Under His Kilt (13 page)

Jocelyn sighed, tried to say the words and chickened out. “I cared for him.”

Her sister coughed and it sounded like “bullshit” before taking another sip of coffee. “You cared. Fine. I met someone the other day who I think would help you get over Ian. School teacher. Really nice guy.”

It was possible that a guy—likely her niece or nephew’s teacher—who read
Goodnight Moon
during the day could be into having sex in a semi-public place. He’d have that kind of adventurous sex because it revved Jocelyn’s engine.

Her sister’s husband was an engineer and from the way her sister lit up when the man came within breathing distance, he was probably a little dirty. Spice. Something Ian had said even married couples needed.

Ian.

Ugh. She laid her head on the table. Her sister patted her on the shoulder.

“You could call him,” Kimberly said.

“I can’t.”

“You can. If you care about him, you’ll put your heart on the line. For real this time. Not any half-assed, you-guys-were-both-lying-to-yourself kind of shit. Remember, he came with you to get your dog. I wasn’t wild before I married, but I did my fair share of sleeping around.”

Jocelyn perked up at that news and rolled her forehead on the table to look at her sister. “Really?”

Kimberly pffted. “You don’t go into details like that with your baby sister.”

She perked up a little more. “Now I must know.”

Kimberly smiled. “Can’t, because I do most of that now with hubby.”

“Eww,” she said and tried to smile back. She managed only a twitch of lips but it was close enough.

“Yeah. What I’m saying is, a guy that just screws you does not give a crap about you needing to pick up your dog. A man who dicks you doesn’t make that voice to your dog unless he’s head-over-heels in love with the dog.”

She swallowed and pushed the words out, “He leaves things that he loves so that’s not a good barometer.”

“Huh. Interesting.”

Jocelyn looked at her sister, eyes narrowed. “What is?”

“Why?”

“Doesn’t think he’s good enough.” She blew out a frustrated breath.

“And you think he is?”

He was a bastard for the note and for not saying a proper goodbye. Completely and unequivocally. “At the moment? No. Not feeling too charitable about him leaving.”

“Fair, but when you aren’t so butt hurt?”

Did it make a difference? She’d shut down cold. Why would he think she gave half a crap if he stayed or went? She’d checked him off her to-do list. Yeah, she was hurt, deeply, but there was shame for how heartless she’d been. That woman existed within her and she didn’t like it. Didn’t like that Ian spurred that kind of response. She didn’t know how to process that part yet.

“Can’t.” The single word was muffled by his shirt. The one that still reeked of decadence.

“Not sure what you want me to say then, if you won’t do everything to convince him he’s a dumb ass for leaving what you guys had.”

“I feel like the dummy. He told me the truth from the beginning. Then I got pissed when I realized he meant it. I couldn’t hurt him, but I wanted to make him believe I wouldn’t be heartbroken.”

Her sister snorted. “If that’s what you have to tell yourself to get through this, then, honey, I’m not going to say different.”

Jocelyn lifted her head and banged it against the table. Hearing those words were frustrating beyond belief. Her heart told the truth though, and that meant he left. Left
them
. The sodding bastard. They both were, if she wanted to be fair and technical about it. She didn’t.

That was pretty much day three.

And four.

And five.

But, by day six, she’d worked herself into a really good mad and started to pack up all his stuff to send to wherever the hell he was. Oh, she’d find him. If the mad kept rolling around like a pig in stink, she’d hunt him down and throw every piece of clothing in his face.

He’d made her unhappy. Her dog depressed. That wouldn’t do at all. She needed some kind of confrontation that released some of the mad barely masking the hurt. She’d get it all out, because he’d ruined her. Rage wasn’t the norm for her at all. The first few days of being depressed, exactly like her, but this uncivilized flash flood of pissed off…no. A part of her, the primitive part, embraced the honest emotion and had no shame for feeling it. And she, all of her, kind of liked it too. It felt real, alive. More so than she had since he’d left. More like how she’d felt when he was around.

Yeah, he’d probably stay gone, but they would end like they started, with a fire and fight until nothing but cinders were left. This would be the one rule they’d follow and then, maybe, she could move on.

