by Caro LaFever
“What?” Her eyes went wide as she stared at the bar. “There’s no way you could pay enough money to get this shipped from Turkey in one day.”
He gave out a gruff laugh. “Naw. I order enough of it they stock it for me in Glasgow.”
“Why?”
“I found it on one of my tours and I liked it.”
She sniffed the square and knew for sure. The scent of pine was strong. “It’s just soap.”
“Nothing of value is just.” He moved restlessly away from the island to stand by the fireplace. “That soap is handcrafted and has olive oil in it.”
“Oil?” She scrunched her face and gave him a puzzled look.
“It’s a moisturizer.” His eyes went to half-mast once more. “Maybe we can both go into the shower, and I’ll show ye how nice the soap is.”
“You took a shower a few minutes ago so I don’t think you need another one.”
“I’d be glad to take another one if you’re in there.”
The armor again. Why did he feel as if he had to protect himself, when all they were talking about was his soap? She stared at the soap, hoping it would tell her the secret, but it merely sat in her hand. Only soap. She hadn’t used it in the shower, deciding to stick with the simple bottle of shampoo, letting the suds slide down her skin. It wasn’t that the smell was too manly, it was just too him. Her instinct told her that putting his scent on her would take her one step closer to jumping him.
She glanced at him once more to find he’d taken a nonchalant stance, as if her inspecting his soap had no impact on him. One naked shoulder leaned on the stone wall, while his brawny arms were folded in front of him, as if in protection for her response to whatever he’d bought her.
Her usual curiosity piqued.
“What box has my stuff?” She fluttered her fingers at the stacks.
“I don’t know,” he huffed. “There are probably several.”
As a child, she’d always loved Christmas the best. Not only because her mother and stepfather would make an effort to get along, but because she lived for surprises. Christmas morning was all about surprises. She felt like a child at this moment. A child who’d been presented with a pile of presents by one very surly, sexy Santa.
“Several?”
He pursed his lips, not willing to give her anything more. Yet, he’d already given her so much.
He’d given her his blush.
He’d given her the beginnings of his trust.
And now, he’d given her gifts.
Tearing into the boxes, she found more food—fresh herbs and greens and a whole box of canned goods. She found a box filled with toilet paper and another with cleaning supplies. Ripping open another box, she spied an entire crate of peaches. “There are enough peaches here to feed an army.”
He made a low, amused sound in his throat.
“Don’t tell me you don’t like peaches, McPherson.” She wagged her finger at him.
“I like them.” His mouth edged into a soft, sensual smile. “I like to bite into their juicy skin.”
There was an innuendo in his words she didn’t quite catch. She probably didn’t want to. It would only incite him to further displays of smokescreens and nonsense. Turning back to the boxes, she finally hit pay dirt. The smells coming from the box told her before she’d even ripped the top open.
Girly stuff.
There were big bottles of lotion—lemon shea butter, aloe vera, and vanilla bean. There was a box stacked with little glass jars filled with citrus and eucalyptus bath salts. She plucked a familiar bottle from the mix. “Oil. Massage oil.”
“That’s right.” His big body went slack as if he was thinking about the last time she’d touched him with her hands. “I’m thinking now’s a good time to try that out.”
Looking for a deflection, she found one in the next layer of goodies. A whole collection of fizzy bath bombs covered in red and pink glitter sat in a heart-shaped tin. Her tender heart dipped into affection and something else that worried her.
Trying to distract herself before she started to tear up, she held one of the heart-shaped bombs up. “Don’t tell me you picked these.”
His straight brown brows frowned. “What is that?”
“Bombs.”
He straightened, the frown turning into a dark scowl. “What? I don’t like bombs.”
The way he said the words made her sure his wounds hadn’t healed no matter what he said, but this wasn’t the time to dig.
“So you didn’t pick these for me?”
“I told them to send me some girly stuff.” He waved a hand at the box. “I didn’t specify what exactly. I don’t know anything about what you’re holding in your hand.”
“Bath bombs.” She nearly laughed at the look of confusion on his face. “You fill the tub with hot water and then drop one in.”
The confusion turned to hot interest. “And then what?”
“It fizzes. Bubbles.” She threw the bomb in the air and caught it. “My sisters love these things.”
“But not ye?”
“What girl doesn’t like a bath bomb?” She arched her brows at him. “It’s just that I’m usually not in a place where there’s a nice big tub and time to soak.”
“Well.” His sky-blue eyes went sexy and before she could sidle back, he was at her side. “There’s a nice big tub right here, and we’ve got all the time in the world.”
Chapter 16
“Don’t go there.” Her pouty, provocative mouth told him no, yet there was lust in those pretty sea-green eyes of hers. Iain was sure.
Almost sure.
He’d been thrilled—incredibly, awfully thrilled—when he’d heard her shouting at the back door. Bounding to the stairs, his heart pounding with happiness, he hadn’t even thought about clothes until the cool, crisp Scottish wind had hit his naked body.
But he didn’t care. Even then.
Lovely Lilly had come back.
She’d yelled at him, accurately accused him of breaking promises, and threw his valuable whiskey down the stairs.
But he didn’t care.
