Lord of the Isles: International Billionaires VIII: The Scots

by Caro LaFever

  “Something smells good.”

  Iain twisted around to find her smiling, not only her mouth but her eyes. How could she be so forgiving after what he’d done to her? He wasn’t worthy of forgiveness. “I’m making ye a good soup to warm ye up.”

  “After that amazing shower, I’m plenty warm.” She drifted to the island and looked at the potatoes and chives he still needed to chop. “I am hungry, though. What kind of soup?”

  “It’s called Cullen Skink.” He put his focus back on the pans, lifting the boiled fish from one of them to place it on a plate at the side of the stove.

  “What?” She laughed.

  The husky edge of the sound caused a line of sweat to pop out along his spine. He ignored himself by swinging around and attacking the potatoes.

  “What kind of name is that?” She chuckled, making him think of dusky nights filled with her steamy, sensual purrs.

  He whacked one potato, then another.

  “Iain?”

  “What?” He chanced a look at her only to curse himself inside.

  She was so pretty.

  Her curls went everywhere, as if she’d just ran her hand through them and let them go. Let them go right to his blood. Her complexion glowed with that internal warmth of hers, making him think of sizzling fires sprinkling heat across naked skin. Her eyes were clear and bright, looking at him with the infernal friendliness he desperately needed and feared, too.

  She cocked her head. “What?”

  Her mouth formed the one word and jerked his attention to her lips. He hadn’t had time to nibble on her provocative upper lip or suck on the lower one. Lust had made him wild and rough, impatient to take instead of allowing himself to linger. “Shite.”

  Her blonde brows arched. “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking I need to concentrate on the food.” He tore his gaze from those female lips and glared at the potatoes. “You’re too distracting.”

  “Really?” her voice rose in surprise.

  How could the donas be surprised? Now that he thought about it, she must have men in every corner of the universe, waiting for her to descend in another visit. The thought zipped through him, leaving a heated, messy slice of jealousy seething behind. “Don’t play games,” he grumbled, mad at himself for thinking the thought and mad at her for bringing it on.

  Which wasn’t fair.

  He had never been fair to her.

  “I’m not playing—”

  The hurt in her voice made him groan.

  “Listen.” As a gift, he grudgingly glanced at her again. Confronted her pretty little face with the hurt written all over it. “I’m really trying here.”

  “Trying what?” She folded her arms in front of her, but at least she wasn’t trembling this time.

  “Trying to be your friend.” He kept his gaze on hers although it hurt something inside of him to do it.

  Shock ran across her face before she frowned. “Iain. You don’t have to try. You already are.”

  Those sky-blue eyes of his went wide and then dark.

  Lilly had learned through her travels to read people. The skill had started when she’d spent twelve months in a small Japanese town during her senior year of high school. Thinking the whole Rotary scholarship thing would be a lark, she’d found herself in a circle of people who rarely spoke English and seldom saw tall, blonde women strolling down a street.

  She’d been an oddity.

  She’d also been lost.

  Still, she’d found herself eventually. Found out how to ask questions using her hands and expressions. Found out how to apply herself and learn a new skill. Found out how to survive and flourish wherever she landed. By the time she actually spoke fluent Japanese and read it, too, she’d developed another far more important ability.

  How to read people.

  Which was why it was so frustrating to be standing in front of this man—a man who’d become vitally important to her in such a short amount of time—and not have a clue what he was thinking.

  “What are you thinking now?”

  “I’m thinking…” Clear confusion swirled in his eyes and his mouth pursed again in that way of his. Before she could zero in further, he scooped the chopped potatoes off the cutting board and twirled around to face the stove.

  Maybe she shouldn’t be so hard on herself. Perhaps she couldn’t read him because he couldn’t even read himself. Figuring she’d leave all the confusion behind for now, she latched on to a change of subject. “Let me help with something.”

  He grumbled and muttered, but she effectively inserted herself into the dinner preparations. By the time they both sat down at the table, his eyes had lightened and his mouth was relaxed.

  “This is amazing.” She hummed after taking the first sip of her soup.

  “Have some warm bread with it.” Nudging the plate of rolls her way, he gave her a small smile. “They’re called baps.”

  “Baps.” She chuckled. “Cullen Skink. You Scots have an interesting way of naming your food.”

  He made a low rumble in his throat, yet his eyes stayed bright when she met them with her own. He’d mellowed, much to her relief. Now she could edge the conversation into some important topics. Topics that didn’t have anything to do with their relationship and everything to do with getting him into counseling. She just had to be a tad sneaky about it.

  “Tell me more about this place.” She waved her hand.

  “I told ye before.” Ripping the bread apart, he spread a stroke of warm butter on the slice. “When I was a kid, this tower is where I played.”

  “So when you came back,” she nudged him along, “you decided to live here because it was comfortable and familiar.”

  He snorted and his beautiful eyes started to dance. “Hardly comfortable.”

  The dance of the blue in his gaze—one moment sky, the next moment sea—made Lilly dizzy. “What do you mean?” she managed to croak through the daze.

  “The tower was my da’s dumping ground.” Stuffing the bread into his mouth, he chewed.

