Irresistible in a Kilt

by Anna Durand

Though I'd planned to craft my lectures for the week, I give up on that idea. It will be pointless. I have a class to teach this afternoon, but I know my TA will be taking over for me.

  Since I have nothing else to do, I play solitaire on my computer until nine o'clock, then I sneak down the hall to the room where Catriona is lecturing to her class. I ease the door open only enough to grant me a view of her and make sure she doesn't notice me hovering outside the door.

  Cat is gesturing while she explains about the Viking invasion of Scotland. Her eyes sparkle, not only from the sunshine streaming through the windows but also from her excitement and passion for the subject.

  For half an hour, I watch her. My appointment with Gus Hooper is coming up soon, but I can't make myself walk away from this door. Cat is glorious. Breathtaking. Electrifying. I want to drag her home and make love to her for hours, to show her everything I've never told her about what she means to me.

  But I can't do that. So I make my way up to the second floor and Gus Hooper's office. He wastes no time once I sit down on the other side of the desk from him.

  "You won't be getting tenure, Alex," he says. "I have to let you go."

  "I'm fired, that's what you mean."

  He winces. "Yeah. I'm sorry. I was only able to give you back your job last year because you recovered the Babylonian tablets. This time, I don't have any leverage to convince the trustees to forgive you. That lecture you gave last week…" He shuts his eyes, shakes his head, and aims a regretful look at me. "You talked about things the trustees deem to be inappropriate for an educational setting."

  "What you mean is that the arsehole whose ex-wife I shagged last year has found yet another excuse to sack me."

  Gus winces again. "Yes. I really am sorry."

  I shrug one shoulder, once again pretending I don't give a fuck about anything. "Doesn't matter to me. This job was a distraction, not my life's passion."

  Which is total bollocks. I love my job, I love teaching, and I've had enough of prudish pricks taking that away from me.

  "You'll get severance pay," Gus says, then he winces yet again. "But I'm afraid I can't give you a letter of recommendation. If anyone calls to check your credentials, I've been ordered to tell them you violated the university's code of ethics."

  Christ, why don't they just castrate me and have done with it? No one will hire a twice-disgraced professor who violated the ethics code. Everyone will assume I slept with a student, if I'm lucky. These days, too many people will decide "ethics violation" means I forced myself on an innocent girl who refused to press charges.

  My career is over.

  But I maintain my who-gives-a-toss demeanor. "Thank you for helping me get my job back last time. I understand you can't do anything about it this go-round. I appreciate your candor." I rise and shake Gus's hand. "It was a pleasure working with you."

  "I really am sorry, Alex. You're our most popular teacher, and I hate to see you go."

  "No worries. I always land on my feet."

  "Good luck."

  I leave his office and hurry downstairs to my office, intending to gather my personal things and leave. Once I'm in my office, I shut the door and sag against it. I'm fired. Fuck. What had I expected? Maybe I shouldn't have made a spectacle of myself last week, strictly to impress Cat. Give the sex lecture. What a fantastic idea. Maybe a small part of me, buried deep down, had wanted to lose this job.

  "Goddammit," I hiss and stalk up to my desk, smacking my palms down on the surface. Why do I keep doing this to myself? Find a position at a university, find a way to cock it up, and move on to the next job. I'm out of places to run to, and this time I can't buy my way into a new position. I really am toxic now. And I'm cornered—by Cat, by my own hubris, and by Reginald sodding Hewitt.

  As if on cue, my mobile chimes. I have a new text.

  Groaning, I pull out my phone and read the message: We're coming for you - RH.

  We? I hope to hell Reggie hasn't liberated Falk Mullane from prison too. A pair of maggots hunting me down so they can have their pathetic revenge is the last thing I need today. Knowing those two, they'll come up with a bumbling plan.

  I'd love to get pissed, but no amount of whisky will fix the mess I've made of my life.

  Though I'm not afraid of Reginald Hewitt, when I think about Cat and about Reggie's threat to make me pay, my throat thickens. My chest hurts, and my jaw clenches too. He will not hurt her. I won't allow it.

