Bad Boys In Kilts

by Donna Kauffman

  Was he crazy?

  He jerked his gaze from hers, suddenly unsure about this whole thing. But now that Daisy had planted the damn seed in his brain, he couldn’t seem to shake it loose. Did Kat want him? Really want him? Because he’d come to the very real, stunning discovery that he wanted her, too.

  She tapped insistently on the box, drawing him from his reverie. “So, are you going to show me or what?”

  Irritable again. Now what had he done? And why the hell couldn’t either one of them just come out and ask the other about this? After all, they’d known each other forever. Talked about everything under the sun. Worst case is, she’d just laugh it off. Right? Crazy Daisy and her barmy ideas. No harm done. They’d just go right on being friends.

  So why wasn’t he asking her?

  Maybe for the same reason she hadn’t come right out and asked him. Because friends didn’t constantly picture their friends naked. Or because friends didn’t want to do the things to each other that Brodie couldn’t seem to stop thinking about doing to Kat. And her laughing off the suggestion wouldn’t stop the images flooding his brain. Or the burgeoning need filling him to the point of bursting. So maybe the harm had already been done. Thanks, Daisy.

  He flipped the box open, banishing the thoughts, images, all of it, from his brain. They both just needed to get a grip. Find some common ground where they both felt comfortable. And that wasn’t going to be anywhere in the vicinity of his bed.

  But he knew exactly where they could go. He lifted the box so she could examine its contents, never so thankful he’d had a weak moment and made this purchase.

  Kat gasped. “Oh my God, they’re lovely.” She reached a tentative hand to very gently stroke the antique throwing darts. “How old are they? Hand-carved shafts, real feathers for flights. But the feathers look—”

  “New. They are. I had them cleaned up and refitted with new points and feathers, but the shafts are the original carved wood. The points and feathers had probably been replaced numerous times over the years anyway, and both were half rotted away. It’s amazing the wood hadn’t suffered much, but it had been sealed with some kind of resin.”

  “You had them refitted?” Kat looked at him like he was daft. “But that lowers their value, doesn’t it?”

  Brodie just smiled. “I didn’t get them to look at, I got them to use.”

  Kat’s mouth dropped open. “You want to throw them? But they’re at least—”

  “Four and a half centuries old or thereabout. The shafts, anyway. They were reputedly made by a courtier to King Henry VIII. Anne Boleyn having given him a set, he supposedly had them commissioned for her.” Brodie winked at her. “Unfortunately for Anne, she lost her head before the gift was finished, and they were passed down to the courtier’s daughter instead.” He shrugged. “It could all be rubbish, of course, but that’s the story I was told. I did get documentation from the family dating them back to at least the late 1600s, but no actual proof of the royal connection. Still, they struck my fancy and I thought they would yours, too.” He handed her the box. “They were carved for a woman’s hand.”

  She gasped again. “Brodie! I couldn’t.”

  He just laughed when she pulled her hands away and pushed the box forward. “Go on. You’re the only one who appreciates the game more than I do. When I saw them, I thought immediately of you. Look at how slender the shaft was carved. I did pick them up, and despite the longer size, the balance is amazing for something made so long ago, without the technology we have today.” He pushed the box toward her. “I thought we could keep them here, on display somehow. But I wanted you to be the one to throw them.”

  She took the box, her hands trembling a little. “I—I don’t know what to say.” She carefully eased one of the trio out of the velvet lining and balanced it in her hand. “Wow. You’re right. Amazing.” She slowly stroked her finger along one of the feathered shafts.

  Brodie was shocked to feel his body harden further, as if she’d just slowly stroked him. Damn, but this was supposed to get his mind off of those kinds of thoughts where Kat was concerned. He glanced up at her face, but her attention was riveted on the dart.

  “They are works of art, Brodie.” She looked up, caught him looking at her. Her lips quirked, but her cheeks pinked a little. “What are you smiling at?”

