Under His Kilt (12 page)

Yeah, she asked for it, but he had to know who she really was. It would have been paternalistic as hell to pat her on the head and send her away, but he was the expert when they first started this kind of exchange. He had to know what sex like this would do to her on a cellular level. He had it all the time. Across countries. He was going to leave her exposed and raw.

Now he wanted to talk and be civilized about the whole thing? What a bastard. Maybe it was unfair and irrational to be so angry at him, but she was tired of being nice, sweet and charitable in her own thoughts. “Nothing else to say.” She sounded so removed from the situation. Not one emotion leaked out. There was too many and she was just numb.

“You’re leaving,” she said. “For all intents and purposes, we’re done. The curtains are closing. Us kissing was taking the final bow. I’m trying not to make a big deal out of this. Don’t
you
dare do it.”

Her phone rang again and she made a sound of frustration. “I really should get that.”

His gaze stayed narrowed. Ian crossed his arms behind his head and leaned against the headboard. “No one’s stopping you.”

“I was waiting to see if you were coming. I’m taking that as a no.”

“You’ve got this covered. I’m going to bed. I’ll deal with the headache in the morning. Are you sure it’s Marcus calling?”

Her phone rang again. “No one, not even an egotistical grad student would call like this to say ’look how awesome I am.’ I should have known better than to leave him alone.”

“You live and you learn, Lass, and sometimes you’ve got to accept some things will never change.”

It took her a full fifteen seconds to hear what he’d said. Oh, Ian was pissed. His accent had eclipsed most of the words, but he looked cool as a fucking fan
in her bed
. Why? Maybe he saw the cracks and that meant she’d broken the rule. Probably turn into a headache down the line for him. God, she wouldn’t make a fool of herself over him. Maybe he had a prepared speech that would soothe feathers, but make it clear they were over and she was screwing up that last hooray. She would not stand there and get those words shoved down her throat.

Her phone rang again and since she’d started this, Jocelyn turned away. She was keeping up the appearance of being just fine, fine,
fine
with him leaving. No cause for dramatics. Or tears. Just shut off whatever emotion bubbled up her throat doing its damnedest to choke her. She needed something to focus on or it would all come rushing out, drowning them both.

Still, he’d leave.

If this was real and because it was them, they’d fight about him leaving. The argument would be as volatile as their sex. Another one of his rules. He wouldn’t have to tell her to ask all the questions she burned to know. She’d chuck them at him, one at time or all at once. He’d answer them even thought it might feel like breaking her, because they both knew omissions left doubts. Ones that didn’t show up for some time, but they did. Reese had done that to her. Ian’s mother had done that to him. They didn’t do that to each other for those reasons.

What did it matter? He was leaving. No need to fight or ask questions or say things that were right there on the tip of her tongue.

So, she swallowed down every single emotion and the words felt like a handful of broken glass. “All right. See you in the morning.”

“Aye.” The way he said it could have shattered a diamond with one blow.

She escaped to the living room, dug around in her purse and answered the phone. “Jocelyn Pearson.”

“This is Marcus. I’m sorry for calling so late, but, uh, I need some help.”

“I assumed as much the third time my phone rang in a row.”

“Oh, yeah. I was sure you were asleep, but I really need you to come to the museum. I don’t know what happened. It was, uh…are you on your way?”

“Dressed. Have my car keys in hand. After I get off the phone with you, I’ll call security to let them know I’m on my way. Don’t worry about it. This is a big project even for me.”

He sighed with relief. “I’ll make another pot of coffee.”

She forced herself to smile so it would show in her voice. “Maybe you shouldn’t have anymore, but thank you for making me some.”

Jocelyn ended the call and heard Ian in the hallway, then the bathroom door closed. Lexxie perked up from her spot on her bed. She looked down the hall, let her gaze rove back to Jocelyn for a long moment and then sniffed.

“Don’t you dare look at me like that.”

Lexxie stood, turned around and put her back to Jocelyn.

She sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

She bit her lip and glanced down the hallway toward the bathroom. But what would be the point of trying to…do anything? She hadn’t lied. They were done. Her phone rang. It was security. Apparently, Marcus was too anxious for her to call them. She sighed again and left the apartment. Already things felt back to normal. Work took priority because there was nothing else to look forward to.

*****

The hot water washed over Ian and he tried, really hard, to stay pissed at Joce. He knew every word she hadn’t said, refused to speak because she was too nice. They’d been right there on her fucking face as she’d pulled back and realized the phone would have to be answered. Whatever had happened in bed had come to an end. They were done. And…he wasn’t worth the trouble of saying another word to, of fighting with, of asking him to stay, making a mess of what they said they’d be.

“Just don’t,”
she’d said when she saw he was going to make a mess of things.
Nothing else to say
. She’d looked pissed because he was trying to turn the experience into more and not end it like he’d said.

He couldn’t blame her for any of the shitty thoughts about him that crossed her mind and flicked across her face. Thought them of himself often enough. She’d offered and he took like a rutting pig. He was nothing more than a good fuck anyway. Even when there were plenty of times he felt like more with her. So, he had lived the lie because he could wake up, roll over and drag her under him. He could smell her sex whenever he felt like it. He could have her and be with her.

Ian rammed his fist against the tile and the pain sang up his arm, but he deserved worse. No. He deserved nothing. No fanfare. Just like she gave him.

“Nothing but a sodding arse.”

When he told her about his mum, he should have left then. He didn’t do sweet and inexperienced. He didn’t do women who would make him feel… just feel. They got under your skin. No matter how long he stayed in the shower and scrubbed there she’d be. He was the good lay she had before turning thirty. He made sure from the beginning that’s all he’d be.

And she was right. What could be said?
If, a big if, you do care for me, I’ve got commitments. You’ll have long, lonely nights and not a damn thing you can do about that. You’ll miss me like shit
. Even if that didn’t bother her, Jocelyn didn’t need or want a man with mum issues. Ach. Someone who’d finger her arse and kiss her like that was romantic.

What a piece of shite.

A whine came from the door followed by scratches. Ian closed his eyes, hands balled against the tile and gave himself a moment to pull himself together. Took a long while to stuff all the emotion and disgust away. It was years worth if he thought hard about it. Never had he felt shame for the man he was. He liked what he liked. Lived by the barest of means. What more could he want? But she made him want stupid things like tweed jackets just to make her laugh.

Fucking Joce.

Didn’t she know, couldn’t she see he lived with the bare minimum
to be able to
live that way? No. Ach. Fattening him up with home cooked meals. Now, most pizzas would taste like the cardboard they were. She should have turned her head when he kissed her. Just jumped off his dick and left him cold to drive the point home. No. She’d kissed him back and then asked for more to appease him, telling him he was good at it.

Worthless, useless, sentimental pish. That was everything she needed and was used to, but she’d scraped the bottom of the barrel with him. He tried harder to scoff and sneer at it, but that would mean sneering and scoffing at Joce. Nothing about her was worthless and useless. Not even her asinine questions to force him to talk, push him to be more of a man.

Lexxie whined louder at the door. Ian cursed in as many imaginative ways he could think of and slapped off the water. He ripped a towel off the rack. Fluffy but well-worn, comfy. Not at all like he was used to.

Fucking Joce.

He yanked the door open, brimming with anger, not sure if it was more at himself or at Jocelyn, and Lexxie looked up him, eyes wide and sad. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Her ears lowered and she shrank back. He blew out a frustrated breath and softened his tone. “Are you hungry? Do you need?”

She shuffled forward, looked up at him and plopped on his foot. He sighed. “What the fuck are you going to do when I’m not here? ’Cause I won’t be. I’m leaving.”

She shifted, covering his foot up to the ankle so the only way he could move was to push her off, which they both knew he wouldn’t do.

He said the only thing that would get her to move, “Food.”

Lexxie popped up and toddled to the kitchen. He went to the room and got dressed, took his time too because a dog wasn’t going to rule him. A ball of fur wouldn’t make him softer in the heart than he already was. But, when Ian went to the kitchen to get himself something to drink and eat, she was there.