  Suddenly, I need to see her.

  The idea is ludicrous, but I can't stop myself from rushing to her office.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Catriona

  "I do not want to make out with you," I say to the undergraduate standing in front of me, the one who has cornered me outside the door to my office. A moment ago, he asked if I wanted to "do the bump and grind" with him. I said no, so he suggested making out would be a good start to "warm me up" to the idea of shagging him.

  "Come on," he says, "I know you're a dirty girl. You screwed Alex Thorne in the lecture hall. Everybody knows about that."

  Everyone knows? I have no idea whether to believe his claim, but the thought of it doesn't disturb me as much as it might have a few months ago. I'd loved it when Alex backed me into the dark alcove and ravished me.

  "How many times do I have to say no?" I tell the scunner. With exaggerated lip movements and deliberate overemphasis, I add, "I will never, never, never have sex with you."

  The lad moves closer, forcing me to press my back against the doorjamb. He sets a hand on the jamb, bending his arm to bring his face closer to mine.

  "Stop playing games," he says in a low voice. "I know you want me. I have a sixth sense about things like that. I mean, if you'll bang Alex Thorne, you'll bang anybody. Right?"

  "Move away."

  "Playing hard to get can be hot, but I'm getting tired of it."

  "Back away or I will ram my knee into your miserable wee balls."

  He lunges his head down, aiming for my mouth.

  Before I can knee him in the groin, he's yanked away from me.

  Alex is gripping the back of the scunner's shirt in his fist. Everything about him conveys menace and a darkness I've never witnessed in him before, from his slitted gaze to his flaring nostrils, and from the way his lips have compressed into a slash to the tension in his every muscle.

  His voice conveys the same dark tension when he hisses, "Get your ruddy hands off her. When a woman says no, it means no."

  "Jeez, man, back off. This is a private conversation." The scunner manages to look snotty and self-satisfied while he's virtually dangling from Alex's fist. "A perv like you shouldn't talk about how to treat women. You did this chick in the lecture hall."

  Alex tows the laddie away from me and shoves him against the wall. With his teeth gritted, he peels his lips back and says, "Stay away from Catriona MacTaggart."

  "What if I don't?"

  "You have no idea what I'm capable of. This won't be the first time I've left a tosser lying in a pool of his own blood and spitting out his own teeth."

  A shiver rattles through me. Is Alex lying to convince the lad to behave? I get the impression he isn't. He means what he says, and I believe he might have beaten someone bloody.

  But I can't believe he would do something like that without severe provocation.

  The cacan seems to have realized Alex is not bluffing. He wilts, like a dying flower, and swallows hard enough that his Adam's apple jumps. "Okay, okay, don't go postal or anything. I'll leave, but um…you kind of have to let go of me first."

  Alex's nostrils flare again, and he gives the cacan a ferocious shake. "Never harass another woman ever again."

  The boy raises his hands in surrender. "I won't, I swear it."

  I settle a hand on Alex's arm. "Let him go. It's all right."

  Alex keeps his searing gaze locked on the boy, but he releases the bod ceann.

  The boy scurries away.


  I move closer to Alex. "Everything is all right. You can relax."

  He turns his face to me, his chest still heaving—from the adrenaline spike brought on by his confrontation with the student, no doubt. He stays silent, though his gaze drills into me.

  "Calm down, Alex," I say, giving his arm a light squeeze. "It's over."

  "I hate bastards who take advantage of people they think are weaker."

  Anger transforms the tone of his voice into something dark and rough but tinged with pain. Did someone treat him the way he described? Is that why he reacted so fiercely to the student's aggression? I want to ask him that, but I can see he's still teetering on a knife's edge. Questions can wait until later.

  "Alex, please," I say, "take a deep breath and get hold of yourself. No one hurt me, and no one is going to hurt you."

  He stares at me, not blinking, not moving.

  I cradle his face in my hands. "Everything is all right."

