Some Like it Scottish (21 page)

“You better go get on my T-shirt and head off to bed,” Ramsay said with mirth in his eyes. “Ye have to be up early to make me some breakfast.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “If you boss me around too much, John and Ross will be the only ones who get any of my cooking.” She sashayed from the room.

“Good night, kitten,” he said.

She went into his room and closed the door. She pulled his T-shirt from the hook and held it to her chest. It felt so good just knowing that he was back in the house. She took her time stripping out of her clothes and putting on his shirt. She heard him in the shower across the hall. When he left the bathroom, she grabbed his robe and
stepped across the hall to use the facilities and brush her teeth. When she was done, all the lights were off in the living room. She peeked down the hallway, but she didn't see signs of life.

She trudged off to bed. His bed. Alone. But once she lay down, sleep wouldn't come. She rolled on her side and wondered if Ramsay was asleep.

She stole out of bed, quietly opened the bedroom door, and padded down the hallway. Once in the living room, she tiptoed over to the couch. She stood over him, looking at him by the moonlight. He was bare chested, wearing nothing but pajama bottoms.

She didn't expect his hand to reach out and yank her down. But when it did, she fell on top of him with an
oomph
.

“Shh.” He settled her on his chest. “I'm tired and I'm trying to sleep.”

She nuzzled into him, inhaling the smell of soap, shampoo, and Ramsay. She wasn't oblivious to the erection that her knee touched. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“Aye. But ignore it and go to sleep.”

She snuggled in deeper and accidentally brushed up against him once more.

“Aw, gawd,” he growled. “Sprite, either lie still or we're going to my room. And not for shut-eye either.”

A threat or a promise. She sizzled low in her abdomen and was more than a little tempted to rub herself up against him again. No one had ever made her feel this way before. “But what if I want to make out just a little?”

He sighed as if being tortured. “There would be no little about it.”

“Not even one little, eensy-teensy kiss?” Oh, she was bad, very bad. They were on the couch where anyone
could walk in and see them. If she thought the lynching at Quilting Central had been unpleasant, she'd probably be strung up by her toes if caught seducing Ramsay under Maggie's roof.

“Okay.” He sighed heavily like he had no choice. “One kiss.”

She smiled into his chest, feeling victorious. For once she'd been successful with her womanly wiles—and with a 100 percent Scottish warrior.

But in the next second, she found she was wrong.

He kissed her all right. Fiercely even. But it was on the forehead. “There. Now sleep.” He planted his hand on her knee, holding it in place. Apparently, he was taking a stand against whatever other wiles she had in mind to use against him tonight.

K
it woke up at her normal time to make breakfast. She didn't immediately move from the cocoon of Ramsay's arms. It felt too nice. Too wonderful. But she also didn't want to get caught by the family while she was snuggled up with her chauffeur . . . wearing nothing but her undies and his T-shirt.

She tried to wiggle out of his arms without waking him, but he gave her a gentle squeeze in protest.

“Breakfast,” she whispered. “I'm earning my keep, remember?”

“One more minute.” He ran his hand down her back, cupping her bottom for a brief second before tracing one finger under the elastic of her panties.

She shivered. Oh, yes, her human mattress had moves. And if Ross's and John's doors weren't about to pop open, she would've tempted her mattress with a little grinding to see if he would show her more.

Ramsay's hand moved back up and rested on her bottom for a moment. Then he gave her a pat and a squeeze. “Up, sprite. I've had enough.” He chuckled. “Unless you want to skip breakfast and go straight for dessert.”

She stretched out and slid across him, copping a feel as she stood.

He groaned in agony. “Ye're a mean little thing.” He yanked her hand, pulling her down for a smoldering kiss. “Now, away with ye.” He swatted her bottom as she retreated.

She ran off to his room, once again realizing he was too much man for her. With him, she didn't feel like she was in control of herself at all. He had her feeling womanly—all soft and feminine—not the tough-as-nails businesswoman she normally had to be. She knew enough about this world and its hard knocks, that if you were soft and feminine, you were bound to get rolled over and trampled on.

She threw on a running suit and a bra before hurrying back into the kitchen. This morning she was making a skillet breakfast of hash browns, cheese, bacon, and eggs. After the guys ate, she could put the covered cast-iron pan into the oven for when Maggie and Dand woke up.