She’d come back.
Leaning in, trying to distract himself from the overwhelming elation still coursing through him, he focused his gaze on that mouth of hers. Her lips were so pink and delicious. That upper lip of hers so plump and beckoning. “Are ye saying we can’t go that way?”
“No, we can’t.” Her gaze dropped to his mouth. And then, she closed her eyes. “You need me to be your friend.”
A bubble of irritation ran through his blood. The donas always thought she knew best. “How do ye know what I need?”
“Let’s get this all unpacked and put away.” Opening her eyes wide, she bounced around the island, putting it between them. “Tell me where things go and I’ll help.”
“I don’t want to put things away.” He folded his tense arms in front of him. “I want to take a bath. With a fizzy bomb.”
She pulled out two packages of steaks. “Do you want these in the freezer—”
“And ye.”
Lovely Lilly didn’t even bat an eyelid. “—or the fridge?”
“I don’t care where ye put the damn things.” Swinging around, he stomped into his den. She’d shut his music off when he’d been in the shower, damn her. He’d play any kind of fucking music he wanted. Throwing on the Rachmaninov again, he threw himself into his leather chair.
“You’re pouting.” Her blonde head appeared from behind the arch.
“Ye didn’t even thank me for the gifts,” he muttered, tucking his chin into his chest.
A sharp silence fell. From the corner of his eye, Iain saw her move to the side of his chair.
“It was wonderful of you.” Her lemony, spicy scent enveloped him, making his cock go hard. “I’d give you a kiss if you wouldn’t take it the wrong way.”
“That way. Wrong way.” He sank farther down. “I don’t know why ye make everything so difficult.”
“It isn’t difficult.”
She took a step closer. “We’re friends and that’s the most important thing.”
He finally glanced at her, to find her eyes filled with tears. His spine went rigid. “Jesus. What the hell did I say to make ye cry?”
“It’s not what you said, it’s what you did.” Swiping the tears from her cheeks, she gave him her grin, confusing him further.
“Did?” He hated confusion. In the Marines, a man strove to combat confusion and chaos at every turn. Confusion made for bad decisions. “I got ye some damn lotions and potions. Not something worth crying about.”
In a swift move, she bent and kissed him on the top of his head. Making the other head he had jealous. He made a grab for her, but she danced away, giving him a big eyeful of lush tush that only made him more hungry and more grumpy. “Come here, donas.”
“No can do, and at some point, you’re going to tell me what that name means.” She turned from the safety of the kitchen arch and waved his way. “Come on. Let’s put the supplies away, and then we’ll go down to the beach.”
“No.” The reaction was immediate and instinctive. “I’m not going outside.”
She eyed him. “First things first. Let’s unpack your supplies. Then we’ll talk.”
“No talking, either.”
Sighing, she came back to his chair and grabbed his hand, giving it a yank. “You’re the stubbornest man I’ve ever met, but I’m more stubborn and determined than you.”
He let her pull him to a stand. The odd mix of anger, lust, and elation ran through him making him…confused. “Shite.”
“I guess that’s better than go away.” Pulling him into the kitchen, she patted the first tower of boxes. “You start here and I’ll start over there.”
He unpacked. He couldn’t think of what else to say or what else to do. If he teased her, she might get angry. If he yelled at her too loud, she might leave. And if he did what he wanted to do with her more than anything else, she might cry.
“There.” The donas glanced around with pleasure. “That wasn’t very hard.”
“You’ve got one more box.” He pushed a flat, small box from behind the cabinet with his bare foot.
“I didn’t see that.” Her face immediately beamed with excitement. “What is it?”
She looked like a kid in a candy store, and the fact he’d made her that way put something in his heart he hadn’t experienced in years. Not since a fairy lass had laughed on his beach before following him into his castle. “Something for ye, I’d guess.”
“Guess?” Her eyes went soft in the way the sea surrounding his island did when the summer sun set on the last of the hills of Somairie. “I’d guess you know what’s in there.”
“Maybe.” Leaning on the counter, he kept his gaze on her lovely countenance. “Go on. Open it.”
She walked over and kneeled right in front of him. Her curls shone with gold and light, shifting as she moved. Her delicate, strong hands ripped open the box with delight before glancing up, her gaze friendly, yet with a mist of tears swimming in the depths.
He straightened. “No crying. No matter what.”
Her husky chuckle came and she dropped her gaze to the open box. “I can’t help what I feel.”
“Yes, ye can. No crying,” he announced again, an odd panic stirring in his gut.
“Hey, Mr. Arrogant.” She kept her focus on the box. “You can’t stuff down emotions.”
Yes, a person could. He’d done it for seventeen years in the Marines very effectively. And he’d been even more successful in stuffing everything down during the past ten months.
Before he could report the true reality, she gasped. “How did you know?”
Maybe he’d been all wrong. The woman had stated she didn’t enjoy classical. He’d ordered this gift thinking of her, and yet escaping into the realization she’d never see what his heart had picked for her.
“It’s nothing,” he grumbled trying to figure out where to hide his heart.
“Oh, Iain.” She hugged the vinyl to her chest and those tears of hers came once more. “Debussy.”
