better wake Deydie so she can get home.”

Cait's foggy brain cleared. “Maybe you should just leave her.” It'd be safer that way, with eagle-eyed Deydie as chaperone. Keep Cait from doing something foolish. Like climbing into Graham's bed.

“No,” he said. “She won't stay. She'll shoot me if I don't wake her.”

On the big screen, Bing had sung “White Christmas” to his girl, and they'd made up. Graham stirred Deydie. “Time to go home, ole bird. I'll walk you.”

“Ye'll do no such thing.” Deydie pushed herself up. “I'm not an invalid.”

He looked at Cait and shrugged.

Her gran trundled toward Cait and wagged a finger in her face. “Mind ye stay in yere own bedroom or there'll be hell to pay.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Cait said without a moment's hesitation.

“I'll see ye in the morning.” Deydie snatched her coat up and waddled out the door.

Graham took the tray and Cait turned out the lights.

As they put everything away in the kitchen, Graham spoke. “Tomorrow we'll figure out how to get your boxes here. Leave the dishes,” he added as Cait started to fill
the sink with soapy water, “else Deydie will go Rambo on me. I've put her on my payroll, and she feels like she has to earn every penny. We'll leave the rest to soak.” He went to the stairway. “I'll show you to your room.”

She followed him, getting a perfect view of his butt in his Dolce and Gabbana's. She would've loved to put her hands on those jeans, but she told her lustful body to get real. All men were the same, hounding after double D's, like her pig of a dead husband. They had no interest in brains or commitment, only in breasts and sex. Graham Buchanan was no different from the rest.

At the top of the stairs, Graham pointed to the first room. “Mattie's in there. I should be back before he gets up in the morning. You'll be in here.” He opened the door to a Victorian paradise.

It had a queen-sized canopy bed covered in delicate pink flowers. The wallpaper and draperies matched the bedspread. It was like she'd been sent to court to inhabit one of the ladies-in-waiting chambers. The only thing that broke up the pink was the white dressers. “Don't tell me you have women's clothes in there? I refuse to wear Antoinette's nighties.”

He shook his head. “Get over the whole Antoinette thing. I don't bring women here. The dressers are empty. I'll give you one of
my
shirts to sleep in.” There he was again, giving her that possessive look.

“Bonnie wants to see you,” Cait blurted out. “I ran into her earlier.”

No spark ran over his features. “It's probably the imported rum. I told her to tell me when it came in. It can wait.”

“Good,” she mumbled to herself. “Then you aren't stupid.”

“What?” he asked.

“Never mind.”

He disappeared and came back with the top half of a pair of expensive men's pajamas. “Go change in the en suite. I'll be back in a few minutes to tuck you in.”

“I'm not five,” she retorted.

With hooded eyes, he gave her a steamy, sexy, slow once-over. “Aye.”

“Stop it.” She stomped toward the bathroom with his jammies in her hand. She heard him laughing as he went down the hall. She knew he was playing with her.

As quickly as she could, she slipped out of her clothes and into his shirt. She ran back into the Victorian room, got under the covers, and turned off the light. That should stop him from thinking he had to tuck her in.

A few minutes later, the hall light went out. She heard him making his way back to her room, the darkness not deterring him.

Until she heard a
thud
and then, “Bluidy hell.” He hopped the rest of the way to the bed.

“I know you're not asleep,” he said.

Cait remained as quiet as a pillow, hoping he'd go away.

The bed shifted with his weight.

Her naughty mind wondered if he were naked. It would take only one wandering hand to find out. She clasped her hands together instead and then clamped them between her legs to make doubly sure her hands didn't go exploring.

He scooted under the covers. “I just want to lie next to ye for a while.”

Yeah, and she had an air conditioner she wanted to sell him for the middle of winter.

He moved closer to her, enough so that she could feel his warmth.

“'Tis hard for me that Duncan won't stay in this house. I spend so very little time in Gandiegow, and he feels he has to keep more than walls between us.”

Dang it
. Just like that, he'd brought her defenses down. She reached out and found his hand among the covers.

“At least he lets me be with Mattie.” Graham squeezed her hand back.