Hopefully.

“Fucking Ian,” she muttered darkly.

*****

It took Ian three days at Stanford to work up to a really good temper. A town half full of preppies, the other half with hippies and neither side had a decent pub for him to get wrecked in. Without one, all he did was yammer at the same stiff-necked professionals with more money than sense.

Once the talks were done, it was meeting after meeting to drum up business for his company. He should have been over the moon and back. Dixon Langston, the owner of the small museum, had kept his word. Doors that had been closed previously, swung open wide and the stiff-neck professionals on the other side welcomed him in.

By day four, his consultation business was booked through to the next winter. He was a success.

By day five, he didn’t just have a temper but was spoiling for a good fight. The kind that broke some furniture. Maybe not, but some decent sex bruises because fighting should involve angry sex, at the least. Ian always had the name of the person he wanted to fight with right there on the edge of his mind.

She should be only a passing thought. No. Always. Right. There. Something would remind him of the way she laughed. The dewy feel of her skin after a shower. Her hair spread on her pillow while her nails dug into the soft cotton. Her. Just her. And the ever present thought of
her
drove him mad as a hatter. So much so, he finally did lose his mind.

Day six and Ian glowered at the first floor flats from his car window. He took a pull on the water, because he could taste her again. He hadn’t been able to get the memory of her taste out of his mouth since he’d left. It tasted bitter twenty-four hours in. By that time he’d come to grips she wouldn’t miss him.

She had his phone number. Not one shite voicemail yelling at him about leaving and not bothering to pick up his stuff. Not a single angry text message that the last exchange between them was a note about dropping off Lexxie.

Dead silence.

At that, it dawned on him, like dropping an anvil on his head. She’d been serious when she said they were done and she wouldn’t be heartbroken. Then his thoughts turned to her doing that dripping-with-sex hip sway in a bar for someone else. Joce didn’t care for him at all and had walked away first. Ach. Made him ache; made him mad. In cycles.

He’d come to the conclusion that if they were going to break up it was going to be ugly and very final.
El Fin
. Nothing but a complete understanding on both sides that they were done. Not cool tones that left his heart twisting in his chest.

Since he couldn’t take the slow slide into insanity anymore, he’d left Stanford and went to the only place that made sense.

He slammed out the car, stomped up to Joce’s door and pounded on the oak. Lexxie let out an excited yip on the other side and he could hear her nails clacking against the wood, trying to claw her way through it to get to him. Some of the mad he worked up left. Someone loved him. Someone had missed him.

Her owner opened the door and shock crossed her features. Lexxie bolted around Joce and jumped around his legs.

But then her owner’s gaze narrowed to slits on him. “Oh,
Ian
. Came to say goodbye?”

“Joce,” he barked back, but couldn’t answer the question.

He hadn’t seen her in forever. Looking at her now hit him between the eyes. She wore those silly boxers and had a jumper on. Sexy. Still. Ach. A lot of emotions crossed her face but only one stood out and it dug in his gut—lust. He’d lost himself while with her and forgot where most women wanted him—in their bed and not their heart.

Seeing that first and foremost with her had the mad roaring back easily enough. “Aye.”

Her eyes widened at his tone and her mouth opened and closed. “Are
you
seriously mad at me?”

“Aye,” he said again and walked past her into the flat.

The door didn’t slam shut and that meant she was still levelheaded about the whole thing. Not even irritated that her discarded lover came over spoiling for a fight. He faced her and hadn’t realized how close behind him she’d been. The deep, angry breath he took in dragged her scent up to him. The very definition of femininity. His fingers itched to grab hold of the jumper and drag her up to his mouth. Maybe the thought got through the anger because the lust deepened in her gaze.

“What were the rules, Ian?” The utter calmness in her voice punched him right in the heart.

“We’d fuck. You asked for your fantasies.” He didn’t add the last one because it had been a rule he’d thrown out, back when he thought she still cared, could care for him. Without thought, he shifted closer to her.

“I didn’t break either of them, but you’re angry at me?” The lust, the fire and passion blared hotter in her gaze.

“Aye.”

