Off Kilter (2 page)

“Given your reluctance to play show and tell, I’d hazard to guess I’m better with mine than you are with yours,” she replied easily, but the spark remained in her eyes.

Goading him.

“Why don’t you be the judge?” Holding her gaze in exclusive focus, the crowd long since forgotten, he pushed away from the wall and, with sword in one hand, slowly unwrapped his kilt with the other.

He took far more pleasure than was absolutely necessary
from watching her throat work as he unashamedly revealed thighs and ass. He wasn’t particularly vain or egotistical, but he was well aware that a lifetime spent climbing all over the island had done its duty where his physical shape was concerned, as it had for most of the islanders. They were a hardy lot.

The crowd gasped as he held the fistful of unwrapped plaid in front of him, dangling precariously from one hand, just on the verge of—

“That’s it!” Tessa all but leapt behind the camera and an instant later, the shutter started whirring. Less than thirty seconds later, she straightened and pushed her wayward curls out of her face, her no-nonsense business face back. “Got it. Good! We’re all done here.” She started dismantling her equipment. “You can go ahead and get dressed,” she said dismissively, not even looking at him.

He held on to the plaid—and his pride—and tried not to look as annoyed as he felt. The shoot was blessedly over. That was all that mattered. No point in being irritated that he’d just been played by a pro.

She glanced up, the smile gone as she dismantled her second tripod with the casual grace of someone so used to the routine and rhythm of it, she didn’t have to think about it. “I’ll let you know when I get the shots developed.”

He supposed he should be thankful she hadn’t publicly gloated over her smooth manipulation of him. Except he wasn’t feeling particularly gracious at the moment.

He couldn’t believe she was Kira’s best mate. Kira MacLeod was kind, gentle, and sweet of nature … whereas Tessa was a temperamental virago. It was hard to comprehend what could have drawn the two together.

“Wasnae so painful after all, was it then?” Graham pushed away from the tree he’d been leaning against as the crowd disbursed. “Ye didn’t even have to show off yer manly bits.”

He walked over, handing Roan his shirt, and, big as he was, momentarily provided a natural screen that Roan took full advantage
of, making quick work of wrapping the plaid around himself again.

“Much,” Graham added, with a dry note and an all-too-pleased look on his face.

Roan waited until he was decently covered before shooting his friend a quelling look. “You’re taking far too much pleasure in all of this, ye ken. I realize ye think yer gettin’ some sweet bit of revenge for me sendin’ ye all the way across the pond to retrieve yer beloved—”

“From her own wedding,” Graham interjected. “A wee tidbit of information you’d neglected to share.”

“Only because ye’d never have gone if I hadn’t!” He waved his hand, dismissing the topic. They’d hashed it out already upon Graham’s return a month ago. The trip had landed him a bride, and simultaneously given every inhabitant of their tiny Hebridean island a reason to celebrate. With Graham’s marriage to a McAuley bride, they had peace of mind, knowing their clan lairdship would continue uninterrupted, in his very capable hands. “I did it for your own good, and if ye dinnae stop going on about it, I’ll simply whisk your lovely bride-to-be off to my own lair and book Iain passage back here so he can take the job away from your miserable, thankless—”

Graham frowned. “Has there been any indication of Iain returning?”

Roan knew Graham didn’t share his personal concerns in that matter, so he didn’t mind ribbing him from time to time. Iain McAuley had been a long lost heir to the island lairdship after the previous chief’s death. He had shown up, out of the blue, intending to take what was rightfully his. And would have, if Graham hadn’t beaten him to the punch and gotten engaged to Katie. Iain had taken off as quickly as he’d come, and Roan wasn’t entirely certain they’d seen the last of him, “No, of course not. I was merely pointing out that you should be thanking me. Several times over. Because of my brilliant discovery and strategy, we’ve no’ only managed to thwart the still unexplained attempt by your late grandmother’s heir to usurp
your title … but you might want to be thinkin’ on how if it weren’t for me, your bed would still be a cold, heartless, wasteland.” His smile returned as he swiftly regained his equilibrium, post-virago. “Of course, my own bed still qualifies as such, so I believe the sacrifice on my part could rightly be called sainted.”

