Some Like it Scottish, page 21
She chewed her lower lip. “Can you make us a bed in the back?”
There. She’d said it. She hadn’t been as direct as she had been when she’d been tipsy, but it was the most direct offer he was going to get from her tonight.
“Are ye sure?”
All Brawn was no dummy; he knew what she meant when she said “us.” He had a heck of a brain at the top of that beautiful, sexy body of his.
“Yes, I’m sure,” she said. “But there are some caveats.”
He laughed. “Of course there are.”
“One—you have to be able to make our bed without either one of us going outside and getting wet. That would dampen the mood.” She didn’t wait for his answer. “Two—do you have protection?”
“A life vest? Surely the water won’t get that high,” he teased.
“You know what I mean. Do you still have it in your wallet?”
“If ye’re speaking of a prophylactic, I have several of them at the ready,” he answered.
She held her hand up. “And three—we have to agree that what we’re about to do doesn’t mean anything. We’re just two adults out to have a bit of fun.”
“A bit of fun?” He was clearly irritated with her choice of words.
Thunder crashed, echoing his darkened mood. She saw the storm in his eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he rumbled. “I’ll get to work on our bed.”
* * *
Ramsay squeezed into the back and tamped down his anger while he spread out the blankets. Talk about dampening the mood. Aye, he wanted to roll around with Kit in the back of the SUV, but not under her stupid conditions. If he was any kind of businessman, he would be negotiating his own terms with her right now.
He wanted her naked and burning for him. And only him.
He wanted her crying out his name.
He wanted to ruin her for all others.
Aye. They could have a bit of fun, but he wasn’t the type to leave his feelings at the door. Kit had come to mean something to him.
Maybe he’d give her a dose of her own medicine. Hold out on her. Sure, he’d make her come, but for his sake, not hers. And he definitely wouldn’t leave a piece of his heart behind in the process. She was, after all, only passing through. She’d said so earlier.
“Get back here, sprite,” he said more gruffly than he’d intended.
She crossed her arms over her chest and kept facing forward. “You have to tell me why you’re in such a foul mood first.”
“I’m cold. Come back here and warm me up. I get grumpy when my body temperature drops.” He poured it on thick. “Brrr.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“Gawd, ye’re a stubborn woman.” He lay down, stretched out, and stacked his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling of the SUV. His hard-on had no problem with her wanting to use him for fun. What was wrong with the rest of him?
“You, sir, don’t understand a thing about wooing a woman.”
“I read yere website. Ye’re the one who said that it goes both ways. That a woman has the same responsibilities as the man—that she has to be willing to put herself out there and woo him right back.”
“Did you not see the part about how important it is for the man to be the man?” she grumbled.
That was all the encouragement he needed; he sprang into action, wedging himself between the two front seats, ready to be the man.
And he kissed her. He kissed her with enough passion to let her know that he didn’t want her to think about the things she had in common with Art MacKay. He kissed her to let her know that he did care about her. He kissed her to let her know that he wanted to be with her for whatever time they had left together before she went back to America.
He kissed her . . . because he had to.
He heard it again. He heard himself groaning for her. There was nothing he could do about it, either. When he had her in his arms he wanted her so much that he wanted to howl at the moon.
She pulled away, breathless, but laughing. “I was wrong, Ramsay Armstrong. You know a helluva lot about wooing a woman.”
He rubbed her arms. “Ye’re cold. Get yere arse back there so I can warm you up proper.”
“Such a charmer,” she muttered.
He moved away, making room for her to climb through the bucket seats. But when she joined him in the cargo area of the SUV, she didn’t lie down. He sat back up as well, pretty sure she was having second thoughts.
“Aw, hell.” He put his arm around her. “We don’t have to do anything, kitten. But for heaven’s sake, let me hold you. John would skewer me for sure if you caught your death of cold. In the morning, I’ll return you home—safe, sound, and unruffled.”
“That’s not the problem.” She sighed heavily. “I want to be ruffled.”
His deflating pecker jumped to life. He rubbed her arms again. “What’s the problem then?”
“I like you. You’re a fine person.” Her tone made it sound like it was a bad thing.
“Such high praise.”
“But I can’t get involved with you on an emotional level.” Now she sounded as if she was trying to convince herself. “I mean it. I have too much on the line to get serious about anyone.”
What the crank? How was he supposed to respond to that? He cared about her and he just wanted to show her. But what good would it do for him to get inside her pants if she kept her emotions all buttoned up and tucked away from him?
“Fine,” he said, his pecker making the decision for him. “Sounds perfect to me.” Also for his pecker. “What man doesn’t want the kind of relationship ye’re talking about?” His pecker was such a prick. “Give me a beautiful woman with no strings attached and I’m as happy as a clam.” But he wasn’t happy. He was angry. His pecker, though, wanted what it wanted.
“Fine,” she echoed back. She didn’t sound all that happy, either. “Let’s get this over with then.”
Aw, gawd! He was going to do something stupid and his pecker was going to be very, very disappointed.
