Some Like it Scottish (25 page)

“Everyone join me over here. I've got some great icebreakers,” Kit said, even though she didn't think a pickaxe would loosen up this bunch.

Harper helped her with the dating games, but there seemed to be no chemistry between the bachelors and the socialites. Everyone genuinely seemed to be trying, but it was as if the two species were completely incompatible.

Harper tugged her over to the side. “This isn't working.”

Kit wanted to swear like a sailor, but instead, she plastered on an all-is-well smile, in case anyone was watching. “I know.”

“What's your Plan B?”

Kit chewed on her lip. “Maybe a little physical contact would help.”

“What are you suggesting, Kitten Woodhouse?” Harper's voice had a squeak to it, exactly like their mother's when she was flummoxed.

Kit grabbed her arm and spun her away from the others. “Shh. Quiet on the name or I'll tell everyone that your middle name is Magpie.” God, their parents were the worst when it came to names. She'd been shocked when Ramsay had started calling her
kitten.
“I'm not talking about dirty dancing or anything! I thought we could turn up the music and play Musical Bachelors. Give each partner a shot for about half a song and see what happens.” Kit motioned to the table against the wall. “You go change the music to something slow and easy to dance to, and I'll speak with the crowd.”

Kit explained the game to her guests and lined them up into couples for the first round. Harper started the music, and Kit stood back and waited. The girls from the country club all had years of ballroom dancing lessons, but they looked like a six-pack of broom handles out on the floor, trying to keep as much space as possible between them and the Real Men of Scotland
.
It was painful to watch. When they switched partners two minutes later, it wasn't any better. Kit's knotted stomach turned into spoiled liverwurst and she felt a debilitating migraine coming on.

At that moment, Ramsay sauntered into the restaurant. Relief swept through Kit as if the chords of “Unchained Melody” had been syphoned into her cells. He didn't stop for the pleasantries, but came straight to her. She was pulled into his arms for a brief second before her Scottish Fred Astaire twirled her onto the dance floor.

Her impending migraine fled as he held her close and tucked her under his chin.

“You shouldn't be here,” she said into his chest.

“I know,” he rumbled.

“But thank you for coming.”

He kissed her hair. Kit refused to glance at Harper to see the expression on her sister's face. Or her clients' faces, either. It could wait until the end of the song. She kept her eyes shut and soaked up Ramsay's strength.

As the song came to a close, Harper yelled, “Switch partners.”

Reluctantly, Kit started to pull away, but Ramsay held her tight.

“No. Yere sister has them under control.”

Never looking up, Kit relaxed back into him, letting the outside world stay away for a while longer. With his arms surrounding her, she could almost fool herself into thinking that this evening would work out okay.

Several more times Harper called for them to switch and Kit didn't move, except to the music. She heard people talking, and thought it was a good sign that her couples were beginning to open up. But the noise took on an increasingly unfriendly tone.

“
Aw, hell
,” Ramsay growled.

Kit's eyes popped open to find the local fishermen out on the dance floor, kilted in their finest, and holding her U.S. clients to their chests like prized fishing trophies.

“Holy shit,” she hissed, and managed to pull free from Ramsay. “How did this happen?” She looked up at him accusingly. “Did you do this?”

“Now, lass—” He reached out for her.

She stepped back. “You sabotaged me again.” But crucifying her chauffeur would have to wait.

Harper's squeaking panic could be heard above the music. “Stop this!” She stood between Lochie and Ewan the sheep farmer, ready to break up what looked like the beginnings of a fight. Morgan cowered a foot away from them. But the expression on her face said she was both enthralled and pleased that the males were arguing over her.

Kit glared at Ramsay.

“Fine.” He sighed. “I'll take care of it.”

He took Harper's place and began smoothing feathers with his stinking Ramsay charm
.

Damn him for reeling her in over and over again. As if she were the easiest catch in the world.

She marched over to the near-brawl and tried to pull Morgan away. But her client stood fast.

While Ramsay cajoled Ewan and Lochie, the rest of the men were squaring off, looking ready to rumble. The fishermen were arguing that they had gotten to the American lasses first. It was all too much. Kit wanted to crawl under a table before the men in kilts started throwing punches and tossing one another about the room.