  “You,” he said, thinking he’d always loved looking at her. Why hadn’t he ever thought of her any other way before? “You’re dying to give them a toss. Come on, admit it.” He groaned inwardly, thinking if she only knew what he was dying to toss. Her. Right onto that bed. “Why don’t we go downstairs right now and try them out?”

  She looked at the darts, then back at him. “I still can’t believe you did this.”

  He feigned a look of insult. “You implying I don’t ever do anything for you?”

  “No, it’s just ... you’re careful with money. We both are. And this ... this couldn’t have come cheap. You said yourself you had no business buying them. I really shouldn’t let you—”

  “But you will let me.” He took her arm and dragged her to the door, before he threw her on the bed and did things he could end up regretting the instant he was done. Though he was having an increasingly difficult time buying that particular argument. “And I’ll have ye know, I can be as impulsive as the next bloke.” If she only knew the impulses he was tamping down at that very moment.

  They reached the first floor and Brodie flicked on the lights in the back of the pub where the billiard table and dartboards were. The rest of the pub was left in the early-morning dusk, the only light that which slid in through the cracks of the shutters on the windows.

  She moved in front of him. “Okay, but it’s not even a birthday or special occasion or—”

  He tugged her back around, so she faced him, keeping his hand on her arm. “Just seeing the look on your face when I opened that box made it all worthwhile. You’re important to me, Kat. I like making you happy.”

  And as he said the words, he realized just how true they were. He did think about her all the time. She was a huge part of his day-to-day life. He talked to her about everything, looked forward to seeing her smiling face come in the door at the end of the day, got a major kick out of watching her banter with the locals and shark the occasional ballsy tourist out of his money. In fact, he couldn’t imagine life, as he knew it, without her. His goals, what was important to him, were much the same as hers. They both valued family, heritage, the villagers, more than anything else.

  He had no idea why he’d never thought of her as a partner in every way before. Now he couldn’t seem to shake the idea that what he’d been looking for, waiting for, had been under his nose all along. And it had taken a blimey American lass to point it out to him.

  The question now was what in the hell to do about it.

  Just pull her close and kiss her? What?

  Daisy swore that Kat felt the same way ... but standing right here, right now, he felt he was suddenly standing right back at the edge of that very tall cliff ... where one right step might send him soaring to the heavens ... but one wrong one would send him plummeting to his doom.

  Too much at stake.

  Then he looked at the darts. And an idea formed in his mind.

  “We haven’t played for stakes in a long time,” he said, oh-so-conversationally.

  “What?” Kat had put the wooden box on the edge of the billiard table and was lifting out one of the darts. “I can’t believe I’m handling such history,” she breathed, then glanced at him, such excitement in her eyes. “Are you saying you want to play for money?”

  Brodie grinned as he leaned against the table and folded his arms. “Something like that.”

  Kat arched a brow. “Something like what?”

  “Go ahead and toss these a few times, get used to them, while I figure out what the stakes should be.” He already knew exactly what the stakes would be. He was about to play the biggest game of his life.

  Kat stared at him for a
nother long moment, then gave a half-shrug and turned toward the dartboard. “Okay, suit yourself. But be prepared to lose whatever it is you’re going to bet.”

  “Now who’s sounding ungrateful?” he teased. “Buy a lass some antique darts and she gets all cocky on you.”

  She was lining up her shot, getting accustomed to the design and balance of the longer dart body, but paused long enough to toss him a look over her shoulder. “You should know by now that I can’t intentionally lose at anything. So if you were trying to bribe me with these, just so you could say you finally beat me at darts—”

  “Ho, now. I’ve beaten you at darts plenty of times.”

  She smiled sweetly. “Name the last time.”

  “Well, it was—” He had to pause and think about it. “You know, I honestly can’t remember.”

  “Exactly. You got tired of losing to me, so you conveniently only join in when I’m shooting pool.”

  “You can’t tell me I don’t beat you at pool.”

  “Oh, you do, all the time. But at least I still give you the chance.”

