Some Like it Scottish, page 20
John glowered at Ross. “Aye. I wish ye well, too.”
As Kit spread the shredded cheese over the top, she thought about calling for a group hug. But that might have been asking for too much, too soon. She crumbled the bacon over the skillet casserole, put the lid on, and turned to the men. “No peeking and no filching from that pan. I’ll be back in a minute to serve it up.” She sounded as bossy as Deydie. Kit was getting a clue why the old woman might be the way she was. The men in this town were not completely civilized.
She hurried down the hall and shut herself in Ramsay’s room. She told herself that it was just to give the three of them a moment to be alone together. But more accurately, it was to give her poor estrogen-riddled body a break from their excessive testosterone. She plunked herself down on the bed with a heavy sigh.
The bedroom door opened and Ramsay came in, shutting the door behind him. “Come here.”
She could’ve fought his magnetism, but instead, she dropped her feet to the floor and took two steps into his arms. He bent down and kissed the biscuits out of her.
“Oh, damn,” she said, pulling away.
“What?”
“I forgot to start the biscuits.”
* * *
Ramsay grinned down at her. She was a funny little thing.
She swatted at his chest. “You guys got me all frazzled. Those two brothers of yours love my biscuits.”
“I kinda like yere biscuits, too,” he said with a pointed look at her breasts. Then he pulled her back into his arms, leaned against his door, and tucked her head under his chin with a sigh. He had the strange feeling that he wanted to be the only one that frazzled her. No other men. Not even his brothers. “You know, don’t ye . . . you’re not a bad lass.”
She cuddled closer. “Ye’re getting better with those compliments. Keep working on it. Practice makes perfect.”
“Aye.” He leaned down and kissed her again, tenderly this time.
A quiet knock reverberated from the door into his back.
“Can we eat now, Kit?” It was Ross. “I’m drooling all over myself.”
Gawd. Couldn’t he get one moment alone?
Kit stepped away from him, patting him on the chest. Ramsay smiled down at her hand; he’d gotten used to that little habit of hers.
She laid her hand on the door. “Don’t touch that lid, Ross.”
“But I’m hungry,” Ross grumbled quietly.
“I’m sure I could improve my kissing with practice, too,” Ramsay teased, pushing her hair out of her face. “If only you’d give me a chance.”
She backed away. “No. That particular skill, you’ve mastered. You better go eat.” She opened the door, stepped around him, and was gone.
Ramsay was left alone in his room.
With the scent of her still lingering in the air.
And, aw, gawd, a hard-on that would need more than a few minutes to go away.
* * *
After breakfast, Ramsay spent the morning with his boat. His boat! He still couldn’t believe it. The first thing he did was a full maintenance check on the engine. Next he checked the bilge pumps, one of the most important pieces of equipment on the vessel. The pumps kept excess water out of the bottom of the boat. Kit was right that most boats did sink at dock. Many a fisherman had come to his boat in the morning only to find it had sunk overnight due to failed bilge pumps. Ole man Martin said he’d just replaced one of them and, indeed, one did look brand-new. The other one checked out fine.
Ramsay patted the side of the boat. He hadn’t named her yet. But he already felt that she belonged to him.
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. A text from Kit.
Can you break away this afternoon? I need a driver.
He started to type anything for you. But decided that sounded way too much like a sissy. But he would have done anything for her. He told himself it was because he owed her. She’d given him the bachelors’ job, the final amount that he’d needed. But somewhere inside his thick skull, he knew it was more. The truth of it rested in his chest.
Sure, he texted back.
He closed everything down and stepped off as John and Ross were pulling in on the family boat, done with the morning run.
Ross stepped on the dock, tying off, and hollered to Ramsay. “How about you give us the grand tour of yere new ship?”
Ramsay glanced in John’s direction and his oldest brother nodded. John hadn’t done a complete one-eighty from this morning—his leftover frown still remained. But at least he seemed to be trying.
He checked the time. “I have a few minutes to spare before I have to leave. Kit needs her driver.” The three brothers climbed on the boat and Ramsay showed them around.
“What’s left to do?” Ross asked.
Ramsay named off the few things he’d hoped to get done before the bachelors showed up tomorrow.
“We’ll do it for you,” Ross said. “Won’t we, John?”
“Aye.” John sounded a little like Dand when he was told to pick up his room.
“Thanks,” Ramsay said. “Drinks will be on me next time at the pub. I better run.”
“Yes, yere matchmaker is waiting.” Ross grinned at him.
Ramsay didn’t have time to correct his smartass brother. The matchmaker wasn’t his. But he did like to kiss her. And liked her lying on top of him. The question was, would he get the chance to have her lying underneath him again?
Ross gave him a nudge. “Are ye going or not?”
“I’m going.” He better get his head screwed on straight, not that it would be easy. He was going to be spending the rest of the day with the woman who distracted him beyond his ken.
Ramsay ran home and took a quick shower. He met her at the car.
She had her trusty messenger bag in hand. “Thanks for doing this. I hated taking you away from your new boat. I’m sure you have plenty to do.”