He stopped and glared at her. She grinned back, wagging her tail at him. She, at least, waited until he got himself something to eat before sprawling on his foot again.

“Fucking Lexxie,” he muttered and ate standing up at the island with a dog on his foot.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Jocelyn’s boss, ecstatic with the impeccable exhibitions, didn’t blink an eye when she asked for a week off. She came home that first afternoon after her and Ian’s second non-argument and found a note. He’d dropped Lexxie off at her sister’s. Nothing more to the note.

She’d expected him back before the opening to change his clothes, but he didn’t come to her apartment. She caught glimpses of him later that night, but not once did he go out of his way to say something. She could—no, she couldn’t have said or done anything to change their end date. Again, she’d expected him to pick up his stuff before leaving town. He hadn’t.

But really what did she think would happen? He’d apologize for giving her a fair warning? A warning he gave more than once. They had a great ride. The end. Awkward moment filled with silence and unspoken needs and then he’d leave?

She wouldn’t have minded if he just rolled through for a little while to have some of her birthday cake. The one she’d baked after reading the shitty note. No. He’d left, just like he said he would

And…okay. The bastard could have said goodbye, awkward or not. Cleared out his clothes so she could pretend the whole thing had been one of those wild dreams you wake up from and sort of wished happened. Like the shopping spree dream.

Nope. She ended up taking the cake to her sister’s. Her niece and nephew ate most of it. Even when Jocelyn tucked herself into bed in the middle of the night, she couldn’t get comfortable without a warm, decadent musky-scented man beside her. When Lexxie had toddled into the room, Jocelyn scooped up her dog and cuddled her close.

One day stretched into the next. There was only so many times she could play with Lexxie before her dog wore an enough-of-this-shit look. The pup seemed to be just as despondent, anyway.

Lexxie would perk up at every noise in the apartment’s hallway. When no one knocked on the door, she’d melt back on her doggie pillow. Her puppy wasn’t sick because she continued to eat her weight in food. No. She missed Ian.

And every time Lexxie would perk up at a noise, so would Jocelyn. They were locked in their own misery. Her dog would flop down and Jocelyn would scold herself for even thinking he’d come back. The truth, she hadn’t been calcifying before Ian came into her life. What it took for flesh to turn into stone was a painful process. She’d researched it.

Slowly but surely everything that felt like every ounce of
living
she’d experienced the past thirty days, really the past two months, dried up. Hardened. That was calcifying and painful as shit, and only day two.

Very early the third morning, she reached for clothes and pulled out Ian’s Cambridge shirt. She wasn’t going to be picky. So, she put it on and went to her sister’s house.

Kimberly opened the door, one eye squinted. “Wow. You don’t wear depression well do you?”

She tugged at Ian’s Cambridge shirt. The ratty sweats and tennis shoes were hers. “I brushed my hair and teeth.”

“Eh. You were always finicky about that even as a little kid.”

Jocelyn huffed. “And I never had a cavity. How are the wooden dentures?”

“Oh, we’ve reached bitchy. Come in. I need coffee.”

Her niece and nephew waved. They stopped getting ready for school long enough to cover Lexxie in nothing but love. What was she? Chopped liver?

Kimberly cinched the robe tighter and led them to the kitchen. As usual the house was a bit messy but nowhere near filthy. She slumped into the closest chair and waited for her sister to stop muttering and slamming things around to make the coffee. Kimberly brought two cups to the table, held up her hand before Jocelyn started to talk. After three sips, her sister rolled her hand as though to say go for it.

“He left,” Jocelyn said.

“You knew he would.”

“I know.”

Kimberly inspected the shirt. “He left his clothes, too. Shitty of him.”

“I
know
.” Her voice tried to crack, but she held it in. Barely.

Kimberly waited and then said, “When are you going to stop wearing them and throw them out?”

“Don’t know.”

Her sister made a noncommittal noise, eyes closed as she sipped some more. “So, you’re walking around like Raggedy Ann and he didn’t care enough to take his clothes when he left. Why?”

“Don’t know.”

Kimberly opened her eyes long enough to shoot a steely glare in Jocelyn’s direction. “Don’t make me say it for you.”