  “Are ye sayin’ I’m a poor sport about things?”

  She let her shrug speak for her.

  “Och. Bloody females.”

  “Quit yer bellyachin’. I’m here to give ye fair chance to win back yer manly pride.”

  Brodie motioned her to turn back to the board. “Go ahead, warm up. You’ll need it.” One thing they also had in common—they were both competitive. Neither liked to lose. Which, at the moment, he fervently prayed would work in both their favors.

  “What are ye telling me, Brodie? Have you already practiced with these?”

  “I can’t say how many hands have held those darts, but other than to admire them, mine hasn’t been one of them. I plan to throw my own.”

  “Ah, now I see your angle. Think to outplay me with me usin’ unfamiliar weapons.” She smiled and turned back to the board. “We’ll see about that, we will.”

  It felt good, knowing they could ride each other, tease and even taunt each other, and that beneath all of it was a foundation of trust and certainty that was rock solid. As was his body at the moment.

  How in sweet bloody hell had he come to this point so swiftly? Could it be only yesterday that he’d had no earthly idea that Kat might have feelings for him that were based on the desire for more than friendship, even one such as theirs? Even more shocking was the discovery that all he’d had to do was be made aware of the possibility and his body had taken off like a rocket on a mission to Mars. As had his head ... and, it seemed, his heart.

  He watched as Kat tossed the first one, then the second, then the third. “Not bad,” he claimed, as two hit the inner ring and one pinned the outside of the bull’s-eye.

  She snorted. “Not bad, he says.” She grinned at him, a taunting grin if ever there was one, before sauntering to the board to retrieve the darts. “In fact, I won’t even take the rest of my warm-up shots.”

  Brodie felt his body twitch hard. She was a saucy one. He’d always liked that about her. Only now he couldn’t help but wonder where else that would play to his advantage. Christ, but he’d be lucky to stand upright when the time came for him to throw.

  “You want to practice?” she offered.

  He shook his head. “Since you’re using an unfamiliar set, it’s only fair that I forgo mine to even the field a bit.”

  She just smirked at him, as if to say he was fooling himself if he thought that would save him. He found himself grinning.

  As she took her place back on the oche, the toe line, he surreptitiously untucked his t-shirt and rearranged it to at least make a modest attempt at covering the effect she was having on him. He was still working out the particulars of how he was going to use their game to ease her into exploring this newfound attraction they apparently had for one another as she took her first real throw.

  Fifteen seconds later, she was hooting and giving a little victory wiggle with her hips. One dart in the inner ring, two darts had landed on the outside edge of the bull’s-eye. “Nice,” she said. “They feel really nice.”

  “I should hope so, seeing as what they set me back,” Brodie said, knowing it would distract her. And it did.

  She frowned immediately. “I told you it was too much, but you insisted. So you can’t very well make me a gift like that, then complain about the cost.”

  He just laughed and stepped over to the wall that separated the dart area from the drinking area. He reached up and grabbed down his own boxed set of darts from the heavy oak support beam that ran overhead. “I’m just saying it’s good to see I’m getting my money’s worth.” He lined up at the mark, and with barely a moment of preparation, let his first dart fly. Inner ring, right next to hers.

  “Show-off,” she muttered.

  He grinned at her; then, in quick succession, let his other two fly. One matched hers on the outer edge of the bull’s-eye, but the other pegged the inner bull’s-eye square in the middle.

  She folded her arms. “Rusty luck, I say. You never hit the bull’s-eye before your second round.”

  “Maybe I’ve been practicing.”

  She snorted another laugh. “You’ve been playing since you began workin’ for Hagg at the tender age of twelve, and probably threw a few before then as well. If that’s no’ enough practice for a body, I don’t know what is.”

  Instead of walking to collect the darts, he stepped over to where she was leaning against the billiard table. “Maybe I was more motivated this time.”

