The crowd was chanting her name now and she saw her entire career taking a fast nosedive in the middle of Nowhere, Scotland. Why hadn’t she stayed in London? Why?
Seemingly satisfied with the situation, Kat took her darts, very lovingly handed to her by her husband, who then proceeded to hold her around the waist, dip her back over his arm and kiss her deeply, much to the delight of the villagers. Kat swatted him when he set her upright again, but the pink in her cheeks and the twinkle in her eye belied her annoyance. Erin sighed a little inside. They were wonderful together.
Then, very swiftly, and with deadly precision, Kat buried both of her darts dead center on the board. She curtsied to Dylan, then snagged her husband, pushed him back against the nearest pool table and returned his earlier favor. Of course, it ended with her smacking his hands away as he tried to pull her up onto the table. Everyone was laughing, tankards were raised and more rounds of ale poured.
And then it was Dylan’s turn.
She was jostled closer to him, brushing up against his arm before moving back. She looked up at him and mouthed, “I’m sorry,” hoping he understood it was for all of it, not just the inadvertent contact. He held her gaze for what seemed like an eternity. Erin spent the next couple seconds being partly terrified and mostly ridiculously turned on, wondering if they were supposed to somehow match Brodie and Kat’s antics. But just when another hush was starting to descend over the crowd, Dylan merely stepped past her and planted himself on the hash mark branded into the wooden pub flooring. Part of the crowd began chanting her name, the other half tried to shush them. Apparently they weren’t sure how far to push their fearless leader, either.
All she knew was that she should have stayed in her hotel room.
She watched as Dylan, with absolutely steady hands, tossed both darts in quick succession, knocking one of Kat’s darts to the floor and pinning the board right next to the other one. A cheer went up as both Dylan and Kat looked to Brodie, who, in turn, looked at Erin. Who took the coward’s way out and shrugged. It was smart business, she told herself.
“Where did you learn to throw like that, anyway?” Brodie wanted to know from Dylan.
“They do have pubs in Edinburgh, you know.”
“Of course, I do. I just never thought you spent time in any of them.”
There was a slight gathering of breath amongst the natives, and Erin wondered why that would be a touchy subject. Certainly Brodie didn’t really think it was a betrayal for his brother to patronize other pubs. Clearly he was kidding, anyway. Every word out of Brodie’s mouth was accompanied by that charming smile of his. She found her gaze drawn back to Dylan, much like a tennis match. Ball in his court.
“You’d have been surprised then.” He glanced at the dartboard and, if she wasn’t mistaken, a rather mischievous light entered his eyes, if only briefly. “Clearly.”
Laughter filled the warm room and some half-hearted calls for Brodie to claim a winner resumed.
Brodie and Kat began to debate the rules, encouraging the villagers to good-naturedly chant for more, but before it could go any further, Dylan raised his hand and said, “I think I’ve caused enough of a stir.” He sketched a short bow. “I appreciate your support, especially against such an engaging and worthy opponent.”
Kat struck an exaggerated curtsy, which looked all the more incongruous given that she was still in her mechanic’s overalls, and tankards of ale were lifted all around once again amidst continued chatter.
“Surely somebody has a fiddle.” This from Alastair. “I say we work off this collective energy with some dancing!”
Erin instinctively took a step toward the door. She knew she should stay, her mission was far from complete, but she was happy at the moment to end the evening with a chance to continue her pursuit another day. She didn’t understand the politics at play here and it would be wise to step back and regroup before making another move. She still had every intention of leasing Glenshire, but she was smart enough to know she had, at best, one more shot at it, then it was game over. And there had been enough game playing tonight as it was.
She turned, looking for Alastair, thinking it was only polite to let him know she was leaving, as their chat earlier had been aborted by the dart game, only to find herself swung around by the arm as music filled the warm, yeasty-smelling air. “Come on, lass!”
