Irresistible in a Kilt

by Anna Durand

  I approach him, holding his face in my hands so I can rotate his head toward me. Once I have him looking at me, I explain what he refuses to understand. "I love you, Alex. That means I am not leaving, not for any reason, and certainly not because you had a terrible childhood. The fact that you turned out so well despite your past makes me love you even more."

  His brows draw together over his nose.

  "Aye, that's right," I say, answering the question he hasn't asked. I see the question in his eyes. "I'm not disgusted with you. I do not hate you. Nothing you say will make me want to run away."

  "You might change your mind," he says, "once I tell you the rest."

  "Go on. I can handle it."

  He screws up his mouth, then flattens it out into a hard line. "I've been a grifter all my life. I still am one."

  "No, you are not."

  "Stop forgiving me. It's not the intelligent thing to do."

  "Maybe not, but it is the compassionate thing."

  He groans, shutting his eyes for a moment. "If I'm going to explain all of it, I need a drink first."

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Alex

  I pour myself two fingers of Talisker and wander back to my chair, dropping onto it with a thump, like my body suddenly weighs a metric ton. The weight of guilt, I suppose. After years of hiding my past from everyone, except for Henry and Imogen, I find myself wanting to confess all of it to Catriona.

  Will telling her lift any of this weight off me?

  Only one way to find out.

  Cat walks over to my desk and rests her shapely arse on it while she watches me.

  I shift around in my chair, uncomfortable for reasons that have nothing to do with how much padding the seat has.

  She tips her head to the side, examining me with those glacial-blue eyes that have fire behind them. "You said you didn't have friends when you were a lad. That must've been lonely."

  "Maybe it was." I take a sip of my whisky, but the burn of it barely makes an impression on me. My mind is traveling back to those days and everything that had gone on. "You see, my parents believed the way to keep me under their collective thumb was to make sure I never had any friends and that I was afraid of the authorities. They drummed that into me until I believed that so much as looking at a policeman would lead to disaster."

  "Oh, Alex—"

  "Stop that. I do not want to hear pity in your voice or see it on your face." I swallow the rest of my drink and smack the glass down on the desk. "I won't have any of it. You want to know everything? Then keep your emotions to yourself."

  "All right, have it your way. For now." She shimmies backward until she's sitting on the desk with her legs hanging off it, then folds her hands on her lap. "Go on."

  I've always loved being in front of an audience, entertaining my students while I educate them. But an auditorium full of undergraduates is different than an audience of one determined Scotswoman who has decided to love me no matter what I have done or ever will do. It makes me want to pour an entire bottle of Scotch down my throat.

  But I don't do that. Instead, I grip the arms of my chair and stumble on.

  "My parents had never been arrested. They had a few close calls, but bribery and blackmail always did the trick." That old itch starts up again, and I'm fighting the urge to scratch my entire body like a bear rubbing against a tree. "They groomed me to become their cohort. By the time I was six, I could put on a good show of being a starving street urchin and earn a hundred quid in an afternoon."

  Cat starts to speak, a hint of pity in her eyes, but she stops before one syllable escapes her lips.

  God, I need more Scotch.

  She puckers her lips, clearly wanting to say something. But she must think better of it because she grabs my empty glass and marches straight to the drinks cabinet where she pours two glasses of Talisker, bringing them both back to the desk. She perches on it again, handing me a glass.

  Can she read my mind? Maybe she just understands me far too well. I can't decide which option is the most disturbing.

  I take the glass and knock it back in one swallow. As I set the glass down, I continue. "By the time I was eight, I'd become a masterful pickpocket. I could also nick small items from shops without getting caught. I hated what they made me do, but I thought that was my lot in life. I didn't know anything else. Things might have gone on that way, and maybe I would be a confirmed grifter today, if my parents hadn't gotten greedy."

  She angles her head again, biting down on her lip like she wants to ask a question.