“Don’t cry.”
She laughed and cried at the same time. She threw her head back, her hair bouncing, her eyes closed, her glossy skin glowing beneath the wet. Those provoking lips fell open letting him see her pretty white teeth that contrasted so perfectly with her warm, golden skin.
“Lilly.” Lust roared, but something else did too. Something he didn’t like and didn’t want. Confusion turned to panic.
Laughing, she opened her streaming eyes. “How did you know the only classical music I like is Debussy?”
“You’re a woman.” It suddenly occurred to him she was kneeling right in front of him. His cock straightened to attention in one short second. Now the panic jostled inside with the inevitable aching need, making him more confused and more upset. “So it follows you’d enjoy romantic.”
Romantic.
The word rang in his head like an alarming gong. A wake-up call.
Lilly Graham wasn’t like the women he’d dealt with when he’d had his flings. Instinct told him that. She might dance along in life, yet at heart, she had a heart. One he didn’t want to hurt.
He took a step back because it hit him—the donas might be rejecting his advances not because she wasn’t interested, but because she was too interested.
She wanted more than only his broken body and lust.
A woman wanted romance with her sex. Most women. He’d had a time or two with a woman who was clear she didn’t want any of that nonsense and he’d stuck to that kind of woman during his service. He’d seen far too many of his buddies suffer through awful break-ups and divorces. Being a Marine wasn’t conducive to being a good husband. He’d thought he’d have time enough to find a lady who wanted the romance in him when the right time came.
Except his time had run out.
“Romantic, huh?” She eyed him as he retreated another step. “That freaks you out a bit, I’m noticing.”
Swinging around, he headed for his bedroom.
“Where are you running to now?” she cried. “Don’t tell me you’re going to take another shower.”
The air in his sanctuary seemed to have dried up so he could hardly breathe. The place was too small and tight and hot. “I’m going out.”
“Out?” Her voice held disbelief.
“Outside, like ye suggested.” He marched to his closet and threw open the doors. He needed to get away from her. Before he hurt her. Grabbing a T-shirt and jumper with shaking hands, he started looking for his old boots. “I’m just obeying your orders.”
The man went from angry to sexy to crazy in about two seconds.
Lilly ran to the back stairs, following his stiff spine and taut body. His Majesty had erupted from his bedroom like a soldier on a mission. He was swathed in a heavy sweater that wasn’t at all appropriate for the weather, his jeans were buttoned right to the top, and the pair of boots he had on looked suspiciously like Marine-issue.
Not exactly proper attire for taking a walk on the beach.
More like another type of camouflage, she’d bet.
“Could you hold on a sec?” she yelled at him while he clambered full speed down the steep stairs.
He didn’t answer. He didn’t stop.
“What’s got into you now?” she muttered as she crept past the broken glass of the whiskey bottle. He hadn’t even stopped to yell at her for this infraction.
The man was in a tizzy.
Why?
Her mind zoomed through their last conversation. Iain had given her a vinyl record. He’d thought about her tastes and took the time to find something she might like and enjoy. He’d then blushed his beautiful blush and retreated as if she were some Amazon army invading his home turf.
What the hell was his problem?
She hadn’t cooed all over him, or pretended it was some engagement ring or anything important. Sure, she’d cried a bit, but she often cried when her sisters gave her a present. Women tended to
cry sometimes.
What was the big deal?
He landed on the beach and churned the sand underneath his booted feet like he was on a march across the desert. The beach wasn’t overly large though—he wouldn’t be able to escape her and her questions for long.
Stopping with a jerk at the edge of the water, he stilled, his hands landing on his hips.
His Majesty surveying his kingdom.
A niggle of pained pleasure went through her. Up until now, she’d had Iain to herself. Yet he was out of his castle now and eventually, she sensed, he’d be ready to take on the world.
Leaving her and her tears behind.
That was okay, though. That was what she’d planned all along.
Brushing a single tear off her cheek, she came to the end of the stairs and took a deep breath of relief in. The steps had been sticky with whiskey, making them even more treacherous than usual. Following the path he’d torn through the beach, she arrived at his side to look at the sea.
Perhaps starting with the weather might be for the best. Once she’d settled him down, she could discover why giving her a record that made her cry was such a big deal. “You’d never think there’d been a storm only one day ago.”
He glanced at her and she found the storm still roiling in his eyes. Sighing and giving up on being subtle, she grabbed one of his big hands and tugged it into her own. “Iain.”
“What?” A growl laced around the word.
“It’s okay that you got me exactly the right present.” She squeezed his hard, nicked fingers. “That’s what a friend would do.”
“It was a romantic present.”
She stared at him.
His mouth pursed in that way of his that made her think he’d sucked on something sour. Clearly, romance wasn’t a topic he enjoyed delving into. So he surprised her when he kept at it. “Ye took it as such because ye cried.”
Not true, and such a masculine way of looking at things—black and white, right or wrong—amusement bubbled. “Just because I cried—”
“I want ye to know.” His booted feet shifted on the sand before planting themselves, as if he were preparing for a bomb to go off. “I’m willing to have sex with ye, but it’s not romantic, eh?”