Some Like it Scottish (23 page)

He
tsk
ed 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.”

R
amsay leaned against the SUV, smiling as she huffed off. He'd give her time to shower before he headed home. But on second thought—wouldn't it be nice to surprise her and join her there?

No. His sprite was already in a snit about something. And he refused to let it rile him.

Last night she'd been perfect. Hell, he'd been perfect, too. They were explosive—pure dynamite together. It couldn't have gone better. Unless of course, she'd cuddled him back. But she did let him hold her as they slept in the back of the auto.

He whistled as he walked toward the dock and his boat. Hopefully, Ross and John had found him plenty of fishing gear. As he got near the dock, he slowed.

“That's strange.” The boat was bobbing in the water right where it was supposed to be, but a tarp was hanging over the stern.

Ross popped out of the cabin, and in his hand was a paintbrush. He saw Ramsay and tucked the brush behind his back.

A sinking feeling swam over Ramsay. “Ross, what did you do?”

Ross looked around as if there was another
Ross
hanging out on his boat. “John and I got all the fishing gear loaded for you. Life vests and rafts are loaded, too.” He pointed to the storage cubbies under the benches with his free hand.

“That's not what I'm speaking of,” Ramsay growled. “Why is there a tarp over the stern?” He took the last steps and came aboard, going straight for the tarp.

“We were only helping.” Ross shifted from one foot to the other. “Ye can't take her out without a proper name.”

Ramsay pulled the tarp up and groaned.
“Lil Sister?”

Ross shrugged. “John and I thought you might see the humor in it.” He patted the gunwales. “She's a fine boat, Ramsay.”

“But
Lil Sister
? Can't I have one thing in this world that's mine and not tainted by the two of you?”

Ross pounded him on the back. “It's better than the name we first came up with.”

“I don't want to know,” Ramsay said.

“
Pretty in Pink
,” Ross supplied.

“Off my boat. Now!” It was too late to change the name. He had to shower. He had to fetch the bachelors. Later, though, he'd kick his brothers' arses.

*   *   *

Kit stood in the shower, realizing too late she had washed her hair three times. She didn't have enough bandwidth to deal with this right now—feeling vulnerable. It was all Ramsay's fault. His lovemaking had unraveled her. Her hands, buried in her sudsy hair, froze. That was the problem. He hadn't kept his side of the deal. It was supposed to be just sex, but he'd made love to her.
The bastard
. Now she was nothing more than a pile of shredded nerves.
No amount of shampoo could wash away how wonderful it had been with Ramsay . . . how he'd changed her. Kit quickly rinsed and stumbled from the shower.

She had the terrible feeling that if she didn't hurry and get out of the Armstrong household, Ramsay would find her. Peel her. And take her back to his bed. Kit knew that if he showed up, he'd use his power of persuasion on her. She was defenseless against him and what her own body wanted. Him. Again and again.

I have to get out of this town.

Kit threw on a bright summer dress—contradictory to her bad mood—and rushed out the door with her hair still wet, but at least it was combed. She resisted the urge to rush over to Duncan's Den, the quilting dorm, to see if any of the bachelors had arrived yet. She really wanted to get a glimpse of the men, but Ramsay would be collecting them soon, and she couldn't chance running into
him
. Especially with how exposed she felt. She would meet them tonight before the mixer and have each one sign a contract. She'd also explain what was expected of them.

As she arrived at Quilting Central, so did the rest of the crew—Harper and the girls. Kit held the door open for them, but Harper didn't go inside. When all her clients had entered, Harper shut the door and faced her.

“You look like hell.” Harper brushed at the frown between her eyebrows. “What's wrong? And where were you last night? Deydie told us not to worry, that sometimes the storms can get people stuck. Is that what happened?”

Kit batted her sister's hand away from her face. “Yes. That's what happened. A flash flood and no signal to call and tell you.”

“But why the frown?”

“A bad night's sleep. Nothing else.” A lie. She'd slept great in Ramsay's arms. But she felt branded and tagged as one of Ramsay's possessions. She was afraid everyone could see that she belonged to him. Which wasn't true. “There's a lot riding on tonight, is all,” Kit explained. Now, that was an understatement.
Everything
was riding on tonight. But Kit wouldn't burden her sister with the details of how this mixer could make or break their family.