The door to the restaurant flew open and a crowd of women came in, Deydie leading the pack. The rest of the town quilters followed with casserole dishes and goodies in their arms.

“We're here,” Deydie hollered.

Kit rushed over to her as the old woman and the others spread out the food.

“
Why?
Why are you here?” Kit asked none too kindly.

“We didn't want to miss out on the dance or the brawl,” Deydie cackled. “We haven't had a
céilidh
since Valentine's Day.”

A tide of people streamed in behind the quilting ladies, children included. A group of musicians were setting up in the corner. Kit noticed that the impending rumble had diminished to a small reverberation as most of the out-of-town bachelors became distracted by the local girls. Davey was even talking with Moira. Sinnie and Ewan were getting a glass of punch. And Rowena and Colin had begun dancing to the jig that had just started.

Harper slipped her arm through Kit's. The dance floor was filling up and everyone looked happy. Abraham Clacher, a crusty old fisherman, had even dragged Deydie onto the dance floor. “I didn't see
this
coming.”

“Me, neither.” Kit sighed, but she wasn't completely relieved. “I'm going to have to rethink my career choice.” She glanced around for Ramsay.

“He's over there.” Harper pointed to where Ramsay stood with Father Andrew.

Andrew frowned as he watched Moira dancing with Davey. That girl was light on her feet, a gifted dancer. Davey leaned over and spoke in her ear, and she laughed. Kit watched as Andrew's hands balled into fists. Ramsay stilled him with a hand on his shoulder.

The song ended, but what was going on between Davey and Moira didn't. It was like watching a movie. Moira went and got her sweater; Davey walked her out the door with his hand at the small of her back. Meanwhile at the side of the room, Andrew's face drained, then reddened to the color of sacramental wine.

Ramsay caught Kit staring. He said something to
Andrew and made a beeline for her. She frowned at him until he reached her.

“Still mad at me?” He didn't give her a chance to answer but pulled her out on the dance floor once again, this time to an upbeat tune.

“I should go talk to Andrew. He looks like he might do something stupid.”

Ramsay spun her in that direction. “Bethia and Deydie have it under control.”

Sure enough, the two older women had Andrew cornered. Bethia gazed upon him with her kind angel face while Deydie, the pitbull, ripped Andrew apart.

“So what is it, sprite? Forgive me? Or not?” Ramsay took her hand and pulled her near, their faces close together.

She tried glaring at him. But his eyes held the magic to soften her. She glanced away. “This is not what I had planned.”

“Aye. It's so much better.”

The music changed to a slow ballad, a song of unrequited love. Ramsay wrapped her in his arms as if he were her favorite quilt. She wanted to hang on to her anger, but she couldn't help but snuggle in.

A small body slammed into them. “Uncle Swab! Aunt Kitten!”

She glared up at Ramsay. Her brawny man shrugged and then scooped up Dand, letting him dance along with them in his arms.

“What is it, Rat?” Ramsay asked him. “Did some lass ask ye to dance?”

“Ew, no!” Dand made a face like he'd eaten fish bait. “I'm having a little brother.” He pointed to where his
parents stood by the food table. “Thank gawd it's not a sister. Ew!”

Ramsay laughed, hugging the boy tight. “That's excellent news, laddie. What are we going to call him?”

Dand screwed up his face just like he did when doing his arithmetic homework. “Let's call him
Flea.
”

“Perfect,” Ramsay rumbled. He kissed the boy on his forehead.

“Ew, Uncle Swab.
Boys don't kiss boys
.” Dand wiggled out of his arms and ran toward his parents.

The two of them were alone again. “Careful, sprite,” Ramsay murmured in her ear. “Something must be in the water. Claire, from the restaurant, and Doc's wife, Emma, are both pregnant. Now Maggie.” Ramsay glanced down at her. “You don't seem surprised by the news.”

She cuddled closer. “Maggie's baby being a
boy
is news to me.”

He laughed again and it warmed her as if she'd downed a shot of smooth Scottish whisky.

He ran a hand down her back. “How have ye done it, sprite? How have ye made everyone love you?”