“But I don’t know how—”
The rest of her protest was swallowed up, as was she, by the sea of bodies she was tugged into. She had no idea who her partner was, other than he was middle-aged, nice enough looking, hopefully patient. And wearing solid shoes.
He spun her expertly through the crowd and when she finally got her bearings, she realized it was an organized line dance of sorts. Then she noticed the looks everyone was giving each other, little smiles of anticipation or something. Almost like everyone was in on some secret except for—“Oh!”
She’d paused a beat too long when she spun through the last turn and found herself unexpectedly flat up against a very hard male chest. She knew who it was before she met his gaze. Or her body knew, anyway. “Sorry,” she choked out.
He’d already taken hold of her arms, but almost, it seemed to balance himself rather than her. “We seem to have a wee bit of a problem with this,” he said. If he’d been smiling, she could have assured herself he was teasing her. As it was, she wasn’t quite sure. So what else was new?
Taking a quick glance around as the other dancers closed ranks behind them, subtly shifting them to the periphery of the makeshift dance floor, she noted their expressions hadn’t changed much. Only now, in addition to the quick exchange of private smiles, there was a bit of elbowing going on and chins jerking meaningfully in their general direction as the dancers whirled by. And all Erin could think was, were they so hard up to find their clan chief a woman that they’d picked her? Surely she was reading this wrong.
“Don’t mind them,” Dylan said, tipping his chin toward the passersby and their hopeful expressions. “They mean well.”
Okay, so maybe she wasn’t. “Mean well about what, exactly?”
“They have it in their heads that I should socialize more. Dinnae worry, they’re a harmless lot.”
Erin had no idea what to say to that. A first. “Uh, good.” Make small talk, she admonished herself. She really needed to take advantage of this portentous occasion. Business, think business. She wished she’d had a bit longer with Alastair. She needed something, anything, to use as an approach.
“You two going to stand about when there’s music playing?” Alastair called out, an attractive older woman on his arm, who had nothing but stars in her eyes for him as they swung expertly by.
Erin tensed all over again, but Dylan merely nodded. She wasn’t sure she could handle actual direct physical contact without being rendered a complete, drooling idiot. The idea of his hands intentionally making prolonged contact with any part of her body…She crossed her arms over her chest. Just as a precaution, of course. Although a quick glance down told her she’d perhaps been extra-prescient on the matter.
“Dinnae fash yerself, lass. I believe I’ve socialized enough for one evening,” Dylan said, his tone a bit tight. “I’ll be taking my leave now.” He sketched a quick bow and started to turn away.
Seeing her one and only opportunity slip from her grasp before she’d even made a stab at it, Erin acted impulsively and grabbed at his arm. “Surely you can manage one dance?” What on earth was she doing? By some miracle she managed to pull off a semi-natural looking smile. “Keep the natives happy and keep me from being abandoned to the wolves.” Which was a joke. If the men here had looked twice at her, it was because they’d heard why she was in town. “Maybe you can manage to work us closer to the door and we can both make our escape.” She told herself that would give her more time, just the two of them, away from the noise and prying eyes of the villagers, to talk business.
Tell that to her nipples though.
Dylan, being a gentlema
n, and confronted with an audience that somehow managed to dance wildly about the crowded floor while paying almost rapt attention to their leader, could do little but comply with her request.
“I’m not very good,” she told him, having to raise her voice to be heard as they edged into the crowd.
“No’ a problem, neither am I,” he replied, and for a second there, she thought she caught a hint of a dry smile.
But then his hands were on her and all rational thought took flight.
What the bloody hell did he think he was doing? Dylan stared down into Erin’s moss green eyes and wondered when, exactly, he’d lost complete control of his life. He wasn’t entirely certain, but it seemed to coincide with her arrival in town.
