by Anna Durand
She half dragged me into the kitchen and gestured for me to sit down in one of the chairs arranged around the rectangular wooden table.
I chose the chair at the end in front of a window, lowering myself onto the seat with a groan of relief. Seated at an angle in the chair, I slung one arm over the back and smiled slightly at Rae.
Sunlight poured through the window, softened by lace curtains identical to the ones in the entryway. The light bathed her in a warm glow that gilded her skin. Though she sported a faint tan, the creamy color of her skin and the tiny freckles that speckled it showed through. Beautiful as ever. I'd longed for this woman for thirteen years, and I couldn't give up without a fight.
A magazine lay facedown on the table. I picked it up, and my brows cinched together when I read the title — Sheep Ranchers Quarterly. As I'd suspected, she raised sheep. I couldn't figure out why, though, since she'd had a bright future ahead of her in academia. Ah well, she'd tell me when she felt more comfortable in my presence.
Sweat dribbled down my temple. I fanned myself with the magazine. "No central air?"
"There is, but I turn it down when I'm going to be outside for a while. I cranked it up a minute ago, so it'll get cooler soon."
"You've gotten frugal."
"I'm not a cheapskate." From her position between the doorway and end of the table opposite me, she said, "I'm trying to conserve energy."
Something in her tone of voice and the slight hunching of her shoulders gave me the idea she wasn't being frugal out of concern for the environment. "I meant no offense."
Rae grunted, scratched her cheek, and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Her frown mutated into a pucker, then flattened out.
Since she seemed to be having an inner struggle of some sort, I decided to ignore it and let her struggle on in private. Not my business — yet.
I lifted my brows. "Water?"
She jerked, her eyes flaring wide. "Oh, I forgot. Sorry, I'll get that for you."
While she retrieved a glass from the cupboard and filled it from the tap, I watched her. As a nubile college student, she'd captivated me. As a mature woman, she entranced me. The way she moved with purpose, even while flustered. The way she challenged me with her words and with her body language. The way she'd let me kiss her.
The Rae I'd known before would've blushed if I'd dragged her in for a kiss like that. The woman bustling about in this kitchen today had not only permitted the kiss, she'd reciprocated.
Rae spun around and thrust the glass at me.
Water splashed onto my shoulder.
"Sorry," she mumbled, snatching a dish towel from the counter and mopping at the wet spot on my shirt.
Her breasts rose and fell on quick breaths while her delicate fingers pressed into my flesh. I wanted to pull her onto my lap for another, more forceful kiss. I wanted to devour her from head to toe. I wanted … everything with her.
Take it slow, ye dunderhead. Help her trust you.
I laid my hand over hers, stilling her fingers. "Easy, lass. I willnae bite."
She stared down at me, her pupils large, her lips pinker than before.
Desire. Oh aye, the signs were unmistakable. Sex might be my way in with her.
And since sex was the one thing I knew I could succeed at, unlike my nonexistent relationship skills, I should rely on my strengths. Seduce her into bed to seduce her into loving me again.
The fact I would enjoy seducing her had no relevance to my new plan. No, none at all.
I set down the magazine and withdrew my hand from hers, taking the glass. "Thank you."
"You're, uh, welcome."
"Don't suppose I could trouble you for a wee piece."
"A what?" She hesitated for only a moment before realization dawned on her lovely face. "You want a snack."
"You remember what 'piece' means."
"Mm-hm. You really want a snack?"
I sipped my water. "If it's not too much trouble."
"You did walk half a mile to get here. Sure, I can make you a sandwich."
"Don't go to the trouble for me." I waved toward a clear glass jar on the counter and the cookies stacked inside it. "One of those will do."
"Peanut butter cookies?"
"Sounds good. Protein and sugar, my two favorite food groups."
"Uh-huh." She looked dubious but carried the cookie jar to the table and set it down in front of me. "Knock yourself out."