“So why are you here? To
fuck
again?”

Ian looked away, trying to fight back the need he still had to touch her, but his dick had sprang to life the moment she’d opened the door. The cycle of ache started and added sex in to the mix. It was a wonder he wasn’t in a loony bin. It felt like pure madness to be around her and worse when he wasn’t.

“We both know,” he said, “I stopped fucking you a long time ago.”

Her breath caught and she trembled. His brain went on autopilot and, apparently, so did hers because she launched herself at him. He put out his hands to catch her and then buried his fingers in the soft jumper, pulling her closer.

No. No. Argue it out. End it. She didn’t miss you; she missed your dick
. But then she made a strangled, frustrated noise and lifted her arms. He yanked the jumper up, threw it across the room, and then froze. She caught his expression and whatever had propelled her to touch him vanished.

Her gaze went back to an emotion that refused to process in his mind as she stepped back. “Fine. You’re angry with me. I’ve got some stuff for you.”

It was hard for him to breathe so he answered without thinking. “Do you now?”

She made a sound between a yell and a growl. The noise brought him up short and then Ian’s gaze went back to the shirt she’d worn under the jumper and his heart tripped in his chest. Irritated to see him on her doorstep was one thing, but now he could hear it all. She sounded as pissed as he felt. Spitting mad. The kind where if you raised your voice above a certain decibel it would just turn into screaming, so you kept it low and calm. Joce was livid.

Lexxie had been sitting at the door, watching them but trotted over to him. He scooped her up. She wiggled in his arms and tried to lick his face. He pulled back, laughing softly and scratched under her neck.

“You missed me girl? I missed you. They don’t make socks as warm as you.” He glanced up and Jocelyn swallowed, looked away and then moved over to a box near the kitchen.

Ian frowned though he wanted to grin like a sodding idiot. “What’s in the box?”

“Your things.” Her words were clipped. “Was about to call you and ask you where I could send them.”

“So nice of you.”

She laughed. “I am, aren’t I? My first urge was to burn them on the barbeque outside, but that screamed a little too much like
She-Devil
and I didn’t want to come across crazy. Even though you drive me nuts sometimes.”

He smiled, the fight not draining out of him because
they were going to fight
, but the ache loosened from around his heart. “And then what did you decide to do?”

“Cut them up into little pieces.”

“Everything?” he asked.

“Everything you left. Including your tooth brush. Do you want to know why? Do you want to talk?”

Since her voice was raising above the raspy calm, he put Lexxie down. The dog plopped right on his foot. “Let me have it then.”

“You left, you goddamn bastard. Yes, bastard. We were dating and not
in a way
. You lived with me. We had fantastic sex. I wasn’t just some lay to you. Don’t lie to me. Don’t you dare. You may know meaningless, but I know what more is like.”

“You do know that.” He kept his voice calm and knew how much madder it’d make her.

“I do,” she threw at him. “And when you have it and things break, you don’t just leave a note. You don’t act like you can’t see me when I’m across the room. You look at me with longing, goddammit.”

“True.”

She huffed and paced faster. “Stop agreeing with me. I want to fight. An ugly, knock-down-drag-out fight. I want to fight like we fuck. Dirty and both of us need some bruises when we walk away from this. That’s who we are.”

He shrugged, watching her get more riled up. After days of believing, weeks really, that Joce didn’t care enough to fight with him, this was a beautiful sight. “Except when you’re cooking for me.”

She waved her hand. “Yeah, that’s beside the point, because I am never cooking for you again. You left me. You bastard.”

He stuffed his hands in his pocket. She wasn’t done. Was just getting started if the flush on her face was any sign. He gave her extra fodder. “Aye. I am a dobber, but you stood in your bedroom after we did something incredible. Something that meant something out of bed and you fucking knew it. When I think on it now, I could see it as plain as day on your face, but I couldn’t understand what it was before. And then—and then you gave me nothing but a cold shoulder. How dare you?”

She practically snarled at him, and he grinned. “What the hell are you smiling about? Yes, I—we—you were leaving me. How—why would I just rip my heart out and hand it to you just so you could stomp on it?
Why
?”