  "Yes, I know what you're thinking. How did it all go wrong?" I tap my finger on my empty glass, resigned to finishing the story. "My parents decided to go after a very big fish, who turned out to be a sweet, elderly woman who had no family. Her name was Honoria Parker. She planned to leave her fortune to charity, so Mummy and Daddy thought she sounded like the perfect mark."

  "How were they caught?"

  "They sent me in to do my pathetic urchin routine." I stared down at my shoes, counting the stitches in the leather to collect myself. It's always worked before. Count the stitches on my shoes, count the tiles in a ceiling, count anything. It calms me, but not today. "No one had ever been as kind to me as that woman. She offered me tea and cakes, and she insisted on buying me new clothes. I was dressed in rags, naturally, to play the part. But I couldn't do it. I couldn't let my parents swindle this sweet woman who had no one in her life."

  "What did you do?"

  "I walked into the nearest police station and told everything to a detective inspector. And I do mean everything."

  Cat gasps so softly I almost don't hear it. "And they were arrested?"

  I nod with all the gravity these memories deserve. "More than that, they were convicted and sent to prison. I was taken into care, with a social worker at first—until two barmy people decided to straighten me out."

  "Henry and Imogen. They adopted you?"

  "Eventually. First, they became my foster parents. It took a long legal battle to have my parents' rights stripped, but eventually, we won. Henry and Imogen became my mother and father, in every way that matters." My lips twitch, wanting to form a smile, but they can't quite get there. "Not that they ever managed to straighten me out all the way. I've stayed somewhat bent."

  Cat is studying me again, and I can almost see her mind working behind those lustrous eyes. She's too clever, too stubborn, too…irresistible. She wants to save me, and I don't know if I have the willpower to stop her.

  "If their last name is Bennett," she says, "why is yours Thorne? Is that your birth parents' last name?"

  "No." I want another glass of whisky, want it so much my mouth waters thinking about it, but I refuse to give in to the impulse to drown my memories in alcohol. "Does it really matter what name I was born with?"

  "Aye, it does." Cat slides off the desk and sets her lovely bum on my lap. "I want to know you, Alex. All of you, not the parts you feel comfortable sharing with me. Everything. You've told me a lot, but I need to know more. Starting with what your real name is."

  Had I really thought she'd give up? Of course she won't.

  "Get it over with," she says. Then she uses her fingertips to move my lips as if I were speaking. "Come on, you can do it."

  "Bloody hell." I swing my gaze up to the ceiling, shaking my head. "My name was Alexis Lucian Charnley-Ainsworth."

  Her lips twitch, a definite sign she's trying hard not to smile.

  Naturally, my discomfort amuses her. Why wouldn't it? I am a fucking moron, after all.

  "What's wrong with that name?" she asks. "It sounds very British to me."

  "That's the problem. It's too British. My parents made it up and started using that ridiculous hyphenated name to impress people. They thought it made them seem more upper-class." I cover my face with both hands and groan. "I was given their ludicrous invented name at birth. They started out as Nigel and Julia Sewell."

  "Oh, I s
ee." She leans against me, her face too close to mine. "Why are you Alex Thorne instead of Alex Charnley-Ainsworth?"

  "Because I don't want to be. Why should I want the name of the two people who ruined me? I don't want anything of Nigel and Julia in me."

  "You aren't ruined." She hesitates, and I swear I can hear her brain clicking away while she tries to figure me out. "I still don't understand. Why aren't you Alex Bennett? That's the name of your adopted parents."

  "I was a Bennett for a long time." I dropped my head back against the chair, staring up at the ceiling. "Eventually, I decided to rename myself, legally, to make it harder for anyone who knew me before to find me after I moved to America."

  "But you kept your first name," Cat says. "Why didn't you change it too?"

  I squirm. Me. Squirming. It's ridiculous. And that seems to have become my favorite word lately, that and ludicrous. Maybe I'm the one who's ridiculous and barmy and ludicrous.

  Cat angles in closer, our noses almost touching. "Why didn't you change—"

  "Because Henry and Imogen insisted I keep my first name." I resist the urge for about five seconds, then I slip my arms around her waist. "They said I should keep something of myself because I can't erase the past. I was an adult when I changed my name, but I did what they suggested. I stayed Alex."