I lifted the lid, leaned in, and closed my eyes while I inhaled deeply. Nutty, sweet, inviting. My stomach growled. I couldn't help the smile of ultimate satisfaction that tightened my lips. "Ahhhh, the scent of heaven."
"Never thought of peanut butter as heavenly."
I plucked a cookie out of the jar. "Don't you like these cookies?"
A half-stifled laugh snorted out of her. "Yeah, sweets and I have a love-hate relationship."
"Why is that?" I offered her the cookie.
She accepted the offering and dropped onto the chair next to mine. "I love to eat them, but I tend to go a little overboard and get an upset stomach."
"Ah," I said, grabbing a cookie and leaning back in my chair. "I was thinking you'd say sweets are bad for your figure. Most women have a complex about gaining weight."
"Not me." Rae snapped off a large bite of cookie, gnawing on it with a delightful lack of concern for being ladylike, relishing the peanut-buttery goodness with a little moan. "Most women either have a man or are looking to get one. This makes them obsessed with staying thin. I don't give a hoot about my weight since I'm not interested in men anymore."
I froze with a cookie raised to my open mouth. "What?"
"I'm not a lesbian or anything," she explained, "but I have responsibilities that make dating way too complicated."
The woman I planned to seduce claimed to have no interest in men. I sensed a story behind her statement, and this time I would ask.
I took a bite of the cookie, chewing while I studied her. Swallowing, I tipped my cookie in her direction. "What sort of responsibilities?"
"This is a working ranch. I own it and run it by myself, except for one ranch hand."
"A sheep ranch." I nodded at the magazine on the table.
"Yes, sheep. I raise them for the wool and sell some of them to people who want them for pets or for the wool. I'm looking to branch out into other avenues of income, though."
"Interesting. Not seeing the relevance to celibacy, though."
"Running this ranch takes a lot of time."
I swept my gaze around the room. "You live here alone?"
"No." She wolfed down another massive bite of cookie. "I have a daughter. The rest of my time is devoted to raising my child."
I cocked my head, afflicted with a sudden fascination with every aspect of her life. "How old is your daughter?"
Her face went slack, and she stopped blinking. "Old enough to be a handful."
"Where is she? It's summer, so I'm assuming she's not in school."
"Ma —" She bit down on her lower lip, held it for a heartbeat, then released it. "She's visiting her grandmother."
I opened my mouth to ask more questions.
She held up a hand. "Enough prying into my life. Why are you here?"
"To win you back."
Rolling her eyes, she scarfed down the last piece of her cookie. "That's not an answer. Not a complete one, anyway. It's been a long, long time, Iain. Why now?"
I polished off my own cookie, wiped my hands on my pants, and sighed. "A friend of mine got married recently. For several months before that, it seemed like he'd lost the woman he loved for good. He'd hurt her badly, and she didn't trust him not to do it again. But he vowed to do whatever it took to earn back her trust and her love, even though it meant humiliating himself to please her overprotective brothers." I laid a hand on the table, fingers bent. "I thought if he could win back the woman he loved, I might have a chance too."
"Right.
" Arms folded over her chest, she scrutinized my face. "Did your friend wait a decade and a half?"
"No." My lips twisted into a rueful smile. "Only I am that much of an eejit. That means I'm an idiot."
"Yeah, I remember that word. You used to call the frat boys eejits." Her toes tapped on the wood floor. "When the shit hit the fan, you bolted for Scotland. I needed you, and you abandoned me."
She'd needed me? Of course she had. I'd thought of nothing but my own shame, fleeing to avoid a fate I'd feared all my life — becoming a criminal. How could she understand that? I'd have to tell her everything, eventually. For today, I could offer her an honest answer to the unspoken question in her statement.
With my elbow on the table, I raised my hand to plant my forehead in my palm. "I didn't mean to abandon you. I wanted to stay, more than anything."
"You accidentally stumbled onto a plane to Scotland."
"No." I lifted my head to gaze at her, a chill washing through me as those events replayed in my mind. "I wasn't just fired, Rae. I was forced out of the country."