  The starkness in his gaze makes my heart and soul ache for him. Whatever he experienced in the past, it must have been awful.

  He shuts his eyes, pulls in a deep breath, and exhales it little by little. His shoulders sag. His hands unclench. Every muscle in his body slackens, and his expression softens too, though he keeps his eyes closed for several more seconds before he looks at me.

  "I apologize," he says in a hushed tone. "That was uncalled for."

  He'd told me that all his parents ever taught him was how to lie and how to protect himself. When I asked why they would do that, he said it was because of "the lifestyle." I still don't know what that means, but I remember his response when I asked why he wouldn't confide in me about his past. "I'm protecting you," he told me.

  "Don't apologize," I say. "You were protecting me, weren't you?"

  He's watching me again, like he worries he might blurt out the truth without meaning to do it.

  "Thank you, Alex, for protecting me."

  "But I… You can't be happy that I'm a rampaging beast."

  "You don't rampage." I place a gentle kiss on his lips. "You have pain deep inside you. I can see that now. If you'll let me, maybe I can help you deal with the past and move on from it. I want to be here for you, in any way you need me."

  I fold my arms around his neck and hold him close, nestling my face against his throat, breathing in the scent of him. He tenses up again, but only for a moment. Then he slips his arms around me and splays his palms over my lower back, dipping his head to bury his face in my hair.

  "Catriona," he murmurs. "Sweet, barmy Catriona."

  Though his words seem like sarcasm, his voice conveys nothing like it. He speaks in a soft, tender voice. Maybe he thinks I am barmy, but he must like that about me. I might be crazy for staying with Alex, for wanting to dive into the darkness with him in the hopes of pulling him out the other side and into the sunshine.

  He nuzzles my ear and my cheek. "You should have left me already."

  "I will never leave you."

  "That's your worst mistake." He lifts his head and backs away from me. "I will ruin you. Maybe I already have."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "I've been sacked, Catriona." His lips warp into a nasty smirk. "And thanks to a vengeful bastard, I'm a walking ethics violation. That means I will never get another position at any university in this country, perhaps not anywhere on this planet."

  "Things cannae be that bad."

  "You are so charmingly blind."

  He pivots on his heels and stalks away from me.

  Mercurial doesn't even begin to describe Alex Thorne.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Alex

  When I leave Cat standing there in the hall, I leg it to my car. The faculty parking lot is full today, and the crowd of vehicles affords me a measure of privacy while I sit here and brood. What am I meant to do now? I'm unemployed. Most likely blacklisted. Labeled a sexual predator, for sure.

  And Cat wants to save me.

  "Fuck," I mutter, thumping my forehead on the steering wheel.

  When I saw that slimy arsehole manhandling Catriona, I'd lost all my good sense—not that I've ever suffered from much of it. Blind rage had seized me. Stop the little fucker, that's was all I'd thought about in that moment. Well, that and "beat the little fucker to death." Violence has never been my strong suit, but the thought of anyone harming Cat turned me into an animal.

  I needed to protect her. Sending her away seemed like the best option, but she refused to leave. She's gone insane. She must have done. Why else would she insist on staying with me?

  Despite my every effort to stop it from happening, our conversation replays in my mind.

  Why the fuck won't you go away?

  Because I love you.

  I thump my fist on the steering wheel and grit my teeth. Goddammit, I do not want this. A woman who loves me? That will only complicate my life even more than I've already managed to do on my own. I need to get away from Cat.

  So why haven't I done that yet?

  Now that I'm unemployed, I can take off to a remote corner of the world where she will never find me.

  Instead of doing the intelligent thing, the pragmatic thing, I drive home and sequester myself in my study with a bottle of Talisker single malt Scotch. Why am I drinking the whisky favored by Cat's extremely large and annoying brothers? It hardly matters. Getting pissed requires alcohol, not self-analysis.

  But I don't get drunk. I stare at the whisky bottle for ten minutes, then I put it back in the drinks cupboard.