She turned toward him, barely making out his features from the half-moon's glow. “It's not easy to forgive parents.” She still had a huge chip on her shoulder when it came to her dad and stepmother, Evelyn. Her dad hadn't even been loyal to her mom's memory for ten minutes before he was off hunting for wife number two. And Evelyn, she had made sure Cait was shipped off to an East Coast boarding school before the wedding bouquet had wilted. “Believe me. I know a thing or two about not forgiving.”

He laid a hand on her cheek and stroked it.

She laughed nervously.

“Calm down, Caitie. I'm not here to ravish you.” He gave her a chaste kiss on the lips. “I just want to be near ye for a bit.”

“Deydie would beat us both to death with her broom if she saw us right now. I promised her.”

“Ye promised not to sleep in my bedroom.” He motioned to the floral room. “This is definitely not my room. I'd have to return my
Man Card
if it were.”

She smiled into the dark, knowing under the covers lay the bod of Mr. Darcy. This room couldn't change that. She had the urge to know for sure. She wriggled up
against him, and sure enough, she discovered what she wanted to know. He was fully dressed. And hard.

He groaned. “Don't do that. Unless you want me to
not
keep my word.”

“Sorry,” she said, trying to sound contrite. She wasn't really. Her husband had blamed her for
his
sleeping around—that she hadn't been sexy enough. Yet here was Mr. Darcy, with a woody that would've frightened the pantaloons off Elizabeth Bennet. “We should get some sleep. You have to get up early if you're going to crash Duncan's fishing party.”

“Aye. He'll be angry.”

“You're a persistent man,” she said. “You wouldn't let a little resentment stand in the way of making things right with your son.”

“I am persistent.” He pulled her to him and kissed her.

She should've pushed him away. But the inside of her lit up like the northern lights, tingling in places she didn't even know she possessed. She deepened the kiss by opening her mouth to him, and her tingles turned into a slow burn, flowing through her, devouring her from the inside. She found the bottom of his shirt and put her hands underneath to get to him. It wasn't enough. Her skin ached for his. She started unbuttoning his shirt. He was unbuttoning hers. When she reached pay dirt—that lovely chest of his—she pushed him onto his back and made a slow exploration of every inch of his uncovered territory. That didn't stop him from doing his own assessment of her with his hands.

“You're so soft,” he said.

“And you're so hard.” She meant his broad chest, but he growled and rolled on top of her.

Apparently, the fun and games were over. And this was really happening. As she was wondering if she should stop and think it through . . .

Mattie cried out.

They froze.

“God, I'm sorry,” she said, as she pulled her shirt together.

He got out of bed. “I've got him.”

She felt so ashamed of herself with Mattie in the next room. She shouldn't have tempted Graham after he'd promised not to ravish her.

Graham came back in the room with Mattie sobbing on his shoulder. “I can't get him to stop. I don't think he's awake.”

She sat up. “Put him here between us. I'll rub his back.”

He laid the distraught boy down carefully. Cait adjusted the covers over him and caressed his back. Graham climbed in next to him, their two bodies cocooning Mattie.

He began a low Gaelic lullaby, and Mattie calmed a little. By the end of the song, he no longer sobbed, but gave out small gasps, remnants of a bad dream.

“How long has this been going on?” she whispered. “Since the accident?”

“Aye.” He took her hand in his. “I tried to get Mattie help, made several appointments with professionals. But Duncan wouldn't hear of it. He's sure Mattie will come around in time on his own. I'm not so sure. When I told Duncan what I thought, it only gave him more reason to be mad at me.” Graham sighed. “Therapy has helped a lot of people.”

“Firsthand experience?” she asked gently.

“Aye,” he said. “When Duncan was a teenager, he was so angry. He seemed to change overnight from wanting my complete attention to resenting me. I had no one to turn to. No one knew I had a son. I found a therapist I could trust to keep my secret. He helped me to deal with the guilt of being away so much and to try to come up with strategies for dealing with Duncan as well.”

“Has it worked?” She thought about the small outbursts before and after dinner tonight.

“No, but at least I'm not beating myself up over it as much. It is what it is. Even if I wanted to, I can't quit acting. A lot of people are depending on me.” Sadness had gripped his voice.

“Like Deydie?” Now Cait felt guilty.

