Some Like it Scottish (11 page)

He found her at the pub with a group of men buying her drinks, and she was well into her cups. Ramsay squeezed through, ignoring the grumbles. “Excuse me, chaps. I've come to speak to my sister.”

One fellow frowned at him, circumspect. “Sister? Isn't she the lass you kissed earlier?”

Ramsay gave him a hard stare. “We're a close family.” He sidled up to her and wrapped his arm around the back of her stool, keeping the others at bay. “I've been looking for you.”

She gazed up at him with sad eyes. “Why?”

“We need to talk.” He slid his arm around her waist and helped her to her feet.

“I'm not talking about what happened back there.” She waved in the general direction of the door and the field beyond.

“That kiss 'twas nothing. I got overcome by yere beauty, that's all.”

“You got overcome by your testosterone.” She poked him in the chest. “You need to know one thing about me. I
never
mix business with pleasure.”

He guided her to an empty table. “So when you attacked me at the boardinghouse this morning, that was all business and no pleasure?”

“I tripped and fell.”

“Aye. And accidentally ravished my mouth. Well, that's what happened to me, too. I won the caber toss and accidentally fell on your lips.” And dammit, it was the hottest kiss he'd ever had.

“Don't let it happen again.” Her eyes dropped to the floor. “I mean it.”

“Okay, but on one condition.” He helped her into a chair and sat across the table from her.

“What condition?” she said.

“You have to give me some business advice.” This was as good a time as any to pick her brain. Since she was a little drunk, she'd probably tell him her secret to success. She had to have a heck of a business sense for her to have done so well at such a young age.

“I'm all ears.”

He couldn't help but skim his eyes down her body. “Ye're not all ears, lass. Ye have a few curves in there that have nothing to do with hearing.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Get on with it, Ramsay.”

He waved a waitress over. “Two coffees.”

“What if I'm not done drinking?” She placed both elbows on the table and pouted.

“I need you sober to hear my plan. After that, hell, I'll buy ye a bottle if you want it.”

“Fine.”

He leaned toward her. “Here's the deal. I need your opinion on a business idea.”

She reached over and squeezed his arm. “Shoot.”

For a second he got waylaid by her touch and lost his concentration. But thankfully, she pulled her hand away so he could continue. “I've always wanted my own boat and my own business. But it wasn't until the quilt retreat started up in Gandiegow that I knew what I wanted to do exactly. Tell me what you think. What if the quilters brought their husbands with them to town? While the women are sewing, I could take the lads to all my favorite fishing spots on guided tours.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you come up with this idea all on your own?”

He frowned back. “Aye. But by the way ye're skewering me with your gaze, maybe I should rethink my plan.”

She grabbed his hand across the table and squeezed it. “I think it's brilliant.”

He was the one to narrow his eyes this time. “How do I know it's not just the whisky talking?”

She smiled and shook her head. “Ask me about it again in the morning. I promise it'll still be brilliant.” Her expression went from smiling to serious. “So you're not all brawn.” She still held his hand, but caressed it now. “Why in the world are you not married yet?” She gazed into his eyes. Even though her cheeks were getting red, she didn't look away.

As nice as it felt for her to be stroking him, he pulled his hand away. Her touch turned him on too easily. He sat back and concentrated on her question, crossing his arms over his chest. She looked serious as hell, so he gave her his standard smartass answer—the one he gave every damn busybody in Gandiegow who tried to set him up with their daughters, granddaughters, nieces, and acquaintances from out of town. “Hell, kitten, I've been doing a pretty good job of ruining my life all on my own. Why would I need a wife?”

She sat back, too, and crossed her arms over her chest, mirroring him. The place between her eyebrows pinched together. “Liar. You can't fool me. You don't believe that.”

But how could she know? The truth was—he hadn't found anyone who could hold his interest and doubted he ever would.

“I don't have you figured out yet.” She caught her
bottom lip by her upper teeth, and chewed on it like she was balancing the books. “But mark my words; one day, I will.”

Her mouth captivated him—it kind of made him stop breathing—but he shook it off. “I doubt you will, lass.”

She gave him a dazzling smile. “Then tell me your biggest secret.”

For a second, he considered telling her about how tough it'd been being the babe of the family. How everyone still treated him that way. How he feared he would never be able to break away and become the man he knew he was meant to be.

But he wouldn't tell her any of those things. The matchmaker was just a pretty little sprite who happened to have the brain of a tycoon.

He leaned in and rested his arms on the table, like he was going to divulge something deep and dark. “Tell me how you've been able to be so successful at business.”

She reached out and patted his hand. “That's easy, big guy.
Because I had to
.”

“Had to?”

She nodded. “Everyone is counting on me.”

That's not what I expected.
He pulled his hand away. “What do you mean?”

She scooted her chair closer to him. “Do you want to know why I got so upset when you and Davey got stinking drunk?”

“Sure.” Which seemed an odd question since she'd been well on her way to getting stinking drunk herself when he'd arrived.

The waitress set their coffees down in front of them.

Kit took a sip. “I'm going to start from the beginning, okay?”

He nodded.

She spread her arms wide. “My family used to be wealthier than God.”

He expected she was still pretty damn wealthy, given the business she'd started and expanded.
Alaska. Scotland
.

She smiled at him like she was letting her statement sink in. “We had a beautiful estate, several vacation homes, a yacht—you get the picture.” Her smile faded as she wrapped her hands around her coffee cup. “But we lost it all in the real estate collapse. When I say
all
, I mean
all.
”

Okay, but
all
to some people wasn't the same as
all
to others.

“Go on,” he encouraged. He needed to figure out how this woman ticked.