  "Why did you choose Thorne?"

  "It's a reference to a thorn bush, which seemed appropriate at the time. Outwardly pleasant, but sharp and painful to the touch. That was my life."

  She touches her lips to mine, keeping her eyes open.

  I gaze into those eyes, and for the first time I wonder if maybe I might possibly be able to… No, I can't. After the things I've done, I don't get a second chance. Besides, I've had one of those already, thanks to Imogen and Henry. I don't get a third go at not bollocksing up my life.

  "There's more," she says. "Isn't there?"

  "Yes, but I'd rather not talk about it now. I need to get to Nevada to take care of Imogen and Henry." I frown as I realize the problem with that statement. "What are the odds I can get a flight this afternoon? Zero, I imagine."

  Cat smiles and taps my nose. "I can get you a private jet that will take you anywhere you want. It can be here to pick us up in less than two hours."

  "How—Oh no, I am not borrowing your cousin Evan's jet."

  "Why not? I'm sure he'll be happy to lend it to you."

  "To you, not me." What she said a moment ago suddenly reaches my brain, and I squint at her. "Why did you say pick 'us' up? I'm going alone."

  "We are going to Nevada together. You need support."

  "Is this your devious way of arranging to meet my parents? Henry and Imogen, I mean. You wouldn't want to meet Nigel and Julia."

  She kisses me again, holding her lips to mine for a long moment, her eyes closed. Mine ease shut little by little, and every muscle in my body decides to soften, as if her lips have injected a sedative into me.

  "Please take me with you," she murmurs, her breath whispering over my lips.

  "Don't you still have a job?"

  "Yes, but I'll call Gus Hooper and tell him I'm still sick and can't go back to work until Monday."

  "Why would you risk losing your job?"

  "For you." She flicks her tongue out to tease my lips. "I love you, Alex. When will you get that through your head? The people I love are more important than any job."

  I swallow, my throat suddenly tight. "Have it your way. Come along if it will make you stop harassing me."

  She tickles my mouth with her fingers. "Ye cannae fool me, Alexis. You're glad I'm going with you."

  "Please don't ever call me that name again." The way she said it made my cock throb, but that's irrelevant. I hate that name.

  Cat reaches behind her to pick up the telephone and dial a number. She holds the receiver to her ear, watching me while she waits for her cousin to answer. "Hello, Evan, it's Catriona. I need a favor. It's urgent."

  I listen while she explains the situation, leaving out the details she knows I won't want her family to know. Her consideration makes me feel…something. I can't describe it because I've never experienced this sensation before. It can't be what it seems like. She can't be making me feel safe and accepted and…that other word I will not even use in my head. The one that starts with L.

  When she says goodbye and hangs up the phone, she gives me a quick kiss. "It's settled. Evan is arranging it as we speak, and the jet will pick us up at the airport in one hour and twenty minutes."

  Having a billionaire as a cousin certainly has its perks. One call to Evan MacTaggart and we're off.

  "Better pack," she says, hopping off my lap. "How long will we be staying in Nevada?"

  "Not sure. A few days, at least."

  She pats my cheek and trots out of the room.

  I stare at the doorway long after she's left. Catriona MacTaggart confuses the fuck out of me. But strangely, after sharing a large chunk of my past with her, I feel more relaxed. The whisky might have something to do with it, but I know most of the reason for my improved mood stems from a single source.

  Catriona.

  And I'm about to introduce her to the only two people I've ever really thought of as my parents. Christ, no one has ever met them. I might have let Cat believe I'm allowing her to tag along against my will, but the truth is far more disturbing.

  I want her to meet my parents.

  Chapter Thirty

  Catriona

  We stand on the porch of a modest-size ranch house in the town of Fernley, Nevada, with Alex holding my hand. He seems to need the contact, though he won't admit to it, because he's the one who clasped my hand while we walked up the concrete path from the street. The house doesn't look like much from the outside, though it's well-kept and clean. The yard has been mowed, and the bushes have been trimmed.