She kicked off her shoes as she went to unzip her dress.
He stilled her hands. “Sorry, kitten. That’s not going to work for me.” He really wanted to see what lay beneath her clothes. But he forced himself to think with his head and not his groin. He put his arms around her and pulled her down, wrapping the quilts around them as he snuggled her to him.
He tucked her under his chin and whispered into the night. “Listen to me, sprite. I’m going to tell you how it is. When I make love to you—”
“Sex,” she corrected.
“Sex, then.” He started again. “When we’re together, when we’re being intimate, I’m going to take it slow and easy.”
She shivered, letting him know that she felt every word he was saying.
He moved his head, rubbing his chin over her hair. “The magic that happens between a man and a woman is not something to get over with. It’s to be savored.” And cherished, but he wouldn’t voice that girly sentiment out loud. He kissed the top of her head. “You’ve now heard my terms. When ye’re ready to accept them, then I’ll be happy to seal the deal.”
She sighed in his arms. “Is that you being the man?”
“Yup.” He chuckled. “On this, babe, it’s either my way or the highway.”
She rested her head back and looked him in the eye. “I guess I have no choice then but to accept your terms. Will you kiss me?”
He brushed her hair back from her eyes. He wished they were in his bed. With the lights on. He wanted to see the emeralds in her eyes as they sparkled for him. He wanted her to know that he meant what he said. He would savor this moment. Perhaps for his whole life.
He leaned in and kissed her. He meant it to be slow and tender, like the lovemaking that he’d promised. But his shy kitten of a moment ago turned into a hellcat, wrapping her legs around him and pulling him down on top of her as he tried not to crush her. She kissed his lips as if she’d been starving and he was the only real food she’d tasted in a long, long time. Then she kissed his eyes, his jaw, his neck. She pulled at his clothes.
He captured her wrists and held them over her head, growling at her. “I will keep my promise.”
She laughed. “Like hell you will. I can’t wait. You’ve teased me from the moment I set eyes on you and I’m ready to explode.” She ground her hips into him. “I promise we can do it slow the next time. Take me now, Ramsay.”
“No.” He nibbled at her ear.
“But you’re killing me.”
“Then a slow death it will be.” He suckled at the pulse on her neck. “I’m the man, remember?”
“Oh, my, how could I forget?”
He chuckled, but he felt frantic to get at her, too. Down, boy, he told himself, and he kissed her tenderly. He must’ve done it right because his kitten mewed.
He switched places with her, rolling her on top of him, her hands still shackled by one of his. He made short work of the zipper of her dress, and slowly kissed the fabric away. To slip her arms out, he had to release her, and Kit started tugging at his clothes once more.
He tsked at her, maneuvering himself on top and confining her hands again. “Easy now, sprite. We’re making love here—”
“Sex,” she reminded him again.
He glazed right over it. She was being ridiculous. “We’re making love. Not trying to get to the finish line. Play along and I’ll make it worth your while.”
To his surprise, she acquiesced—and turned the tables on him. Her tender kisses and caresses became his torture—the student schooling the teacher—as she kissed her way to freeing her hands and working his clothes from him.
The storm outside wailed, but it was of no consequence to them in their quilt cocoon as they explored each other’s body. Her caresses and kisses were becoming too much for him. Judging by her short breaths, she was in need of release as well. Wildly, his free hand searched for his pants, his wallet, and ultimately a condom. He hit pay dirt. But before he could rip it open, she snatched it from his hand.
“Let me,” she purred. She tore the package open slowly with the deliberate pace of one who wanted to torment.
He groaned. “Now ye’re killing me.”
She reached down and stroked him. “But we don’t want to rush, now, do we?”
It took everything in him not to come. He gritted his teeth. “Ye’re a saucy wench.”
Painstakingly, she rolled the rubber over him. When she was done, she nipped at his shoulder.
He spread her legs wide and thrust into her, nothing slow and gentle about it.
She gasped, and he stilled completely—he should’ve been more restrained.
But she clutched his back and demanded, “Again.”
He eased out excruciatingly slow, only to ease back in.
She grabbed his bum and ground her hips into him.
It was almost his undoing. “That’s a dangerous game ye’re playing, lass.”
“Then stop messing around,” she growled.
He kissed her. Hard. And began a rhythm that satisfied the hell out of them. As he plundered her mouth and her other parts, she plundered him back.
At the moment of her release she gasped his name over and over again, then cried so loudly it should’ve vanquished the raging storm outside.
He stopped to enjoy the feel of her spasming around him. And the thought of her giving him such a gift was his undoing. He thrust into her once more and he came. It was blinding, powerful, nearly overwhelming. The best cranking sex of his life. Bar none.
He could barely pull in enough air, and he knew his smile was wide enough to stretch from here to Glasgow. Until he realized that her arms had dropped away from his body. Her head was turned away from him, too, and she lay still under him. His hellcat had turned into stone.