Kit glanced away from Harper's analytical eyes and opened the door for her sister.

“Yeah. A bad night's sleep. That's it.” Harper rolled her eyes and went in with Kit following.

She plastered a smile on her face for her clients. She was certain their nerves were getting to them. Or at least they should have been. As Kit went for a cup of coffee, Harper followed her.

“We have a problem,” Harper said. She tilted her head toward Gretchen. “She didn't get to the dorm until after midnight.”

Kit swiveled around to look at the woman. She stared at her scone with a secretive smile on her face. “Crap. Who is she seeing?”

“I think his name is Thomas, one of the fishermen. When you didn't come back last night, Kathleen snuck out, too. I waited up until she made it back safely, but I didn't think it was my place to question her.”

“Hell.” Kit set her coffee cup down without filling it.

It seemed that one by one, the fishermen were picking off her girls. Kit should've kept her eye on the ball and taken care of her fishermen problem. What if it was too late for her bachelors when they got here? But Kit had one thing going for her. The fishermen weren't invited to
the mixer tonight. Out of sight, out of mind, she hoped
.
She'd have to give the bachelors a pep talk about making a good show of it for her clients. And Kit could always mention to the girls that their parents were not going to approve of them marrying fishermen. These girls were pleasers and would ultimately do what their families wanted them to do.

“Ladies, how about we get started?” Bethia stood at the front with Moira beside her. Everyone made her way to her chair and sat down to her project. “We'll be milling around. Just holler at one of us if you have a question or need some help.”

Harper squeezed Kit's arm. “It's all going to work out. I promise.”

“I hope so,” Kit said. But Harper really shouldn't be making promises she knew nothing about.

*   *   *

An hour later, Ramsay made his way across town to pick up Kit's bachelors.
No. Kit's male clients.

He glanced down at the release forms in his hand. He probably should've had the men sign Kit's contract when he'd gotten them to agree to come here. But heck, he didn't know the ins and outs of the matchmaking business. The release forms he had were another matter. He was damn well going to protect his boat and his own arse from any lawsuits, should one of the bachelors get a fish hook stuck in his hand.

He thought about Kit and how grateful he was to her for this opportunity to start his own business. As soon as he could get her alone today, he'd show her how grateful he could be. With his lips. His hands. And all the other parts that the two of them had fit together last night.

And because he was a guy, and he'd thought about her
at least a thousand times since waking, he imagined making love to her again. And again. Logistically, though, it would be tough to find a place for them to be alone. He'd never had to worry about this before; he'd always dated outside the village gaggle. At times like these, he wished he didn't live with his family. While he was on the ocean today, he'd give some serious thought to finding a private place.

Outside Duncan's Den, one of the two quilting dorms, Ramsay found Davey, Ewan, and Colin standing under the metal quilt block sign, discussing the seasonable summer weather.

Ramsay clapped Colin on the back. “Thanks for doing this, friend. It seems you've been doing me all kinds of favors these days.”

“Don't worry. I'm keeping track.” It had only taken a phone call and a few words to get Colin to come to Kit's rescue for the mixer tonight.

Davey frowned at Ramsay. “Why am I doing this again? I thought I was supposed to be focusing on myself for the first time in my life.”

Ramsay shook his hand. “Ye're doing this to meet some bonny American lasses. Sometimes it's nice to stop and smell the roses.”

“
Are
they bonny lasses?” Davey said.

“Aye.” The fishermen of the village had taken quite a shine to them
,
but Ramsay kept that thought to himself. “They're refined women, too. Any one of them would make an excellent addition to the distillery,” he said, thinking to appeal to the collector in Davey. “Where are the rest of the lads?”

Colin thumbed at the dorm. “Putting their things away. Mac only just arrived.”

Ramsay had also called in a favor from his friend Mac,
a clerk at the bank in Fairge. Not exactly a landowner, but a decent fellow with a steady job. How could Kit argue with that?

Ramsay straightened. “We better hurry if we're to catch anything and get back in time for the mixer.”

