by Caroline Lee
Of course, now that manager was Max. And though he felt as if he had a pretty good handle on things, he was still finding himself learning something new each day.
Such as the fact that, apparently, some of the engravers returned to work in the evening.
Sighing, he resisted the urge to bounce up and see what was going on. He still had work to do. The Oliphants had been running the business as best they could, but it was no wonder Andrew had sent him here; the backlog of projects was months long. With a little efficiency and organization, Max hoped to be able to cut that down significantly, but he also wanted to make the changes gradually.
Fortunately, with Prince Armory’s reputation, most clients expected the creation process to take a long time; each piece was engraved to the buyer’s specifications after all. Max figured his favorite part of the job was studying the order forms and trying to guess what he could about the eventual owner.
The ones who wanted big game animals carved into their receivers were likely hunters, and the religious symbolism was likely self-explanatory. But why did some buyers choose flowers or vines? And a surprising number included photographs to be reproduced by hand onto the metal plaques—photographs of themselves, or women, or children. One had even sent along a fingerprint and a set of dates to be included.
What must the engravers themselves, such serious men, think of these requests?
The sounds from the engravers’ studio had stopped, but now Max heard the sound of the lathe start up downstairs in the machine shop.
Curious.
Reaching for the last stack of invoices he needed to sort, he blew out a breath and started reading.
To his surprise, the lathe was still going when he finished, and he had to admit he was a little proud of himself for recognizing the sound, even from up in his office. Yeah, he decided, coming here to the Highlands had been the right choice.
Especially since you got to meet Ember.
He grinned, unable to deny that perk. Yesterday, in his room, it had been torture to hold himself still as she’d leaned toward him, her lips all but begging to be kissed. God Almighty, but he’d wanted—needed—to touch her, though he had been determined to give her control.
But then something had stopped her from taking what he’d known she’d wanted. However, the thought—the scent—of her had kept him occupied well into the night.
Well, cowboy, if you’re sitting here thinking about how you got so lonely you had to play with yourself, it’s probably time for a break.
Tossing the last of the invoices into the correct pile, he stood with a groan and stretched his back. Time to get back to the inn, and maybe he’d even get the chance to see her again. But first, he’d go check on whoever was down in the machine shop.
With his coat slung over his shoulder, he trotted down the stairs and rounded the corner where the machines were set up. As the lathe came into view, he saw the figure in front of it.
A figure in a dress.
Max frowning, knowing there were no female employees. “Excuse me?”
The figure didn’t turn; she likely couldn’t hear him over the sound of the machinery. She was leaning forward as she focused her attention on whatever bit of turning and adjusting she was doing. Each movement sent her dark red braid swaying.
Why did that hair color seem so familiar to him?
She straightened and seemed to study her work. Then, with a satisfied nod, she removed her foot from the pedal, and the lathe began to whine to a stop. The noise lessened as the machine slowly stopped spinning, and she wiped her hands on the leather apron she was wearing. She was just reaching for her work when he raised his voice and tried again.
“Excuse me?”
This time, she whirled around, surprise on her face, and he saw her for the first time.
Ember. His face split into a grin. “I’m glad to see you!” If fairly surprised.
But she frowned. “Max. How’d ye ken I was here?”
“I…I heard you?” He’d been upstairs after all.
Her eyes darted about the big room. “Did ye follow me from the inn? I didnae expect to bother anyone, ye ken.” She wiped her palms on her apron again, but this time looked as though it were more of a nervous gesture. “Lawrence was close to my father, and he gave me permission to use the machinery for my projects. I ken I’m no’ supposed to be here.”
Wanting to put her at ease, Max tried for a charming grin as he slid his arms into the sleeves of his jacket. “What projects?” he asked, hoping it might distract her from her worry he was mad about her being there. Granted, she wasn’t an employee, but if Lawrence had given her permission, it meant the foreman vouched for her, and Max would find out more information before making any changes.
Besides, she was clearly skilled at using the lathe.
Her eyes had narrowed, and she took a deep breath. “I’m— My father was a skilled engraver, and he taught me everything he kenned. Sometimes I come here after hours to turn a piece, then work on it back at the inn.”
“In that little workshop where I met you.” Max was already nodding. “That makes sense.”
It seemed she finally realized he wasn’t going to yell at her for being there, and her shoulders began to relax. She reached up to pull the heavy apron over her head, and the motion pulled her braid across her shoulder.
Why was he so fascinated by that braid?
“Baroness Oliphant doesnae approve of my hobby, so I have to sneak out. That’s why I was so defensive,” she explained, as she crossed near him to hang the apron up in between the lathe and the press. “Ye’re likely here on yer boss’s behalf, aye?”
His boss’s behalf…? Oh, she must mean Andrew Prince.
“Yeah,” he murmured, his attention still caught by those dark red strands of hair lying against her simple blouse.
When she was done with the apron, she didn’t return to the lathe and her project. Instead, she halted near him, near enough to touch. When she lowered her chin, she watched him through her lashes, and he found himself already leaning toward her.