  She shifted a little when he closed the space between them a bit more than was absolutely necessary. Her pupils expanded ... and her throat worked a bit. But she didn’t shift away. In fact, her gaze seemed locked on his. “Motivated,” she managed, though the word sounded a bit hoarse. “You don’t even know what you’re playin’ for.”

  He stepped closer still, his grin slowly spreading. “Aye, but I do.”

  Chapter 7

  Kat swallowed hard, which was a rare feat considering how dry her throat had suddenly become. The way Brodie was looking at her was like ... well, to be honest, it was a lot like she’d fantasized having him look at her. Which meant either the dim lighting was playing tricks on her eyes, or she’d finally gone off the beam completely and lost all sense of reality. Because, other than that brief moment when he’d stared at her legs last night, he’d never once in all the years she’d known him looked at her like anything other than a bud—

  The rest of that thought vanished as he slowly lifted his hands and toyed with the ends of her braids. Which just happened to be brushing below her collar bones ... and right above her breasts. Aching breasts now tipped by nipples that had contracted with such exquisite pleasure she’d choked on a gasp the instant the backs of his fingers had brushed along her coveralls.

  Coveralls. Christ. She was hallucinating. Because no way was Brodie Chisholm fantasizing about anything sexual having to do with her. Stupid braids and baggy, grimy work clothes, and—

  Then he shocked her mind blank all over again by tugging the braided elastic from the ends of her plaits ... and slowly unweaving her hair with his fingers.

  “Wha—what are you doing?”

  “I won the first round.” His grin was lethal. “So I’m taking my spoils.”

  “Spoils?” she squeaked. She’d never been anybody’s spoils before. The fact that she might be Brodie’s stunned her beyond comprehension.

  He merely nodded and bent his head back to the task, leaving her to wonder what in the world was the appropriate reaction to something like that. Of course, what felt appropriate at the moment was to grab his head in her hands and thrust his mouth over the burgeoning tips of her breasts. But surely that wouldn’t be a good idea. No matter that the mere thought of it had her pushing a deep, very heartfelt groan to the back of her throat.

  “What—” The single word came out like a croak, forcing her to stop and attempt to clear her throat. “Why?” she finally managed.

  He
glanced up, those green-brown eyes of his dancing through lashes that were far too sinfully thick to belong to a man already genetically blessed. All the Chisholm men were. How often had she teased him about being too pretty?

  At the moment, she was too busy trembling as his fingers continually brushed the front of her heavy cotton jumpsuit. Surely he knew the havoc he was wreaking? He was a master at seduction, the tales in the village and surrounding hills having long since taken on legendary status. Which gave her momentary pause. If this was a seduction, then was she destined to merely be another notch on a thoroughly gouged bedpost?

  At the moment, her nipples alone would have argued for the affirmative, and all her hopes and dreams be damned. Why hadn’t she thought this through? Probably because she never thought it would really happen. She wasn’t entirely certain it was happening now ... but she was a damn sight closer to anything resembling it than ever before. She had to think, which was damn near impossible when he was standing so close, touching her. Why had he chosen now to do something like this? No way could he have known what she’d been thinking. The only other person who knew was her father, and though he loved to meddle in her business, he would never—oh, no. No. There was one other person.

  “Brodie?” The single word came out like a croak.

  He paused in his unwinding. His fingers brushed against the edge of her jaw and the side of her neck, making every inch of her sensitive skin there tingle with heightened awareness. He merely arched one brow in response, his hands still tangled in her partially unwoven hair.

  “Why?” she asked again, though with different intent. If Daisy had told him, and she’d bet the family business she had, it still didn’t answer why he’d decided on this course. Could he possibly feel the same? Or was he just having fun, giving ol’ buddy Kat a thrill? No, he wouldn’t do that, trivialize her feelings ... would he? She knew damn well it wasn’t to give himself a thrill. His exploits might be legendary, but her very lack of the same could have drawn an equal number of tales. Not that she’d never—she had—but an accomplished, confident lover she was not. Far from it, in fact.