The men grumbled, and Ramsay understood where they were coming from. Fishing sounded a hell of a lot more fun than a blind date.

“I'll get the rest.” Colin made for the door.

“Here.” Ramsay handed him the papers. “Everyone needs to sign one before we get under way.”

Colin took them and went inside.

After the formalities were done, they walked to the dock together. At the first sight of his boat, Ramsay's chest swelled. He'd finally done it. He was finally living his dream. Once aboard, he pointed out all the safety equipment, handed out the fishing gear, and then showed them where the refreshments were in the cooler. After that was done, he went to the wheelhouse to start the boat while Mac and Colin manned the lines.

It didn't take long to get to Ramsay's favorite fishing grounds. Once anchored, he found that all of the men knew their way around a tackle box—being Scots, they bluidy well should have known. They soon had their lines in the water. It occurred to Ramsay that he might have trouble when the Kilts and Quilts retreat had customers who weren't Scots and avid fishermen. He'd have to have extra help aboard to bait and perhaps babysit those who weren't born with a fishing rod in their hand. Ramsay thought of Maggie's cousins, Robert and Samuel. The teenagers would probably like to earn some coin while hanging out on his boat. He felt it again. Everything was coming together for him.

The day flew by and Ramsay enjoyed the hell out of himself. As they pulled back into Gandiegow's dock, he could tell his customers had enjoyed themselves, too, their fishing baskets full. He led them to the restaurant, where he'd arranged with Dominic to cook up their bounty for a premixer feast.

When they stepped into the restaurant, Bonnie, Moira, and Sinnie were there, settling food into boxes. Ramsay couldn't stop grinning over the amazing day that he'd had. And the only one he wanted to share the feeling with . . . was Kit.

Ramsay stopped them. “What's all this?”

Bonnie, the alpha of the three, stepped forward. “We're taking food to the dorm for the out-of-town women.” Her tone suggested that she might be tempted to slip a bit of arsenic in their dinner. But then she seemed to notice the men crowding in around Ramsay. “Hey, fellas.”

Some of the bachelors' taste seemed to have changed from fish to something more fleshy. Several of the men stared at Bonnie's cleavage.

Moira nudged Bonnie's arm. “The lasses' dinner is getting cold.”

Davey rushed over to Moira. “Here. Let me help you with that.” He hefted the last box to his shoulder. “Where can I put it for ye?” It looked like he was flexing his muscles for her.

Moira must've noticed, too, because her face turned pink and a slight smile spread across her lips as her eyes dropped to the floor. “The wagon outside would be grand. Thank ye.”

Bonnie looked pointedly at several of the bachelors. “I hope to see you men later.”

That's when Ramsay noticed that not all of the
bachelors were ogling Bonnie's exposed breasts. A few of them were staring pointedly at Moira and Sinnie as well, like they were staking their claim, too.

*   *   *

Perfect, just perfect, thought Kit, sarcastically, as she watched the fishermen roll in that afternoon, bringing a heavy dose of testosterone and charm. One by one they lured her clients away from their quilt blocks, baiting them with Real Men magnetism. Kit searched her brain for an excuse to run the men out of Quilting Central and lock the doors behind them.

Unfortunately, Deydie took that moment to bring the retreat to an early close, as she'd promised Kit she would. Her clients needed time to change for the mixer. But when the old matriarch said the word, half of Kit's clients scattered with the fishermen.

Kit called for reinforcements. “Cait, can you take Harper to find Gretchen and Beatrice? And, Moira, can you help me find Morgan?”

Amy bounced her baby boy on her hip. “I'll keep the others corralled at the quilting dorm until you get back. I'll get Coll to help me.”

“Thank you.” Kit headed for the door, noticing that Andrew was right behind her and Moira.

“We should try the dock,” Andrew said.

“Aye.” Moira nodded at him. “Lochie probably took Morgan to his boat.”

As Kit and her crew headed for the dock, Kit decided she'd have to move to the quilting dorm for the duration of her stay, in order to keep an eye on her clients. Maggie would have to understand. It was for the best, anyway. Moving out of the Armstrongs' house was the only way to keep from crawling back into Ramsay's arms.