Chapter Three
Rae
"Forced out?" I searched his face, but he showed me nothing more informative than a bland expression. Iain had two modes of facial expression — casually bland and casually cheerful. Nothing got him riled up, nothing made him let loose a belly laugh, and nothing stripped away his calm demeanor even during sex.
The frat boys may have nicknamed him the Notorious Dr. MacT, but to me, he would always be the Unflappable Iain MacTaggart.
"I'll tell ye the story later," he said, his voice as bland as his face. "After we've gotten accustomed to each other again."
"Accustomed, acclimated, whatever. None of that is happening."
He took a long drink of water, keeping his hand around the glass when he set it down on the table. "I'm not asking you to forgive me. All I'm asking for is a chance."
"To do what, exactly?"
"We had a good thing once. Let's find out if we could have that again."
I spread my hands on my thighs, whisking them up and down to wipe off the clamminess. Once upon a time, he'd made me nervous in a deliciously fluttery way. Now, he made me antsy in a very unpleasant way. Keeping secrets sucked. "We didn't have a thing, good or bad. We hung out for a while and then we slept together once. It was a fantasy, not a relationship."
Which one of us was I trying to convince?
His fingers tightened around the glass, then relaxed. Tightened, relaxed.
"Deceive yourself if you like, gràidh," he said, his voice soft and warm as a silky bubble bath, "but we had a relationship. It was good. It was real."
Gràidh. He'd called me that several times during our … acquaintance, but I'd never asked what it meant or what language he was speaking, too infatuated to think about such things. My foolish heart had overridden my common sense. For all I knew, he'd been calling me "moron."
No, he wouldn't do that. Whatever his faults, Iain was never cruel. He came with an arsenal of qualities designed to make any heterosexual woman fling herself at him, and those qualities had only intensified since the last time I'd seen him. The light stubble on his face, the hint of a scar on his nose, the more-chiseled physique … How was I supposed to react to all of this? Charming, sexy, determined, and he'd traveled thousands of miles solely to find me.
Dressed like freaking Indiana Jones.
I gave myself a mental slap upside the head. Getting rid of him was the only prudent option. Once, I'd thought I loved him. That had been a lifetime ago. I would not fall for him again. Nope. Not falling. Not even if he called me gràidh again in that soft, rumbly voice.
Malina had left for California three days ago and wouldn't come home for another eleven days. Maybe I could —
Stop right there. My foolish heart, or maybe my libido, had almost canceled out reason.
My fingers curled into my thighs. "Probably wasn't as good as we remember. Memories get glossed over until all you see is a pretty fantasy, not the gritty reality."
"Please stop calling it a fantasy. I loved you, Rae. I still do."
Though I made a somewhat rude noise, my tummy fluttered and excitement zinged over my skin yet again. Would I never learn? Letting this man into my life the first time had nearly destroyed me. Letting him in again might hurt more than my heart and soul. It might hurt my daughter too, and I could not allow that.
Iain aimed that easy smile at me. "You don't believe me yet. I understand. A few days is all I'm asking for, only a few days."
Faced with his smile — so casual and yet infused with languid sensuality — I dissolved on the inside and the outside, slumping in my chair as I permitted myself precisely five seconds to relish the bliss of being enveloped in Iain MacTaggart's full attention. He looked so good, too good, like he'd stepped through a time portal from thirteen years in the past. No one should be so unchanged after all these years. He should've had the decency to grow some flab or at least sprout a few wrinkles.
Oh, he had changed a little. His physique had become tougher, more muscular, and his hair sported a smattering of gray strands, especially at the temples. His hands, once smooth, become rough and callused, and his skin had been toasted by the sun. He hadn't gotten older. He'd gotten hotter.
So unfair.
I leaned in, squinting at his face. "How many facelifts have you had? You don't look any older."
"Natural youthfulness," he said with a teasing tone. Then he leaned in too, our faces a breath apart. "You don't look any older, either."
"I have a wrinkle." I tapped the corner of one eye. "Here."