“She's a small fish in a very large pond of people my acting supports. I have a production company. I have obligations,” he said. “Let's not talk about it anymore.” He got up and walked around the bed, then crawled in beside her. “Good night, Caitie.”

He settled in and she relaxed, falling asleep against a bona fide heartthrob.

Somewhere in the early hours of the morning, she heard him get up. He kissed her before leaving the room.

Fishing was the most dangerous job in the world. The boy lying next to her had been witness to that.

For the first time in a long time, she offered up a prayer.
Please keep Graham and Duncan safe.
Even though she couldn't remember the last time she had talked to God, she sure hoped to hell He was listening now.

C
ait woke up to the tantalizing aroma of Deydie's coffee and bacon making its way upstairs. She sighed and opened her eyes. Mattie stared back. No smile. No frown.

“Good morning,” she said. “I bet you didn't expect to see me here.”

No reaction in those big sad eyes.

Cait kept right on talking. “Have you ever wondered why I talk funny? I lived in America for a long, long time. That's why my Scottish burr doesn't sound like anybody else's in Gandiegow.” Even Evelyn's speech coach couldn't eliminate it completely. “Well, your grandda's accent is a little different, now, isn't it? That's because he's lived all over the world. But I've heard him get very burrish when he's emotional.” No response. “How about we get up and see what Deydie's up to?”

The boy slipped out of bed and went downstairs.

This kid will be a hard one to crack.

Cait dressed in her clothes from yesterday, located a comb in the bathroom, then went to find the coffee.

She found Graham instead, sitting at the kitchen table
with Mattie on his lap. He looked windblown and exhilarated. A rush pulsed through her, waking up her senses. When Graham's eyes met hers, she saw gratitude. He nodded to the boy to acknowledge the source.

She nodded back. Her cheeks got hot remembering how they'd kissed yesterday. It wouldn't happen again. Graham would be leaving soon, back to his glamorous life. She needed to get a grip and stop being drawn into his persuasive arms.

Determined, she went to her laptop and powered it up. “Where's my gran?”

“Went home. Said she had things to care for,” he said.

“Oh.” The puppy, Dingus. “And Duncan?”

“Home taking a nap. I told him Mattie would spend the day with us.”

Her eyebrows went up. “Us?”

“I thought we'd make some Christmas cookies. Decorate them like we're Americans. Climb up in that chair, Mattie, and pull down the copper container from the cabinet.” Graham pointed to the one next to the stove.

Mattie slipped off his lap and did as he was told.

“Take the lid off and look inside,” Graham encouraged.

Mattie's eyes got big as he pulled out each cookie cutter—a candy cane, a stocking, a bell, a star, a gingerbread man, and a reindeer. He looked up at Graham, his eyes saying,
Wow
.

“There's dough and icing in the refrigerator, compliments of Bethia and Moira.”

“How about Mattie and I eat breakfast first?” Cait believed if the little boy would talk, he would've argued with her. “Let's wash our hands.”

Mattie pulled the chair over to the sink.

Cait went to Graham, king of the kitchen, and touched his cheek. “You're a good grandda, Mr. Buchanan.”

He grabbed her hand and pulled her down for a quick kiss.

The three of them had a fine time making cookies and messing up the kitchen. Dozens of cookies lay on waxed paper, haphazardly decorated.

When Cait went to sit down, she realized she'd forgotten about her booted-up computer. She jiggled the mouse and brought up her e-mail. The most recent note was from her boss at Write Chicago.

You're fired!

Cait broke into a cold sweat and frantically scrolled down to the previous message.

If you don't respond by midnight, you'll be replaced. I understand you've had unusual circumstances, but that's no excuse for not doing your job.

That is dated two days ago
. Desperate, Cait scrolled down again.

Your nonresponse has forced ME to do YOUR job for YOU. If you want to stay employed, call me.

Hadn't she asked for time off? Hadn't that request been accepted?
Almost hysterical now, Cait scanned all the e-mails from Write Chicago and went to the oldest one.

I know I approved a short leave of absence, but half of the freelance editors have come down with the
flu, and we are backed up with jobs. Your time off will have to wait. Attached are four articles to edit.

Cait slumped over the screen, stunned.

Graham came up behind her. “What's wrong? You look like your best friend just died.”