  “Dumping ground for what?”

  He swallowed and the bob of his Adam’s apple in the white perfection of his neck drew her attention. “Your so-called treasures. The ones ye want to steal away to America with.”

  “My stepfather wouldn’t steal.” Tearing her gaze from his beauty—when the heck had she thought a man’s neck was beautiful ever before?—she pretended to be offended. “He’d pay good money for any of those pieces.”

  “I don’t need money.” His spoon clattered in his empty bowl. “I’ve got all the money I’ll ever need.”

  There was something in his voice, something that made her want to weep for him, but she couldn’t nail down what it was.

  He frustrated her in so many ways.

  His big body and brawny muscles made her body weak with frustration.

  His stubborn denial of help made her brain muddled with distress.

  And his past, the past he let go in such small increments she wanted to scream, made her more mystified every time he dropped a story in front of her. Iain McPherson was one big jigsaw puzzle and she still didn’t have all the pieces to put him back together again.

  “You’ve gone quiet, donas.” His voice went thick with sudden distrust. “Counting that money of mine?”

  She whipped her head up to stare at him. “What exactly do you mean by that?”

  Easing back in his chair, he sliced a nasty glance her way. “When a man talks about his money, women tend to be interested. Especially if he has a lot of it. Which I do.”

  “We’ve covered this before, haven’t we? The dungeon and the supposed gold.”

  “I might not have a dungeon filled with gold,” he said, his words heavy with scorn. “But I have enough gold in other places to draw any woman’s attention.”

  “Is that so.” She dropped her spoon in the cooling soup, no longer hungry. “I suppose that convoluted brain of yours has decided this is why I showed up at your doo
rstep.”

  “Something a man needs to think about.”

  Her placid temper burbled to life. A hot, heated surge. “And that’s why I cleaned this place and washed all your clothes, too.”

  “To ingratiate yourself.” He eyed her with a wicked look before raising his arms above his head in a long, lazy stretch. As if he couldn’t be bothered to care if she were a money-hungry parasite.

  In a flash, her temper went cool.

  More armor. More camouflage.

  A diversion.

  Why? What had been said here that made him run for cover and decide to rile her so she wouldn’t see this for what it was? What could he be hiding behind his slur and his body?

  Her frustration and hurt bubbled over.

  More than this man could play a game, her frustration argued. More than one person here could mess with the other person’s head, her hurt growled.

  Leaning across the table, she shot him a siren smile. One she’d learned when she’d spent a giggling, fun-filled night with a bunch of Greek college students in a small town on the island of Ios. “And just think, Iain McPherson. I kissed you, too. Several times.”

  A flare of surprise lit his eyes and he dropped his hands in his lap. “Aye, ye did, didn’t ye?”

  “All to lure you in,” she husked, letting her voice go deep. “All to get that fabulous money and treasure you have.”

  He stood with a jerk and before she stopped herself, her gaze went straight to his groin. He was hard and big. A flush of heated desire rushed through her and she realized what she’d been doing. Playing. Playing with a fire she couldn’t control, and he couldn’t, either.

  “Donas.” His voice was hoarse with need. “Come here.”

  “No, no, no.” Fisting her hands in her lap, she pulled her gaze to his face. “Do you really believe I would do such a thing, Iain?”

  He stared at her, his mouth slanted in that sultry way of his. Yet his eyes weren’t at half-mast. His sky-blue eyes were wide open and fixed on her face.

  The silence grew between them.

  “No,” he finally said. “No, Lilly. I know ye are my friend.”

  She let out her breath in a sigh of relief.

  “I also know, I want ye to be my lover, too.”

  Iain wanted to move to her, take her in his arms and suck her luscious lips into his mouth. But he was afraid again. Afraid of what she’d do if he did. Afraid of what he’d feel if she kissed him back and, even worse, if she rejected him once more.

  Lovely Lilly stared at him for a second, and in that one second, his heart leapt into his throat.

  Then she closed her eyes in a tight squeeze.

  His heart sank into his toes. “Lil—”

  “We can’t.”

  “Why not?” His cry came from his lust, certainly. Yet also from the small part of his heart she’d stolen before he even realized she was that close. “Why can’t we have both?”

  “Because you need me to help you get better.” She looked as frustrated as he did, but her gaze was determined. “You don’t need me to jump you.”

  “Get better.” The words blew him apart inside. Blew his mind into scattered remains. Blew his wretched, aching heart to pieces. Blew his hope into dust. “What do ye mean by that?”

  He knew, though.

  Now that he was out of the fog of alcohol, now that the donas had pulled him kicking and screaming from that damn fog, he’d realized he had some problems.

  Problems like nightmares.

  Problems like anger.

  Problems like guilt.

  He fisted his hands and glared at her because she was forcing him to confront this when he wasn’t ready. Would never be ready.

  Would he?

  “I can tell by the look on your face you know exactly what I mean.” Standing, she came to him and took one of his hands. “We’ll just take it slow.”

  “Take it slow.” He mimicked her flat drawl, trying to pretend he had everything under control inside, when he didn’t.