He brushed his thumb over the spot. "That's not a wrinkle. It's dirt. You are eternally beautiful and youthful."
"And you are so full of it."
With that thumb, he traced a line down my cheek to the corner of my mouth, skimming the pad across my bottom lip. "Even your name is beautiful. Rae. The English version means 'doe,' which I suppose is appropriate since female deer are elegant and bonnie. But I prefer the Scottish meaning — grace. It suits you best, even if Rae was originally a man's name in Scotland."
"You always were obsessed with the meanings of names."
"Not obsessed. Interested. In history, and in you." He dragged his thumb down to my chin, fanning his fingers over my cheek. "Everything about you fascinates me."
I cleared my throat, which had suddenly gone tight. "Don't think you ever told me what your name means."
He tapped my chin with his thumb. "Gift from God."
"Of course that's what Iain means." I shook my head, but that only made his fingers scrape across my mouth, and I tasted a hint of the salty flavor of his skin. "Does that mean you are a gift or you received a gift?"
"What I gave you, in the end, wasn't a gift, but I'm hoping you'll bestow one on me now in spite of that. The gift of days."
Bestow? Only Iain could make the word sound erotic. "Are you suggesting I let you hang around because of what your name means?"
"No. My middle name means 'follower of St. Colomba,' after all, and I doubt that would convince you."
Iain Malcolm MacTaggart. I'd always loved his name, the way it rolled over my tongue. I'd wanted to name our daughter after him, so I chose the feminine version of his middle name — Malina, for Malcolm. He would figure it out if I ever told him her name, so I would never speak her name in his presence. He'd figure out she was his if he ever saw a picture of her, so I'd rushed around the living room, hallway, and kitchen stripping out every photograph of her.
Malina had his pale-blue eyes, his honey-brown hair, his aquiline nose, and his disarming smile. Every time I looked at her, I saw him.
I had also spirited away every one of the books about Scotland I'd kept on the now-empty shelves in the living room. The books currently lay in a pile in the corner of my bedroom. If Iain saw those books, he might figure out I'd become obsessed with his native land. He might wonder why. I wondered why sometimes.
Had I really gotten over Iain? Could I get over him with our daughter reminding me every day? No matter what happened, I would forever have a piece of him with me.
I used to like that. Today, sitting beside him in my kitchen, I worried about that unbreakable bond, the one he knew nothing about. Maybe I should tell him.
No way in hell. Iain had abandoned me once, and I would not give him the chance to do the same to our daughter.
I squinted at him. "Why are you really here? I don't have anything worth stealing if that's your game."
Why I said it, I had no idea. Desperation, I supposed. I needed him to give up the crazy notion of winning me back.
Iain snapped his spine straight, his jaw tight. "I am no thief."
The razor edge to his voice surprised me. I'd hit a nerve, though I had no idea why. I considered asking, but I didn't want to know him better. I wanted him gone, to preserve my sanity and the life I'd fought so hard to carve out for myself and my daughter.
He seemed to brush off the tension with a heavy sigh, relaxing back into unflappable mode with his Buddha smile in place. The crack in his affable facade had sealed up again.
Strange, but irrelevant.
Pushing up out of my chair, I gave Iain a decisive nod. "I'm driving you into town. Then, you can make your way back to wherever you came from."
"You'd leave me homeless in a strange place?" That smile broadened just enough to dimple his cheeks, and his eyes twinkled with humor.
"Don't you have a room at a motel?"
He shrugged one shoulder. "Didnae think beyond tracking you down. Find you. See you. Talk to you. That was the extent of my plan."
I let my head fall back and groaned miserably.
He rose and stretched, yawning. "I'll find something in town."
"No, you won't." I rubbed my forehead. "There are only two motels in Ricksville. Plus, this is Twine Festival week, which means if you didn't book ahead, you won't find an available room."
Iain's forehead crinkled. "Twine Festival?"
"We have the world's fifth-largest ball of twine. It's behind the town hall."
"And there's a festival to celebrate it?"