Graham chuckled. “Aye, yer nobility is second only to your humble servitude.”

Roan grinned. “As long as we’re in agreement, then.”

Graham shook his head at that, then turned in time to watch Tessa stow her gear in the boot of Kira’s little Fiat. “She’s an interesting one, that one is.”

Roan looked past Graham’s shoulder. “I can think of other adjectives that come more quickly to mind, but she does make an impression.”

Graham glanced back at Roan, squinting against the sun that was dipping lower behind his back. “So, how is Kira these days?”

Roan suddenly found himself fiddling with the buttons on his shirt as he continued to dress. “Fine, I suppose, I dinnae much keep track. Far too much going on, what with your wedding less than a fortnight off, now combined with this ridiculous calendar scheme.” He looked up at Graham and quite deliberately changed the subject. “Do ye think we’re daft for trying to get into this thing? I mean, when Eliza brought the contest to my attention, I thought she’d truly gone mad, but once I looked into it and realized just how widely distributed the damn things are, it was almost too foolish not to try for it. The attention our inclusion in the calendar would bring to Kinloch would be marketing gold. Only, now—”

“Now you’re just pouting because you ended up having to stand in front of the camera and be part of the ridiculous scheme, instead of remaining mercifully anonymous by running the show from behind it.”

Roan opened his mouth intending to refute that statement. He’d devoted his entire adult life to doing everything he could
to promote their island and its sole supporting industry, keeping them afloat economically, even hoping to push further, to a place where they could thrive. For that he’d do a hell of a lot more than be photographed with nothing more than his ancestors’ claymore. Roan smiled. “Says the man who’d rather be out in his fields, taking test samples of flax seeds. You’re just relieved that only the single blokes can participate.”

“Damn right,” Graham said on a laugh.

“And I dinnae pout.” Roan straightened and settled the rest of his garb into place. “It’s more a scowl. Surly and manly.”

“Here.” Graham handed over the sword he’d held while Roan got dressed, then turned and started off toward the Land Rover he’d left parked on the side of the road. “Don’t think I missed you changing the subject just now,” he called back over his shoulder.

Anything Roan might have said to that was lost when several of the villagers went up to Graham and started to excitedly discuss the wedding plans—in minute, excruciating, but ever-so-enthusiastic detail. Roan folded his arms and leaned against the wall again, taking pleasure in watching Graham’s knowing smile freeze into something passably congenial as he did his best to nod and agree and look like he was truly interested … all the while making the escape to his vehicle as fast as humanly possible.

Roan had no doubt that his childhood friend was reel to sinker hooked by his bride-to-be. The two were like besotted love birds when they got within so much as viewing distance of one another. It was enough to make a single lad choke. With envy. No one was more anxious to get to his wedding day than Graham. But Roan also knew from listening to his friend vent over ales and darts, that as happy as he was to see everyone else fall as swiftly in love with Katie as he had, he could live quite happily for the rest of his days without another soul mentioning tea roses and tatted lace to him ever again.

Smiling to himself, Roan followed behind at a decent pace. Most everyone had gone. More of them than not would likely
head down to Angus’s for an ale and some gossip, second only to a game of darts as the most popular pastime on the island. He thought that sounded like a good end to a bad day, until he realized that he’d likely be the focus of a large portion of that gossip. Perhaps he’d head into the office instead, get a little work done without Eliza or anyone else sticking their noses in and about.

The sound of a slamming boot brought his head up. He’d been so lost in thought, he hadn’t been paying attention to the fact that Kira’s Fiat was still on the side of the road—which meant Tessa hadn’t left yet.

Brilliant.

His lorry was beyond her car, on the opposite side of the single track lane, so he could hardly ignore her. He found himself thinking that a nice conversation about tatted lace sounded pretty good at the moment and wished he’d kept up with Graham. He nodded, forcing a smile and hoping to ease on by without further incident.

“Tessa! Roan!”

They turned to see Katie ducking around another departing car, waving and smiling at them.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tessa’s shoulders slump a little. The fact that he felt the exact same way didn’t endear her to him. He adored Katie, but wished she’d caught up with him after Tessa had departed.