As soon as the words were out, her world stopped.

Surely he hadn't meant to imply that
he
loved her. He kept swaying her to the music as if nothing was different from ten seconds ago, but she felt changed.
Ramsay
was not part of her plan.

“Let's get out of here.” He took her hand and dragged her toward the door.

She tugged back. “I can't leave my clients.”

He planted his hands on her shoulders and spun her around to look at the dance floor. “Ye're assuming too much responsibility. They're doing grand without ye.”

Indeed. Morgan didn't need help cuddling up to Lochie. Davey hadn't needed any tips on how to woo the shyest woman in Scotland from the room. Not even Deydie needed any prodding to dance with Abraham Clacher.

“Fine.” Apparently matchmaking wasn't Kit's calling, after all. She'd have to find another way to support her family.

Ramsay caressed her cheek. “Chin up, kitten. A match is a match, however it comes about.”

That didn't make Kit feel any better. Still downcast, she let him lead her toward the door.

John and Ramsay nodded at each other as they passed, some unsaid message communicated between the two.

When Kit and Ramsay stepped outside and the door closed behind them, she stopped. “Where are we going? For a walk? It's a nice night for it.”

“We have an hour.” He took her hand. “I don't want to waste it on a stroll.”

“Oh.” It was perfectly clear what he was talking about. So they were going to do
that.

Hadn't she decided that they weren't going to muddy the waters any more than they had already? On the other hand, it'd been such a crappy day that sex with Ramsay would be the perfect way to put it all behind her. Just the thing the matchmaker needed before she kissed her career goodbye. A nice send-off, as it were.

Kit was entitled to a little fling, wasn't she? Hell, the hand holding hers had pure electricity flowing through it. Yes, she could have a fling with this man with no regrets. It would give her something to think about in the years to come, after her late shift at Arby's or McDonald's.

Ramsay led her to his cottage. “One hour,” he reminded her. “That's all the time you have to take advantage of me before John brings home the family.”

“And Ross?” she said.

“He'll not be a problem.” Ramsay's voice had gone husky. He opened the front door and pulled her inside. He didn't stop there but lifted her into his arms and carried her down the hallway toward his room.

Kit felt a little awkward about doing the deed under the Armstrongs' roof, but clearly Ramsay had no such compunction. “How many other women have you brought home to play when everyone else was out?” She knew she didn't have a right to ask such a thing. This was only a fling. But she had to know.

He gave her a hard kiss. He must've known she was ready to bolt. “Don't worry, lass. Ye're the first.” He set her down and shut the door behind him, blocking it with his body. He stripped off his shirt and pushed away from the door, never taking his eyes from her, then sat on the bed and untied the laces of his army boots. “The truth is, until now there's not been another woman I wanted bad enough to risk life and limb. For surely, if Maggie caught us, she'd put my balls in the bait grinder.” His boots hit the floor. “Come here, sprite.”

There's not been another woman I wanted bad enough . . .

“I thought . . .” she said.

“You thought what?” He stood and dropped his kilt, displaying plaid boxers.

“Never mind.” She stared at the outline of his erection.

“Time's a-wasting,” he said. “If ye don't want to get thoroughly loved in the next fifty minutes, let me know now.” He looked down at himself, peering at the
sideways tent he'd made of his boxers. “Some of us are getting impatient.”

She should've sauntered over to him all seductive-like. But she was feeling as impatient as he was. She threw herself at him, wrapping her legs around his waist, and went in for a kiss.

“Oh, gawd, I love . . .” He faltered and fell back on the bed, taking her with him.

Oh, God, what! What did he love?

Part of her wanted him to finish the sentence. But the rational part of her didn't want to know.

“I love . . .” he said again as if choosing his words carefully. Their faces were only an inch apart and she watched as dueling emotions played out on his rugged, beautiful face. His open, honest expression, hinting at something raw, was replaced by his typical flirtiness. He grinned, pushing one of her stray locks behind her ear. “I love it that ye're so clumsy.” He delivered his best rogue smile, the one she'd seen a thousand times. “I think we'd better have a go of it before the family gets home.” He looked at her cleavage playfully.