“Are ye going to tell yer boss ye found me here, Max?” she asked in a low voice.
He had to clear his throat to get his voice to work, although he kept it low to match hers. “I don’t think he would care,” he answered truthfully. “You’re not doing any harm.”
She smiled. “Thank ye.”
Almost unconsciously, his hand rose. He realized he was reaching for her braid and turned the motion into a scratch of his chin at the last moment, certain it looked awkward as hell. “I’d, uh, I’d love to see whatever it is you’re working on.”
“Oh!” Her eyes lit up. “I’d love to show ye!”
She began to turn, and he—without realizing his intent—put his hand on her arm and stopped her.
Ember turned back to him with a raised brow, and Max’s mind went blank.
He couldn’t come up with one damn thing to say. There was a bug on your sleeve sounded fake, and I just wanted an excuse to touch you sounded creepy, and Just checking the size of your muscles. Wow, feel these things! was just weird.
So he blurted what was actually on his mind. “You have beautiful hair.”
Her lips formed a little “oh” of surprise as her hand rose to touch her braid, and he found himself becoming jealous—of her hand, sure, but more so of those lips. He wanted to be the one to taste them, to make her sigh in surprise, to make her say, “Oh.”
He wanted to kiss her, more than he’d ever wanted to kiss anyone else, ever.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, but didn’t remove his hand.
She smiled. “For complimenting me? Dinnae be.” Was she leaning toward him? Her gaze dropped to his lips. “I rarely get compliments.”
Her breathy tone made him feel bold. “That’s a shame. You deserve all sorts of compliments.”
When her gaze rose to meet his once more, he felt the desire—the need—slam into him and shoot straight to his cock.
“About m
y hair?” she breathed.
Hoping to distract himself, he lifted his hand to her braid once more, but this time, he didn’t stop himself. He lifted the feathery tips of her hair and brushed them against his thumb.
Not just your hair! he wanted to tell her. But all he actually said was, “It is a gorgeous color.” One which was still tugging at his memory. “It’s a shame to keep it covered.”
Her eyes were wide, and he wasn’t mistaken; she stepped even closer to him.
“Baroness Oliphant makes me wear a cap. She says the color of my hair is inappropriate.”
“How could a color be inappropriate?”
Her lips curled up at the corners. “She says it incites men to think lustful thoughts.”
Max couldn’t help it; he burst into laughter, and when he’d calmed himself down, she was standing even closer, her head tilted back to meet his eyes.
“She’s right, you know,” he drawled, dragging the tip of her braid against her neck, and liking the way she shivered at the sensation. “I’m having all sorts of lustful thoughts right now.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, but it’s not because of your hair.”
Her pink tongue darted out across her lips. “What are they— I mean, why are ye having those thoughts?”
He dropped her braid, and his fingertips replaced it against her neck, carefully skimming against her skin. When she whimpered softly and tilted her head to give him better access, he knew she didn’t object.
“Your lips, Ember,” he said softly, and her eyes widened. “Mainly your lips, I should say. Also your skin, and your hands.”
“My—my hands are callused,” she gasped, leaning toward him.
“Yeah, but they still make me think lustful thoughts.” Like where she might put those hands.
“Max…” she whispered.
When he took a deep breath, his chest touched hers, and he wondered if her breasts were aching for his touch. “Ember, I’d like to kiss you. Do you mind?”
Holding his gaze, she smiled. “I thought ye’d never ask.”
And then she pushed herself up on her toes, her arms going around his neck, and he lowered his lips to hers.
Dear God, but this had to be the most incredible kiss he’d ever experienced!
Not that he was…experienced. There’d been a few ladies back home of course, and the girls over at The Gingerbread House Saloon, and—
Why in tarnation are you thinking about other women right now?
Max exhaled and let himself sink into this kiss—this electrifying, exhilarating kiss.
Her fingers raked through the short hairs at the back of his neck, causing him to shiver, and when he dragged his tongue along the seam of her lips, they parted with a sigh. What started off sweet soon became desperate, as Max realized he wasn’t going to be able to get enough of her.
When she took his lower lip between her teeth and sucked, he instinctively pressed forward with his pelvis, pressing his hardness against her. Instead of being offended or frightened, Ember only moaned—a low, desperate sort of moan—and pushed back, gyrating her hips as if she wanted more pressure.
Well, that did it. Unable to stop himself, he broke the connection of their kiss so he could drag his lips along her jaw, then to the sensitive spot behind her ear. When she whispered a ragged, “Aye! Oh, aye!” his palm found her breast, his fingers brushing against her nipple under the thin cotton of her blouse and chemise.
She wasn’t wearing a corset, and he discovered he liked that very much.
She bucked against him, and he knew she liked the sensation, so he did it again, then captured her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
“Max!” she gasped, as he kissed along her neck.
“Oh God, Ember. I have to taste you!”
She arched into his touch. “Aye, please!”