He opened the door for her. “Considering how pressed you are with the retreat and yere social, I’m surprised you would take time out to go meet with this bloke.”
“I admit the timing isn’t great.” She slid in her side of the car. “But we’re meeting with Art MacKay. He can’t be part of the mixer tomorrow, but he will be an important client in the future. Besides, I need to make the most of every minute I have left here in Scotland.”
Ramsay felt like he’d taken an anchor to the chest. Kit would be leaving? Of course, he’d known that all along. He’d even tried to hurry her out of the country with his schemes. But now the reality felt too real, too harsh. He stared out the front window. “When are you scheduled to go back?” His voice sounded strained to his ears.
“It all depends on how it goes at the mixer.”
Ramsay struggled to identify what he was feeling. Was he sad? Angry? All he knew was that he didn’t want her to leave.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He started the car. Kit is leaving, his blasted brain said again.
She must’ve misunderstood his silence and said apologetically, “I could’ve asked someone else, but I didn’t want anyone driving me but you.”
The anchor on his chest lightened.
Ramsay would reassure her, but they wouldn’t discuss her leaving again. “Ross and John have offered to do the rest of the prep on the boat for me while I’m gone today.” Without thinking it through, Ramsay reached over and took her hand, squeezing it. “I don’t want anyone else driving you, either.”
He glanced over. Her gaze was fixed straight ahead and her cheeks were bright pink. He could’ve kidded her about it, but he cut her some slack. “What were you up to this morning?” Once again, he thought about her lying on top of him. “I mean after you left the house.”
“I spent time at Quilting Central with Harper and my clients.” She turned toward him in the seat. “Believe it or not, some of my women are very good at sewing. I don’t know if their nannies taught them, but a few of them sure know their way around a machine.”
“I bet Deydie was pleased,” he said. It was strange how the old woman had taken to Kit. And the other quilters had taken to her, too. Outsiders weren’t easily welcomed into Gandiegow.
“Deydie started them on a special project.”
“What project?”
“I don’t know. When I asked, she told me it was none of my damn business.”
“Sounds like Deydie. How’s yere sister?”
“It was hard to leave her today.”
“So meeting this bloke is that important?” It irked him that she’d drop everything for another man, which his tone must have made clear.
“Yes, that important.” She pulled her hand away. “It’s not just him that I’m interested in. It’s his connections as well.”
It struck Ramsay, not for the first time, that this woman was all wrong for him. She came from the same country-club world as the rich bachelors she sought. She might not be wealthy now, but she sure was comfortable with it. Ramsay, on the other hand, didn’t give a crank about the rich and famous. He only cared about being his own man and making a living.
Within the hour, they reached a very large manor house with a reflecting pond, making the estate look more English than Scottish. The lawns were pristine, the foliage trimmed. Ramsay hated the man already.
He shut off the car. Kit didn’t move, though. She just sat there, watching as a man exited the tall, ornately carved double oak doors and gave them a little wave.
“What’s wrong?” Ramsay asked.
“I think I made a mistake.”
“What kind of mistake?”
“That’s not who I thought I was meeting. All this time, I thought I had been e-mailing and texting the younger Art MacKay. But apparently, it’s been the senior.”
“He’s definitely not one of the young bucks ye’ve set your sights on for yere stables. He looks at least fifty. I see by that look on yere face that his age is a problem.”
“It’s just that all my clients are in their late twenties and early thirties.”
“Do you want me to turn the car around and leave?” he asked.
“No. We’ll stay.”
Art was at her door and opened it.
She gave Ramsay one more glance and he squeezed her hand to fortify her.
“It’s lovely to finally meet you, Miss Woodhouse.” Art took her other hand and helped her from the car.
Ramsay rushed around to her side to break contact between Kit and the old bachelor. And perhaps to break a few of Art’s fingers in the process.
“You’re just in time for tea,” the older gentleman said. “I hope you’re hungry.”
Ramsay stood close to Kit. “She’s always hungry.” He stuck his hand out to Art to take his measure. “Ramsay Armstrong. Kit’s bodyguard.”
She shot him a pair of green daggers.
Art laughed and took a step back. “I hope you’re hungry, too, Mr. Armstrong.”
Art led them inside to the massive dining room. At tea, Kit and Art talked about her business and her strategy for this expansion. Kit pulled Ramsay into the conversation, insisting he tell Art about his fishing tourism business. Art gave him several suggestions—all sound ideas—then the topic turned to the possibility of Kit finding him a match. His wife had died five years ago and he was ready for companionship.
That’s when Ramsay saw it. Not that the old guy was hitting on Kit like all the other horny bastards they’d encountered. But he saw that Kit and Art would make the perfect couple. With Kit being as smart and astute as she was, she could surely see it, too. She and Art had so much in common. They both had a head for business, spoke the same language, and she seemed to soak up his every word.
It hit Ramsay in the chest. Younger women marry older men all the time. He wanted to stand up and declare that Kit was taken.
Ramsay stopped breathing. Taken?