* * *
Kit’s body stiffened and she sucked in a breath, holding it. Her hands clenched. What had she done? Her body throbbing under his, just as she’d wanted, but her heart was throbbing, too. Damn, damn, damn. She pushed him off her. This was a mistake.
“What’s wrong?” Ramsay said, reaching out to stop her from grabbing her dress.
What could she tell him? That it had been a long time since she’d allowed herself to be romanced? But that was exactly what Ramsay-damn-him-Armstrong had done. She’d thought that getting back in the saddle would be good for her. But to remember what it felt like to be desired had been . . . unexpected, and too much. She’d only wanted to mess around with her handsome driver. Have sex. But somewhere during the messing around, it had really turned into making love, like he’d said. Oh, crap! Caring for Ramsay wasn’t part of her plan. She couldn’t afford to. Literally.
It was a man’s world. If she didn’t act like one, then she would be chewed up and spit out. And then where would her family be? More destitute than they’d been before.
“Will ye at least tell me what’s bugging ye?”
She slipped her dress over her head. “I’m tired.” And this was a mistake. But her body still hummed with the magic he’d performed on her. “I need sleep.”
He grabbed his boxers and slipped them on. “I’m going to hold you.”
“I know.” She had no choice but to endure his strong arms as they wrapped around her.
She was only being practical. They were in close quarters and the temperature was indeed dropping. But just because he made her feel soft and feminine and protected didn’t mean that she had to enjoy it. Only tolerate it. Until the morning. When she got back to Gandiegow, she would forget he’d ever made her feel this way—something no other man had ever done.
He spooned her and kissed her hair. “I’m sorry ye’re unhappy, but I refuse to be sorry for making love. Do ye hear me?”
She wanted to snap at him that it had been sex, not making love! But it would have done no good to try to explain. Besides, Ramsay never took anything seriously anyway. And feeling miserable was serious business.
She closed her eyes, certain sleep wouldn’t come. But she was wrong.
She woke up disoriented. Was it time to make the Armstrong men their breakfast? But she wasn’t in Ramsay’s bed. She was in the back of the SUV—alone. She sat up and looked around. Ramsay really wasn’t in the vehicle. She found her shoes and quickly put them on. Just as she was crawling back into the front seat, the driver’s-side door opened.
“Morning, sprite.” He sounded as cheerful as the birds in the tree. Stupid birds.
“Where were you?” Her pitch was higher than she liked.
“Nature called.” He reached past her, popped open the glove box, and pulled out a small bottle of hand sanitizer.
“What time is it?” She dug in her messenger bag.
“Go make a pit stop yereself and then we’ll get on the road. We’ll make it back before yere bachelors arrive,” he said.
She didn’t like how he called them hers. But instead of raising hell with him, she opened her door and went looking for a tree.
When she got back in the car, he handed her the hand sanitizer like they were an old married couple who had performed this particular act a million times. But they’d only done it once. Her body wanted to keep doing it to see if she would ever tire of the magic, but for her business’s sake, once was more than enough.
She buckled her seat belt, determined to never mention what had happened in the back of the SUV. But out of the corner of her eye, she saw that the quilts had been folded and stacked.
He started the car and nodded in her direction. “There’s a bottled water for ye in the holder.”
She hated him being so thoughtful. Where was the tease when she needed him?
She took the water and opened it. “Do you have a plan for the bachelors today? Where you’re going to take them?” She frowned at her water. “What about lunch for them?”
“Aye. I have a plan.” He glanced at her, smiling as if he’d known her forever. “As far as food, the restaurant is catering my boat.”
Catering? He sounded like such a businessman! Then she remembered him using the word prophylactic. Would he ever cease to amaze her?
It hit her again. That from the beginning, he’d surprised her. First, because she couldn’t get a good read on him and then because she’d gotten him all wrong. But just because he was an interesting man didn’t mean that she wanted him for herself. Far from it. It was best to stick with the kind of men she’d known. Men who were serious, not relaxed and carefree. Men who didn’t scare her.
The silence between them felt awkward. But it was best. She didn’t want to ride along companionably anymore. She didn’t want to cuddle up with him at night on the couch, either. She definitely didn’t want to make love with him again.
As incredible as it was.
An hour later, they pulled into Gandiegow’s parking lot. She grabbed her messenger bag and hopped from the SUV, not looking back, not saying a word. She needed to escape. Shower. Get to Quilting Central.
She’d only made it a couple of feet, before Ramsay started laughing.
“Sprite?” he called to her.
She spun around with her hands on her hips. “What?”
He walked toward her. “I appreciate the show and all, but I’m not sure the rest of Gandiegow will feel as I do.”
“What are you talking about?” Her pitch had definitely risen through the roof now. Didn’t he understand that she was in a hurry? That she had responsibilities?
He put his hands on her shoulders and spun her around so her back was to him.
“It’s yere panties. Yere dress is caught.” He gave her garments a yank, straightening out her backside. “There. Ye’re decent now.” He patted her on the rump, at the same time he gave her a shove toward town. “Get on with ye now. No doubt ye’ve got more important things to do today than to flash me yere goodies and bits.”