“I've been drop-kicked off my job,” she said, feeling lifeless.

He planted himself beside her. “You said you were a quilter.”

“Quilting's not my day job.” She put her head in her hands. Fired? Sure, she had committed to do the
People
magazine article, but there were no guarantees for future work. Write Chicago was her backup if nothing came afterward.

He rested a hand on her back. “Mattie, run in and turn on ‘Frosty the Snowman.'” The little boy left the room with a worried eye on Cait.

“He's anxious,” she said, starting to rise.

“He'll be okay for a few minutes. Tell me what happened,” Graham urged gently, taking her hand.

“I haven't checked my e-mail since I got here. Haven't listened to my voice messages either. I assumed they'd respect that I was in mourning and leave me alone.”

“Mourning?” He looked both sympathetic and horrified. “If I'd known, I never would've . . .” He trailed off and searched her face. Finally, he asked, “Who?”

“My husband,” she said sheepishly.

He got up and stomped over to the dirty dishes, throwing them in the sink like he was launching missiles at the enemy.

“It's not what you think.”

“It might've been a relevant piece of information, Caitriona. Considering I almost, well,
took advantage
of you last night.”

She slammed the lid down on her laptop. “My
husband
had been cheating on me for years. Most recently he'd shacked up with a twenty-two-year-old silicone-enhanced model.
Surgery I probably paid for.
The divorce wasn't final yet, but it had sure as hell been filed. He saved me a lot of money by dropping dead. Do you know how much divorces cost these days?”

He looked stunned, as if she'd just Tasered him.

She put her hands on her hips, feeling more like her heavy-handed gran every moment. “
I'm sorry
you regret last night. But you shouldn't on my account. You did nothing wrong. And for that matter, neither did I.”

He didn't back away from her as she expected. Instead, he came to her and wrapped his arms around her, laying his chin on top of her head. “I'm sorry for yere loss just the same. I know how ye feel. Duncan's mother cheated on me as well. I never got over it.”

Cait's stomach dropped.
He's never gotten over his ex?
Figures. She tried to pull away.

“What's wrong?” he asked, tightening his grip.

She wiggled free and started pacing the length of the kitchen. “Now I'm the one who feels stupid. You're not over Duncan's mom.” She stopped short, inches from him. It made sense he would still care for the mother of his only child, but still. Then all her worries burbled out. “You've been using me. All you men are the same. As long as you get your rocks off, you don't care who you hurt along the way.”

He grabbed her upper arms. “Ye're wrong. I met her
on my first shoot, when we were both nobodies. I fell head over heels for her. When she got pregnant, I begged her to marry me. She thought it would hurt her career if anyone found out about the baby, and she had no intentions of marrying. When Duncan was just a wee babe, I discovered she was cheating on me. She left me with Duncan and said she never wanted to see either of us again.” He gave Cait a shake. “She kept her promise. We never saw her again. A year later, she died in a plane crash with some Hollywood producer.” He dropped his hands from Cait, looking more miserable than ever. “I know now it never would've worked between us. I wanted a marriage like my parents'. One that lasts forever. Instead, Duncan had to grow up without a mother. And now Mattie, too. What a legacy I've started for my family.”

“Don't beat yourself up.” She caressed his arms as if he were cold. “It's not your fault. One thing I finally learned from my husband is that I couldn't control him. Just like you couldn't control your ex. And Duncan couldn't make Mattie's mom be a mom. It's not your fault; it's a circumstance beyond your control. No one blames you. Who knows? Maybe some good will come out of all this.”

“Hmm.” He sat down at the table, seeming to let the idea soak in. He laid his hand on her laptop, and when he did, he brought his gaze up to meet her. “Maybe the same can be true about you getting fired. I've got a thought.” He jumped up. “Follow me.”

She trailed after him up the stairs and into the den. He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out a thick manuscript. “How'd you like to work for me?”

She took a step back. “No way.”

He held the papers up to her. “I need a second pair of eyes. Will you read this script? I need to know what you think about it.” He dropped it on the desktop.

“Maybe as a favor. But not as your employee.” She picked it up and scanned the title. “I read an article about this book. Some predict it's the next Harry Potter.”