Did he really want to stake a claim on Kit Woodhouse? He didn’t know. He only knew that he wanted to get her out of here, wrap her in his arms and kiss her, and make her forget the likes of Art MacKay. And think only of him.
Ramsay stood. “We really should be heading back.” He put his hand out to Kit.
She looked a little startled at first, but she laid her hand in his. “Ramsay’s right. I have my clients waiting for me back in Gandiegow. I do hope we can work together,” she said to Art. “We’ll talk soon about lining up a few dates for you.”
“That would be great.” Art turned to him. “Ramsay, keep me apprised of how your business goes. I think you have a gem of an idea there.”
Ramsay nodded, but he didn’t give a shit what the guy thought about his fishing business. He only wanted to get Kit away from there and have her to himself.
Chapter Fourteen
Kit ran after Ramsay to the SUV as the sky let loose with a downpour of rain. Her driver seemed to have flipped a switch from being fun and charming to grim and determined. As soon as they were both in the car and heading down the driveway, she turned to him.
“What was that all about?”
He ignored her.
She frowned at him and touched his arm. “What’s wrong?”
He looked in the rearview mirror, pulled the car to the side of the road, and threw it into park. He unsnapped his seat belt, and hers, and pulled her into his arms, kissing her.
She ignited. It was passionate and uncontrollable. Whatever had prompted this kind of kissing, she was all for it.
“He’s too old for you,” Ramsay growled into their kiss.
She pulled back. “Who’s too old?” She knew he had to mean Art, but she couldn’t imagine why Ramsay would bring him up at a time like this.
He brushed her hair away from her face and kissed her again. “You need someone closer to your own age.”
“Who kisses like you, I suppose?” she dared to ask.
“Aye. A sonovabitch who can kiss ye into silence.” He positioned her head the other way like he wanted to attack her mouth from every direction.
And he did.
She was vaguely aware that the storm outside was getting worse, the wind rocking the vehicle.
Ramsay growled again and pulled away. “I better get ye home.” He put the car into gear and began driving, although he didn’t look happy about it.
Her lips still tingled. If it were up to her and her lips, they would stop the car again.
They rode along in silence. She wasn’t sure what this was between them, but from a purely business standpoint, Ramsay had been good for her. As a matchmaker, she needed to experience a little lust every now and then—and Ramsay definitely provoked her in that department. Luckily for Kit, however, she wasn’t out hunting for The One. All she needed was the occasional outlet while remaining in control of herself at all times.
She smiled at the deluge pounding the windshield. Yes, she was lucky. She had no intention of marrying. She was already married to her career and her responsibilities, and that wouldn’t change. A memory came back to her—the first time that she’d gotten a glimpse of her future and the life that lay ahead of her. It was picking out her father’s casket. Alone. Her mother had been too distraught and fragile to go to the funeral home with her, and Kit had shouldered it all. She had made a thousand other decisions alone since then, and was the stronger for it.
She squared her shoulders. When her father died she had had to be strong enough for her whole family. She would continue to be strong for them for the rest of her life.
“Oh, shite!” Ramsay slammed on the brakes.
Kit gasped, peering through the windshield, but she only saw rain. “What is it?”
“The bridge is covered in water.” He threw the car in reverse and did a three-point turn.
“What do we do now?” Kit asked. “Is there another way back to Gandiegow?”
“Not until the water goes down.” He drove back up the hill. “I saw a side road up there. That’s where we’ll park and wait.”
“But for how long?” Panic began to set in. “What about Harper and my clients? I can’t just leave them for the night!”
Ramsay pulled into what was nothing more than a path and stopped the car. “You do realize that you left your kin and clients with the most capable women in all of Christendom. Deydie, Cait, and the other quilting ladies will take great care of yere girls.”
Kit pulled out her phone, looking in vain for a signal. “But they’ll worry about us.”
“Nay.” He covered her hand that held the phone. “They’ll have a little faith and only think the obvious—that we got caught in the storm. Which we have.” He kissed her fingers. “I promise, it’ll be okay.”
“How long will it take for the water to go down?” She knew he couldn’t possibly know, but she needed assurances.
“Certainly by morning.” He shut the SUV off. “There are blankets in the back. It’ll get cool tonight. You won’t mind helping me to conserve heat, now, will ye?” Laughter edged around his smooth voice as he teased her again.
She flushed as she thought about the times she’d cuddled up to him on his couch, but she wasn’t going to make it easy on him now. “If I’m forced to.”
Now he laughed outright. “Who forced you back at the house when you climbed into my arms night after night?”
“Sleepwalking.” She made sure to keep a straight face. “It’s a nasty habit.”
“Well, I better hold you tight tonight. If you decide to do a little sleepwalking, you might end up down in the burn.”
Kit thought about her theory—the one where Ramsay and the lust he inspired might be good for her and her career. Her veins sizzled with excitement and anticipation. But she wasn’t kidding anyone, not even herself. If she went to bed with him, it wouldn’t be for her career. It would be because she wanted him and nothing else.
