The Great Scot Page 15

  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.”

  Chapter 11

  Dylan 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 gob-smacked 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 ther
e 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.

  “Oh, but I think we can, and quite brilliantly, if I’m not mistaken.” He nipped at her neck, forcibly stomping his conscience flat, unwilling to bring this wild ride to a premature end yet again. He was over-complicating things. This was just good, old-fashioned fun. He traced his tongue along the throbbing vein he found there, deeply gratified when he felt her shudder in response. He moved between her legs.

  She whimpered in response, making him harden to the point of pain. She clutched his shirt, pulling him closer even as she said, “Dylan, I can’t—”

  “Won’t.”

  “I didn’t come in here to get all tangled up with you again.”

  He finally lifted his head and looked down into her eyes. “And yet here we are, tangled up in the very nicest of ways, though there’s a bit too much clothing involved for my tastes.” His lips twitched to a grin. He hoped it wasn’t too feral. He was feeling quite…primitive at the moment. “That can be remedied. She’s an auld pile to be certain, but there are locks on the doors, and a nice pile of rugs in front of that fireplace. We dinna have to go at it like two rutting beasts, up against a wall.” He moved slowly between her legs, feeling her thighs tighten instinctively to hold him right where she needed him. “Although you’d have gotten no complaints from me.”

  She let out a soft little gasp and her chin dipped slightly as he settled his teeth gently along her collarbone, making her shudder again. “This is crazy,” she managed, barely more than a whisper.

  “I dinna pretend to understand it, either, Erin. But I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t interested in figuring it out.”

  “I—I know,” she said, the words tight, short now, as he continued having his way with her. “Me, too.”

  “Perhaps we shouldna ask so many questions, then,” he said, leaning back just enough so that he noticed the way her nipples had become two tight little points, thrusting at the confines of her bra and thin shirt, and how badly, oh how very badly he wanted to free them. Lay claim to them, capture them, taste them. Take them.

  He shifted her up a bit higher, propping her against the shelves so he could push her shirt up. Intent now on laying siege. His ancestors’ b
lood flowed in his veins, did it not? He tugged at the hem of her cotton shirt. “I want to taste you.” No matter what words were coming out of her mouth—and there were none at the moment—there was no masking what he saw in her eyes. She wanted this every bit as badly as he did. “I’m a fair man, Erin, that I am.” He pushed her shirt up over her bra. Thin, white, uninspired cotton cups were all that lay between him and sweet bliss. And yet he didn’t think he’d ever seen anything quite as sexy as Erin MacGregor, hair in wild spikes about her head, in full dishabille of plain old cotton and khaki. “When I’m through, I’ll let you have your way with me, too.”

  She groaned even as she let out a short laugh. “And here when I first met you I thought you were sober and humorless,” she managed, somewhat hoarsely. “Boy, was I wrong.”

  It was the first of the old Erin he’d heard since they’d entered the room, and his blood sang with pleasure. “Shall I show ye some other bits of me you may have overlooked, then?” He brushed his tongue across one cotton covered nipple. She jerked against him, so he teased her again, just a light flick. “So sweet. I want to taste you, Erin.” He ran his tongue along the slight swell filling the bottom of the cup, nudging at the soft elastic edge.

  She was grinding against him now, her thighs clenched so tightly around his hips that he no longer needed to support her weight, freeing his hands to be as adventurous as his mouth. Her eyes had drifted shut, her breath coming in short little gasps, and she was no longer denying him anything as he pushed her bra up, freeing her breasts to his avid ministrations. They were neither large nor small, quite average really, as were her little pink nipples. Nothing to send him waltzing so close to the edge of reason. And yet there he danced.