He’d hardly gotten any work done all day for thinking about the disruptive Yank. So he’d let Letitia’s guilt trip send him into town. Anything for a distraction, he’d told himself. He’d foolishly challenged Brodie’s wife, known far and wide as a dart shark, to a match, and had succeeded in diverting the entire village’s attention. Then he’d surprised himself by almost having a good time. But just when he’d thought maybe he could mix and mingle and be one of the crowd after all, she’d shown up.
And within minutes, the crowd had shifted, en masse, back into matchmaking mode. Although, to be fair, he wasn’t entirely certain if their interest in matching him up with Erin was for his personal gain, or for the betterment of the village. He’d been surprised to hear how enthusiastic everyone seemed to be about her little mission.
So, he’d dance with her. Once. Make everyone happy. Then he was going home. He’d come back to town after she’d moved on to scouting her next location. Looking at her, he told himself he couldn’t remember why he’d been so distracted by her anyway.
Then he put his hands on her, and she immediately tripped over her own feet, then over his, and looked up at him with laughter in her eyes and a quick apology on her lips…and he found his own lips curving. And his hold on her tightening. And his body responded when she tightened her own as well.
Good thing she really was a remarkably bad dancer.
More for his own safety and that of his toes than anything else, he maneuvered them closer to the pub door. Of course, he was well aware that the village would be buzzing if they left together, but he thought that might work to his benefit. Maybe they’d back off a little if they saw him actually showing interest in the opposite sex. Maybe he could convince them he could take it from there, and they’d ease up a little, stop looking at him with that dread mix of determination and pity. Especially that last part. Och, the puir widower Chisholm. He felt like such a fraud.
Several people noticed his trajectory and tried to intercept, but fortunately Dylan was able to catch Alastair’s eye. The auld mechanic was still pretty spry and managed to twirl himself and his partner expertly into the path of the interlopers. Now Dylan knew why he admired and respected his new sister-in-law. She got her smarts from a good man.
He didn’t waste any time taking advantage of what little edge he had. He maneuvered Erin in front of him and they were out and closing the door behind them before the song came to an end.
They both came to a staggering halt just at the edge of the sidewalk. He was careful to steady her before finally letting her go and taking a sanity-restoring step back himself. He was quite ready to head around back, hop in his lorry, and drive straight back to hearth and home. If he had his way, he’d stay there. Preferably till the next millennium. But the situation demanded that he at least be a gentleman. “You staying at the hotel?” It didn’t come out sounding quite as polite as he’d intended, judging by the way her smile faltered, before making a swift, if forced encore.
“Yes, but I can see myself home. Thank you for the rescue. Again.” Her smile relaxed a bit. “I’m sorry if my presence in there ruined your evening. I—I didn’t know—I mean, I never thought they’d…you know…” Her voice trailed off and even under the lamplight he could see the pink that stained her cheeks.
She was an interesting duck. So confident about some things, yet very disconcerted about others. “No’ to worry. Feel free to head back in. Now that I’m gone, you’ll likely have a better time of it.” He wanted to smack himself the instant the suggestion left his lips. All he needed was to give her any more time to persuade anyone else what a great idea it would be to invade their peaceful village with television cameras and crew.
“Oh, I think I’ve done enough for one day.” She stuck her hand out. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”
Nonplussed by the gesture—he’d been sure she was going to hit him up again on her offer—he shook her hand without thinking. So he was taken quite off guard by the warmth and strength he found there. So much so he dropped her hand a bit abruptly. What was this effect she had on him anyway? He either needed to get out a great deal more…or never leave home. “You certain you don’t need an escort?”
“I’m thinking crime is probably not high on the list of problems in your little burg. I’m betting I can safely cross the square. But I appreciate the offer. Good-night.” She lifted her hand, then paused for just a second, staring at him. Then her cheeks went pink again and she abruptly turned and headed off in a straight line toward the hotel. She didn’t look back.