“Katie,” Roan responded with a ready grin. “Ye’ve missed the show entirely—for which I’m eternally grateful—unless of course, witnessing my manly display would have furthered my suit with you. In which case, we can probably set up something a bit more intimate later on.” He glanced at Tessa. “Have no fear, I won’t be requiring your services.”

“For which
I’m
eternally grateful,” she said, eyeing the two of them.

Katie punched Roan in the shoulder, which was the expected and now traditional response to all of his teasing and flirting. Rubbing his shoulder, he accepted her follow-up hug and adopted
European mode of kissing him on both cheeks, which always amused and charmed him. That was the effect Katie had on everyone.

She turned to Tessa and grinned. “Feel free to ignore him when he’s like that, or just punch him.”

“Does it help? The punching? I’ve tried ignoring.”

“If you mean will it make him stop, no. But it does make you feel better.”

Roan watched the exchange, not entirely sure whether Tessa was being droll, or completely lacking in humor. If it wasn’t for her dazzling display toward the end of their photo shoot, he’d have insisted to anyone who asked that it was the latter.

Katie stuck her hand out. “We haven’t officially met. I’m Katie McAuley, Graham MacLeod’s fiancée and therefore the source of a great deal of what I’m sure is very annoying wedding minutiae you could well live without. For that I apologize. I’m also a very distant cousin to this guy.” She elbowed Roan in the ribs and he tugged at one of her blond curls. “I apologize for that, too. Frequently.”

Roan watched Tessa take in their byplay, and though there might have been a flicker in her eyes, her expression remained smooth. “Completely understandable.” She took Katie’s hand in a short, but not impolite handshake. “Tessa Vandergriff.”

“I understand you’re Kira’s friend,” Katie went on, with her infectious smile still wide and natural, despite Tessa’s less than effusive reaction. “I can’t tell you how much it’s meant to us all that you were willing to step up and help us out. You came here for a vacation, to catch up with an old friend; the last thing you needed was to get pressed into service. Not to mention I realize getting you to take photographs for a hunk of the month calendar is on par with asking a surgeon if he can help with a paper cut. Overkill!”

She laughed, which made Roan grin, because it was impossible not to when you were around her.

Unless, apparently, you were Tessa Vandergriff. “That’s okay. I don’t mind helping out Kira, and by extension, all of
you.” A polite smile made a brief appearance. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to get back to her croft and look into setting up something to get these developed.” She patted the single camera bag she had slung over her shoulder.

“It’s no’ digital?” Roan asked, then immediately wanted to kick himself. Why on earth would he want to prolong the conversation?

“Oh, I have plenty of those as well, but occasionally I like working with film. I like having my hands in the process—it makes me feel more connected to the work. You think differently when what you get is what you get. Digital is wonderful, but in some ways it’s too easily transformed. Film is true.”

It was the most animated he’d seen her since their introduction at his office earlier that morning. If he didn’t know better already, he’d think she was actually human. Rather than, say … Borg.

She also seemed to realize the aberration in demeanor, and cut herself off with a quick, tight smile. “I’m sure you don’t really care about all of that. I’ll leave you two, to … whatever your business is.”

“Please extend my thanks to Kira as well,” Katie said, stepping back so that Tessa could open the door to the little red two-seater that had seen better days. Years, actually.

“I will,” Tessa said, making one last effort at curving her lips upward, then closed the door.

Roan lifted a hand in a silent salute good-bye. He wasn’t sure what to make of her, all commanding and bossy on one hand, but kind of socially awkward on the other. Quickly he reminded himself that figuring it out wasn’t any of his concern.

As Tessa turned the key and started the engine, she looked through the windshield at him. Straight at him.

He got all caught up in her turquoise eyes. They were so intense, and he heard again the echo of quiet passion with which she’d spoken about her work. It was clear that while she might not love taking pictures of half-naked Scotsmen, she did have a
love for photography itself. He hadn’t had any chance to look into her credentials after Eliza had introduced her and announced she’d be taking the photos for the contest. He’d figured it didn’t really matter. The amount of gear she traveled with alone was testament to the fact that she was no amateur.