  Since I've clearly gone insane, I give in to the madness. I ring a car rental agency and arrange for them to deliver a Mercedes to the faculty parking lot, then I send Cat a text informing her that I've hired a car so she can drive herself to and from campus. Hiring a car for her implies I want her to stay here with me.

  I do not want that.

  But the thought of not having her here makes me…uneasy.

  Since I have nothing else to do, I ring Logan. Serena tells me her husband has gone to a client's home for a consultation. Logan works for his cousin Evan, the billionaire CEO of a company that makes security and surveillance devices. I know Logan does these consultations to teach Evan's clients about the old-fashioned kinds of security that don't involve computer chips.

  Since I've turned into a foolish, desperate moron, I try to engage Serena in conversation. She informs me she's home sick—the flu, nothing serious—and she needs to rest. We say goodbye.

  I have no other friends, which leaves me with nothing to do.

  Observing the birds outside my study window doesn't appeal to me at all. What do I do, then? Naturally, I opt for the worst thing I can do in this moment. I pick up my mobile and dial the first number on my list of contacts.

  "Alex, I'm so happy to hear your voice," Imogen says.

  "Yes, it's a thrill for me too." Do I sound grumpy? Cat accused me of behaving that way, but to me it sounds like I'm speaking normally. I am being a bit sarcastic, though.

  "Henry will want to talk to you today."

  "I take it he survived installing the dishwasher?"

  "No," she says, sounding rather disappointed, "he had to set that aside while he cleans out the gutters and power washes the siding."

  Power wash? I have no idea what that means, but it sounds suspiciously like something a seventy-four-year-old man should not be doing. Cleaning gutters is definitely not for a man his age.

  "Is Henry up on a ladder?" I ask. "You shouldn't let him do that."

  "You know how he gets. Henry's as stubborn as you are, which has always made me wonder if children can absorb their adopted parents' psychological traits."

  "The other way round," I say. "Henry must have absorbed it from me. I was a stubborn little prick before I ever met you two."

  "You are not a prick." She makes a clicking noise with her tongue, the way she always does when she's plotting something. "Can we do a video call? Henry would lov
e that, and so would I. You don't send pictures anymore."

  "I don't do selfies, Mum." The realization of what I called her hits me, and I freeze. When had I last called her Mum? I'd stopped doing that ages ago, so I must have genuinely lost my mind today. Which explains why I tell her, "All right. We'll do a video call."

  For the next hour, I sit at my desk with a webcam aimed at myself while the screen shows me the faces of the two people who know me better than almost anyone in the world does. Anyone except Catriona MacTaggart. I think she might qualify for the number one position. She seems to understand me with a disturbing accuracy.

  I don't know why, but the video call makes me feel better.

  By the time Cat arrives home, I've cooked us a veritable feast. We eat it in the dining room, on the ridiculously expensive dalbergia table, and she tells me all about her day. I laugh when she relates a story about a misinformed student who thought Cat was talking about dead bodies of Celtic warriors when she discussed the celts on display in museums. A celt is a stone tool, something like an axe. Cat makes a hacking motion, as if she's holding a celt in her hands, as a visual aid.

  She can be so…endearing.

  After dinner, we enjoy a dram of Talisker.

  That's when the inquisition begins again.

  "I wish you would tell me about your parents," she says.

  "No."

  "Just no?" She rests her elbows on the table, slanting toward me, though I'm on the opposite side of the table. "That's not good enough, Alex. Not anymore. I won't judge you, no matter what you've done."

  "That's a mistake."

  "Please tell me."

  "My answer is still no." I jump up from my chair, sending it tumbling over backward. "I'll wash the dishes."

  "Let me. You've had a rough day." She pushes her chair back and stands, smiling tenderly at me. "You should have a shower. It might make you feel better."

  Why is she being so sweet? I've refused to tell her what she wants to know. She ought to shout at me.

  But instead, she comes around the table to me, raises onto her tiptoes, and kisses me. "Have a shower, Alex. I'll take care of everything."