“Good-night,” he responded, only realizing when she disappeared inside the front hotel doors that he’d stood there watching her the entire way, much as he had earlier today when she’d driven out of his life. Or so he’d thought. Shaking his head, he turned and made the trek around the pub to the rear lot. “Curious bird,” he murmured, then vowed to put her out of his mind. He heard the music pulsing inside the pub, and was surprised by the sudden urge he had to step back inside. He’d made the decision to come down tonight to assuage the Lettys of the village—hiding from them hadn’t worked out too well, so perhaps it was better to join them—and also because he’d wanted to make sure they weren’t working themselves into some frenzy over the idea of being on the American telly.
For the most part, he’d enjoyed himself. Enough so, that he looked forward to making it a more regular event. But if he went back in there now, he’d be hounded about Erin, or worse, thrown at somebody local who wouldn’t be checking out of her hotel room and leaving town in the morning. Better to let them have their hopes and dreams, at least for the remainder of the evening. It was a small enough town. They’d all know soon enough that Erin had checked back into her hotel room immediately. Alone.
And by then he’d be safely back on his mountain. When he descended into town again, they’d all have long forgotten about the crazy American. Once calmer heads had prevailed, they’d see he’d been right to turn her down. Glenbuie did not need to be turned into an American reality show spectacle to remain economically sound. They were doing just fine, and would continue to do so. Just as soon as he got that bed and breakfast open.
His mind mercifully turned to the list of jobs he had lined up for tomorrow, starting with calls to track down the parts needed to fix the loo. His mind wandered down the list, mentally adding on to it, but as he drove around the square and past the hotel, he couldn’t keep from glancing up at the windows…and wondering which room she was in. Was she dressing for bed? Was she already, right now, naked in the shower? His mind immediately flashed on that image, and for a split second, he was sorry he’d been so quick to dismiss her.
His body stirred again at the idea of where the evening could have gone instead, and he couldn’t lie to himself and say it wouldn’t have felt damn good. She might not be a head turner, but she had intrigued him. He’d turned into something of a recluse while getting Glenshire up and running, but he wasn’t a monk. He just lived like one. For now. Small towns made anonymous flings impossible and he didn’t have the time or energy to run into the city for anything other than plumbing supplies.
He slowed, glanced up at the only window that was lit up, the one on the top floor. She’d likely gotten his attention only because she’d been available a
nd not a local. Even monks had needs. He pressed down on the gas and drove out of the village and toward home before he could do something really foolish. She might be leaving in the morning, but she wanted something from him that was he wasn’t willing to give. And no way was he giving her another shot at convincing him, especially in that kind of situation. He hadn’t spent much time with her, but enough to know she was a determined sort. Determined enough to swap sex for a favor? He couldn’t say.
Miles of moonlit green fields and stacked stone boundary walls passed by him in a blur as his thoughts stubbornly refused to abandon the track he’d stupidly put them on. So fine, he let his mind wander. No harm in that. He’d be home shortly, where there was a cold shower waiting for him. He smiled. Or maybe a hot one, with a lot of slippery soap. Like he’d said, even monks had needs. He might have to embellish reality a bit to get the job done, but she’d never have to know.
He thought it was pretty funny actually…here she’d come to Glenshire looking for something from him, only to go away empty-handed. While, this evening anyway, he was going to be anything but empty-handed.
Chapter 4
Erin had just climbed out of the shower, where she’d spent a very unsuccessful thirty minutes trying to get Dylan Chisholm, hot Scot, out of her mind, and back on Dylan Chisholm, manor owner and sole obstacle to her keeping her job, back into it. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been standing there with hot, steamy water streaming over her body as she rubbed lavender-scented soap all over her skin. “Yeah, that might have helped,” she muttered, rubbing her hair dry with another towel, then shaking it out. “Or not.” She sighed and pulled on her gray boxer shorts and faded Lakers shirt. She glanced at the bedside clock. One in the morning. Check out was at eleven. Didn’t give her much time to develop a battle plan.
The Great Scot Page 4