“The studio wants to get rolling quickly. I'd be playing the headmaster,” he said. “Let's go back to what you said a minute ago about good things coming out of bad things. It would mean a lot to me if you'd take a look at this and give me your honest opinion.” He looked so anxious, she couldn't say no.

“I guess I have plenty of free time now. When do you need it?”

“An hour ago.” He laughed. “I'm holding everyone up.”

“Sure. Why not?” she said.

“You go get settled in the parlor, and I'll bring you a cup of tea. Mattie and I will tell Deydie not to expect you today,” he said. “You're busy.”

“No,” she blurted. He'd see Dingus. “I'll talk to her. You know how persnickety she can be.”

“Aye. Prickly as a hedgehog. Run along now while I clean the kitchen. You still have your key?”

She nodded.

“I'm taking Mattie to the city to buy his da a present before returning him home. I'll be back late this afternoon. You'll stay, won't ye?”

She was playing with fire. The more she was with him, the more she wanted to be with him. And every time she looked into his brown eyes, the harder it became to ignore the guilt about the article.

“Yes, I'll stay,” she finally acquiesced. “If my gran will let me.”

* * *

As soon as Caitie left for Deydie's, Graham went to her computer and did some snooping. He opened the most recent e-mail from
WriteChicago.com
. “So, I was right. Our Caitie Macleod is a journalist.”

He opened her documents folder. None from the past few weeks. “It doesn't make any sense,” he said out loud. “It's an opportunity of a lifetime, to rat me out. And why didn't she nose around my house when she had the chance? What kind of journalist is she?”

A small hand tugged his shirtsleeve. Graham looked down and saw his mute grandson frowning up at him, disappointment in those young eyes.

Shite.
“I know.” Graham put the lid down. “I shouldn't have been poking through her laptop. I won't do it again.”

More frowning from the six-year-old.

Graham put his hand up. “Promise. Grandda just had a weak moment, that's all.”

The boy seemed to understand weak moments and laid his head against Graham's arm. It broke his heart to see Mattie so sad. “Let's get you dressed. We're going to Inverness, lad, to do some Christmas shopping. What do you want to get yere da?”

Mattie said nothing. Graham led him upstairs, wondering if he'd ever get his grandson back. Or if the sea in all its glory—and horror—had swallowed up Mattie's voice forever.

* * *

“Mind ye get home tonight.” Deydie rocked back and forth with Dingus curled up in her arms. “My quilting
ladies are coming over for a sew. We're finishing up our Christmas projects.”

Cait bit her lower lip. “I'll try. I promised I'd wait for Graham to get back and give him my take on the script. He has to make a decision right away.”

“Watch yereself with him,” Deydie warned. “That Graham is a charmer. No man will buy the goat if he can get the milk for free.”

“Gran, I don't plan on getting milked anytime soon.” Cait held her breath, waiting to see if Deydie would notice that she'd called her “Gran” for the first time in a long time.

“Ye better keep yere teats covered then,” Deydie mumbled.

Cait grinned and left the house. She didn't want to ponder too long about getting “milked.” She had a growing ache inside of her that needed fixing and wondered if there were any free men within a hundred miles of Gandiegow who could be her “handyman.” Or would she have to order an electronic device to take the place of a man in her bed?

The path to Graham's house stretched up before her. She chose her steps carefully so as not to stumble. A sinking feeling took hold, almost overwhelming her. What if Graham was the only one who could satisfy her?

She wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck and let herself into his house. A message had been posted on the refrigerator.

Make yourself at home. Tea is in the teapot and there're extra logs by the fire. My mobile number is on the refrigerator. Call me if you need anything. G.

She ran her finger over his handwriting, tracing the letter
G
. It was stupid how dreamy she felt. She wandered over to the fridge and found his posted number. For kicks, she programmed him into her cell under
Mr. Darcy
but didn't call. This would be the perfect time to snoop around his house, but she'd promised to read for him. She grabbed the manuscript and went into the parlor and curled up on the sofa.

After some quiet hours in front of the fire, she closed the manuscript, laying her hand on top. It was good.

As if on cue, Graham came in the back door, and she went to greet him. He met up with her in the hall with rosy cheeks and windblown hair. She wanted to warm him up by using her body as a blanket but remembered herself.