  Sweat dribbles down the back of my neck. Aye, it's hot here.

  Alex presses the doorbell button.

  I glance at him, offering an encouraging smile.

  He makes a face that's like a frown and a sarcastic smile are vying for control of his features.

  No, I don't expect he'll admit he's glad I'm here with him. Not yet.

  The door opens.

  A plump, gray-haired woman rushes at Alex, flinging her arms around him. "Oh, I'm so happy you're here. We've missed you so much."

  She speaks with a British accent. This must be his mother.

  The woman kisses Alex's cheek, which makes him smile just enough to create wrinkles around his eyes. When she notices me, her smile broadens. "And you've brought a girl with you. Oh Alex, this is wonderful. You've never brought a girl home."

  He opens his mouth but doesn't get a chance to speak.

  She hugs him again. "I can't believe it's really you."

  "Yes, Mum, it's me," he says, looking slightly exasperated, though he smiles. "And yes, I've brought a woman. This is Catriona MacTaggart. Cat, this is my mother, Imogen Bennett."

  Before I can say hello, Imogen drags me into a fierce hug. She kisses my cheek and backs away a wee bit, though she holds onto my hands. "Please come inside, Catriona. Henry will want to meet you, and he's not up to walking yet."

  Imogen leads us into the house, which isn't posh but has all the charm of a real home, a place where people live, a place that's been cared for with love. When we reach the living room, I see a slender, bald man relaxing in a recliner with his feet on the attached footrest. His left ankle is bandaged, and he has a single crutch propped against the wall beside his chair.

  "Alex," he says with a grin. He tries to get up, but Imogen rushes over to stop him. Sitting back down, he looks at me. "Who have you brought with you?"

  "Henry, this is Catriona MacTaggart," Imogen tells her husband. "I think she's Alex's girlfriend, but he hasn't said anything about her yet, other than her name."

  "Our boy likes his secrets," Henry says.

  Alex approaches Henry's chair, and si
nce he's still holding my hand, I get dragged along with him. Alex squints at Henry's bandaged ankle, then aims his suspicious gaze at his father. "I thought you had a broken leg."

  "Broken? Is that what Imogen told you?" Henry chuckles. "You know how Mum gets when anything happens. If I stub my toe, she'll call for an ambulance."

  "I will not," Imogen says, though she doesn't sound offended. "But you were screaming like a banshee about how much your leg hurt. I assumed you'd broken it. How was I to know you only sprained it?"

  Alex eyes his mother with affectionate suspicion. "Are you sure this wasn't a scheme to get me to visit?"

  "No, I honestly thought Henry had broken his leg." Imogen pinches Alex's cheek. "But I'm glad for the confusion, since it got you here."

  "Are you Alex's girlfriend?" Henry asks me.

  I don't know whether Alex will agree that I'm his girlfriend, so I don't know how to answer the question. To say no would be a lie.

  "Yes," Alex says. "Cat and I are a couple."

  The shock of his statement hits me like a bucket of water thrown in my face, but then it gives way to a sweet warmth that blossoms in my chest and spreads outward. He admits we're a couple. He's told his parents that.

  Alex puts his arm around me.

  I glance at his face, and I can't help smiling.

  "How long have you two known each other?" Imogen asks, waving for us to sit down on the sofa.

  We sit, with Alex's arm still around me.

  I lean into him while that warmth keeps simmering inside me. I haven't felt this contented in years.

  "We met fourteen years ago," Alex says. "That's when I was teaching at the college in New Mexico. Catriona was a student there. We started seeing each other and, well…things progressed from there."

  "Progressed?" Henry says. "What does that mean?"

  "Cat and I, ah, lived together for almost two years."

  Both his parents stare at him blankly.

  Alex hugs me closer to him.

  "Two years?" Imogen says. "But you never mentioned having a girl."

  "I—It seemed like—" Alex darts his gaze left, right, up down, like his mother's question has him in a near panic. But he gets hold of himself after a few seconds and tells her, "Things ended badly, but we've reconciled."