As much as he wanted to unbutton her blouse, pull down her chemise and clamp his mouth against her bare skin, he didn’t have that kind of time right now. So he just lowered his mouth to her completely covered breast, and when she moaned in need and pushed against his lips, he knew he’d made the right choice. He brushed his tongue against her nipple—stiff and perfect under the layers of cotton, and she jerked in response, her breaths coming faster.
One of his hands cupped her rear end, pulling her closer, while the other palmed her opposite breast. She felt so damn perfect he couldn’t resist the urge to drag his hand down her side, marveling at her waist, then her hip. Unconsciously, he was drawn to her heat, cradling his hardness.
Max had never, ever wanted something as badly as he wanted to pull up her skirts and touch that heat with his bare skin. Not in all the years of childhood hunger and pain, not in the years since then of hard work and sadness.
He wanted Ember with a fierceness he hadn’t expected.
Which is why he needed to stop. Now.
It took herculean effort to pull away from her, to release her breast and straighten, to move his hand off her ass. He managed it, but he was unable to set her completely aside.
Instead, he raised his hand to the back of her head and pushed her against his shoulder, trying to resist the urge to grind his erection against her softness.
Breathing heavily, he gasped, “I’m sorry,” as he stroked her hair, trying to focus on the color, so close to his face. “I’m sorry.”
Her hands dropped from his neck to his waist, then linking behind his back as if she didn’t want to let him go. “If ye—” When she broke off, he heard her swallow. “If ye dinnae quit apologizing, I’m likely to think ye did something worth regretting.”
His lips tugged upward. “You don’t think that me mauling you like that was worth an apology?”
She straightened away from his shoulder; her expression indignant. “I’ll have ye ken that was a mutually agreeable mauling.” Her cheeks were flushed, her lips plump, and her eyes bright with desire. She did look like a lass who’d been agreeable to said mauling. “And besides, I’ve been wondering what ye’d taste like, and now I ken.”
Dear God in Heaven.
“You’ve been…?”
She’d been thinking about him? Had she touched herself, the way he had, and imagined it was his hands upon her?
The way her blush deepened told him he’d likely guessed correctly, but she didn’t drop his gaze.
“Aye,” she said simply.
With a groan of surrender, he dropped a kiss to her lips once more. But although she pressed against him, and although his cock twitched in his trousers again, Max reminded himself this was not the place.
He wasn’t going to make love to Ember in the middle of a machine shop.
“Ember,” he groaned as he broke away, “I’m trying to be strong here.”
“Aye, and I like ye all the more for it.” She didn’t look hurt when she grinned up at him, but rather invigorated. “But ye cannae deny this is fun.”
“Yeah,” he agreed, and chuckled ruefully as he loosened his hold on her and allowed her to step back. “By far the most fun I’ve had since coming to the Highlands.” And that included all the shenanigans he’d gotten into with Roland and even that ball.
The ball…
That something was tugging at his memory again, something to do with the color red and the—
The lady in white, the one he’d danced with at the ball! She’d had hair the color of Ember’s, and the shoe she’d left behind had matched it.
“So do ye want to see what I’ve been working on?”
Her question startled him, and he realized he’d been staring at her braid. “What?”
“My project.” She grinned. “Och, that kiss really messed with yer brain, eh?”
Max was surprised to discover his arousal was under control now. Maybe it was the memory of the frantic chase after the lady in white, or his worry for her. Or maybe it was the way Ember was smiling at him now, although he doubted it.
“Uh…yeah. Of course I’d like to see your project.”
“Anything,” he vowed.
At the lathe, she beamed to him. “I’m hoping to show these to yer boss. I created them, and I want to make more of them and sell them to the ladies. I ken they’ll be popular—my sisters have helped prove that—but I dinnae have the capabilities to manufacture them at the same rate, no’ in the little workshop at the inn anyway.”
Max clasped his hands behind his back and rocked back on his heels, trying to follow along with her explanation. She was so animated as she waved her hands about, he doubted she even was aware of the damp spot on her blouse where his mouth had been.
But he was aware of it. Wooo-boy was he aware of it. He could see the darker pink of her areola through the fabric and remembered the hard bud of her nipple…
Focus, cowboy.
“I’ve been using scrap metal—the ends of the ingots mostly, since sheet metal willnae work. It took me months of scrounging—and Lawrence said it was alright, dinnae fash yerself about that—to find enough bronze and brass to make matching heels for mine and Bonnie’s shoes, but Vanessa’s were simpler. I have to turn them here on the lathe, since I cannae form the heel in my workshop. But then I take it back and do all the engraving there, then attach it to the rest of the shoe.”
She was looking at him with excitement, as if he were supposed to know what she was talking about. He loosened his hands to offer her a shrug and a bemused grin. “I’m sorry, love. I don’t understand what you’re telling me.”
Clucking her tongue, she whirled around and began to turn levers. He stepped up beside her and realized she was releasing her project from the lathe. When she handed it to him, he held it up in the light of the lantern to examine the two-inch-long, two-inch wide cylinder.
“What is it?” he asked. Hadn’t she said something about a heel?
“Here. This is my template.”
And that’s when she beamed and held up a completed shoe.