She focused on cooking the bacon in the skillet and grating the potatoes while her distraction dressed and readied for the day in the other room. When Ramsay made an appearance, he was outfitted in jeans and an old T-shirt, looking very rugged and handsome. But wasn't he always rugged and handsome?

He took the empty coffee press and filled it with boiling water. As she walked by, he grabbed her around the waist with his free hand and hugged her to him.

It wasn't a wimpy hug. It was possessive, primal, and exhilarating.

He let her go. “I never figured you for one who knew her way around the kitchen.”

She tried to ignore the chain reaction he'd started in
her body with that hug. She finally pulled herself together to answer. “Just some basics. I'm no gourmet chef.” She threw the shredded potatoes into the pan and they sizzled. “What did John and Ross think of your big purchase?”

“What big purchase?” John said, making Kit jump and drop the spatula.

How long had he been standing there?

Ramsay frowned at her as if she couldn't be trusted with state secrets. “I hadn't gotten around to telling them. I was busy with another matter.” He cocked his head, still gazing at her.

The way John scowled at Ramsay made Kit want to race off to her room—Ramsay's room—but she had to stay until the food was done. She flipped the bacon, maneuvering away from the popping grease. If only she could escape the impending argument as readily.

John took an imposing step toward Ramsay. “What are you blowing yere cash on?”

Ramsay straightened, not backing down, more serious than Kit had ever seen him. “I explained about the guided fishing business.”

“Aye. I remember you asking for money.” John's hard stare and almost imperceptible nod delivered the blow.

If he'd aimed that stare at Kit, she would've doubled over. As it was, she desperately wanted to slink away.

But Ramsay remained tall. His face, however, darkened with an angry red, his eyes turning to black steel, and he heaved the next statement at John like a tidal wave. “I don't owe you an explanation, but I'll give ye one anyway, brother.”

Kit hoped to never be on the receiving end of this pissed-off Ramsay.

“Those days at the farm gave me the last I needed to buy ole man Martin's boat.”

She noticed he said nothing about the check she'd given him to occupy the bachelors. But she couldn't blame him for the omission. She was in the midst of two unyielding, old-fashioned warriors.

John arched his eyebrows with the unasked, obvious question.

Ramsay exhaled so bitterly that she was surprised flames didn't burst from him. “I haven't done anything illegal to get the money, if that's what that look is all about. I've been stashing money away my entire life. Never turned down a job offered to me.” He exhaled again, but this time, he seemed a little defeated. “I've always wanted a business of my own.”

Kit flipped the hash browns and kept her head down when she went for the cheddar in the refrigerator.

“I see.” John sounded like Ramsay had abandoned him, the family, and their business.

She felt bad for Ramsay. Was it really so terrible that he wanted something of his own? But then again, maybe he was leaving the other two brothers high and dry to run the fishing boat alone.

Ross wandered into the kitchen and grabbed a mug. “What's the argument about this time?”

“It's just you and me pulling the nets today.” John moved the lunch cooler from the floor to the counter with a bang. “Ramsay has more important things to do.” That was the first time that she'd heard John call him something other than Swab.

Ross turned to his younger brother for an explanation.

“I'll be working on my own boat today—maintenance,” Ramsay supplied.

Ross turned to Kit. “Where did he get his own boat?” He must've thought she'd be the safer one to ask.

“Do I really have to get in the middle of this?”

Ross said, “Yes,” while Ramsay said, “No.”

She shrugged. What the heck. She'd taken over the Armstrongs' kitchen; why not mediate their family feud, too? “Ramsay used the money he's been saving his whole life to start a fishing tour business by buying a boat. John feels betrayed that he'd leave the family business. We're not sure yet how you feel about it.” She glanced at each one of the three brothers. “Did I cover everything?”

John harrumphed and busied himself with getting out the ice packs.

Ramsay put his head down to hide a slight grin while he shook his head. “I probably should've warned ye; the sprite doesn't mince words.”

Ross grinned at her. “I see that.” He turned to Ramsay and pounded him on the back. “I wish ye well with yere new business. And I'm sure John does, too.”

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.