“Well, Daddy started drinking. He'd always been a social drinker, but then he began clearing out the bar, one bottle at a time. The night before the yacht was going to be repossessed, he took his last case of expensive champagne with him for one final spin around the bay.” She paused for a second. “He must've drunk too much and fell over while he was saying goodbye to the yacht. They never found his body.”

Oh, gawd
. Ramsay reached out and cradled her hand in his. “Lass, I'm sorry.”

She waved him off like it was nothing, but her voice cracked just a little. “I was a junior in college. My mother and sisters were torn up. I spent the summer getting them set up in a cheap apartment and organizing everything for them—getting the girls enrolled in public school, making a budget, teaching them how to grocery shop.”

“I don't understand. If your mother is still alive, why didn't she do those things?”

Kit laughed derisively. “I love my mother, but she has
no practical skills. She had no way to deal with what had happened to our family. She's old money, had lived her life in the society pages. The only things Mother knew how to do were to attend charity functions, how to write checks for the poor, and how to distinguish between a van Gogh and a Degas. Unfortunately, we had turned into the people we used to help. You ought to see the neighborhood we live in now.”

He rubbed her hands. “There's no shame in being poor.”

“True. But there's no shame in having money, either. Money buys stability. I only want to make enough to buy back our old estate and get Mother and Harper and Bridget closer to our old life. I know that then they'll be happy.”

“And what's going to make you happy?” He surprised himself with the question, but he really wanted to know.

She pulled away from him and placed her hands on the table. “Making a go of it here in Scotland. Everything's riding on this, big guy.” She motioned to him like he was some kind of mountain she had to conquer. “I've invested every penny I've ever made into this venture. And it looks like my gamble isn't going to pay off.” She slumped back into her chair. “Both Harper's and Bridget's fall tuitions are coming due. I have to pay Mother's rent for her as well.” She sighed heavily and then whispered, “Don't tell anyone, but the pressure is crushing me.”

Ramsay felt like a cranking prick.

His assumptions about Kit were all wrong. He'd figured her for a spoiled rich girl, but she was nothing more than a woman trying to do right by her family.

Aw, hell.

He exhaled. “Let's get you back to the boardinghouse.” He rose from his chair and pulled her to her feet. He
didn't stop there but tucked her under his arm for support. As he walked her to the door, he caressed her shoulder as if warming her.

“I'm okay.” But she leaned into him as they went out into the night. “The coffee did the trick.”

“I'm not taking any chances of something happening to you. John would shoot me if you didn't pay him for the work I'm doing.”

In the field down the street, people sat in lawn chairs around campfires, laughing and singing.

Her glassy eyes gazed up at him. “I guess I didn't think about it before . . . but why is John getting all the checks instead of you?”

He glanced away. “We're a family business. We have some expensive boat maintenance coming up. Your money is going to help pay for that.”

She stopped. “If you're not getting paid to drive me around, then how are you going to pay for the boat you need for your tourism business?”

“There's the rub.” He wrapped his arm around her again and continued walking toward the boardinghouse.

She pulled him to a stop. “Tell me.” She didn't let go of his arm.

“Let's just say my dream has been put off a ways.”

“No.” She sounded as disappointed as he felt. Somehow, her empathy made it seem not so bad.

He walked her inside and helped her up the stairs. When he opened the bedroom door and got her inside, she looked up at him sheepishly. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and keep her there. She'd had just as hard of a life as he'd had.

“Thanks.” She went up on tiptoes, but apparently she wasn't tall enough to give him a kiss on the cheek.

He bent down to help her out, but when he did, she snaked her arms around his neck, maintaining eye contact.

“Don't tell the boss,” she whispered. “I'm going to break the rules and mix a little pleasure with business.” She slipped her hands into his hair and pulled him down, molding her lips perfectly to his.

“
Aw, gawd.
” The matchmaker was a gifted temptress, plain and simple. She maneuvered her tongue into his mouth, making him growl at the pleasing pain she was causing. She kept wriggling closer into him—with her body, her chest, her hips—and it was driving him mad.

She trailed kisses down his neck, making him pant like a lovesick dog.

“Take me to bed, Ramsay,” she pleaded between kisses. “I've had a rotten couple of days.”

Her words hit him like a bucket of North Sea water—cold, shocking—straight to the chest. He unlatched himself from her.

He was the one who'd made her life hell since she'd arrived. He would not
reap
the reward when he'd been the one trying to ruin it for her in Scotland.

She ran her hands over his chest. “I'm certain you can make it all better. You can put it on my tab.”

And he wouldn't be paid for his services, either—
gawd!

She giggled. “That was an awful thing to say. I must be drunker than I thought.”

The other men at the bar came to mind. There was no way in hell he was letting them reap anything from her, either.

“Go to bed, Kit.” He sounded angry and he hated that he did. He had a policy about letting his emotions get to him—
don't take things seriously enough to let it happen
. He schooled his anger to kidding. “I think the boss would
hate herself in the morning if the chauffeur played the gigolo for her tonight.”

She stood there, looking too foggy to comprehend what had just happened.

He snatched up the sleeping bag, not trusting his willpower to last. He wanted nothing more than to wipe that confused look off her face by loving her all night long. But he couldn't.

He left the room. He would sleep in the hall to keep watch over her, to make sure she didn't slip out and go back to the pub.

But then he heard her swearing and the bed springs creak loudly. Then something slammed against the door. It sounded like her messenger bag.

“I never should've come to Scotland.” She sounded defeated on her side of the door.

Well, at least that he could change. “I'll make it right, lass,” he said to himself.

Every cell in his body wanted him to go back in the room and show her that Scotland could be a right good place to be. He gazed at what separated them—a paltry oak door. Because it wasn't enough to keep him from her tonight, he took his sleeping bag and stalked away. He'd have to sleep in the SUV.