  The realization soaked into his gut like a slide of ugly scum he was all too familiar with.

  Because Iain McPherson was once known for always having things under control. McPherson knew where every man was in the unit. McPherson could be trusted to keep an eye on enemy movements and know when to act. McPherson had saved the day over and over again.

  Until one day, he hadn’t.

  He didn’t know why it hurt so badly that Lilly knew he was a mess inside. He’d grasped that miserable fact the minute he’d come out of his coma in the London hospital to confront his actions and the results. He’d lived with it during his recovery. He’d brought back that knowledge when he’d come home to Somairie.

  And he’d hid from it ever since with his whiskey.

  “Hey.” She stepped right in front of him, her gaze clear and straight. “We’ll do this together.”

  “We’ll do this together.” He mocked her again. He didn’t know what else to do or say.

  Goddammit, he was a mess.

  Before he could march far away from her and his reality, she slipped her strong arms around him and hugged. The warmth of her body against his should have made him horny as hell. Her curls brushed his chin and the softness of her hair should have made him hard as a rock. Her lemony, spicy scent tickled his nose and it should have made him want to lick her glossy skin and bite her plump lips.

  But this time, Lilly and her enchantments did none of these things. This time, she came to him with her heart and her understanding. This time, she gave him what he needed at this moment.

  A friend.

  He shuddered, trying to stop the knot of tears threatening to lodge in his throat.

  Her hand swept across his back, a gentle touch of comfort. Nestling closer, she turned her head so it tucked neatly into the crease of his neck and shoulder.

  “Jesus,” he croaked. “What are ye doing to me?”

  “Caring for you,” she murmured into the cotton of his T-shirt. “Being here for you.”

  His hands felt like blocks of wood and his fingers tingled with nerves. Yet for some reason, he had to let his painful fists release, let his palms slip over her warmth and anchor in a clasp at the center of her back. “Donas,” he whispered.

  She hummed at him, the sound wrapping around him in a swirl of relief. The hum went through his skin, into his muscles and blood, soaked into his bones. The hum circled his heart and entered it, filling the hole inside with solid support.

  Iain shivered, trying to stuff it all away, push it all down, shove it behind him.

  The clog of his tears rose in his throat.

  “Let it go,” she crooned into him. “I’m right here for you.”

  “I’m fine.” He tried one more time to keep himself in, to keep everything hidden from her and from himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Snorting, she snuggled closer, a burr in his hide, a little fairy girl who, this time, couldn’t be chased away by his pain.

  The tears surged past his pride, right to his eyes. He closed them tightly, desperately.

  One of her arms let him go, and for a moment, he thought he’d won. He didn’t know what. Still, he’d won the battle or the war or the fight. But for what? He didn’t know.

  Then her curious fingers brushed his rough jaw and he knew he hadn’t won anything at all.

  “Don’t,” he choked.

  She ignored him as she often did and kept coming. Her fingers traced across his cheeks to his wet lashes. The hum came again, softer and sweeter, as if she wanted to take his pain and roll it far away. “Iain, it’s okay.”

  Those fingers of hers brushed his tears from his face, letting fresh ones replace them. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to find something to distract him, yet all he had was her. In his arms, encircling him with her scent and sound and sweet succor.

  He couldn’t stop it.

  Not anymore.

  His sob echoed in the room, a muted call of pain and parting. />
  “That’s it.” Her drawl followed him, the flatness of her accent somehow calming him even as he let another sob come out.

  They stood in his sanctuary, the stone walls of his ancestors protecting them, the silence broken only by his release and her acceptance. They stood together, so close he thought of them as one, felt as if he’d never break from her and them. They stood until he went dry. The tears and sobs stopped, his breathing slowed, and he felt drained of everything but her.

  Only Lilly.

  Chapter 19

  Iain rolled up on the balls of his feet, his gaze latched onto the rolling waves of his sea. The castle window stood open, letting in the fresh salty air and the call of the seagulls circling above in the bright, sunny sky.

  He went back on his heels, then repeated the motion.

  “You’re driving me crazy.” Her drawl wrapped around him like a warm blanket. So familiar in such a short time. So right for him in some unfathomable way. “If you want to go outside, let’s go.”

  “I told ye no.” Last night, after collapsing in an embarrassing heap in her arms, he’d been tired to the last inch of his body. Lilly had taken him by his trembling hand and led him into the bedroom. Before he’d been able to marshal a gentlemanly objection and shuffle to the sofa, she’d pulled off his T-shirt and jeans, tucking him under the covers like a wee lad.

  Not once had he found the energy to send her a sexy look or say a sultry word. Even as she unclothed him, and even as her scent filled his nostrils as he lay his head on the pillow.

  He’d been asleep in seconds.

  No nightmares. No pain.

  Only sleep.

  “You tell me a lot of things and don’t mean half of them.” She sidled to his side, her bright curls twirling in the soft wind. “We can’t stay holed up here all day.”

  “Sure we can.”

  He’d awakened to her cooking for a second time. The same breakfast she’d cooked the first day she’d been here. A day that seemed a century ago. Lovely Lilly felt like a permanent part of his life. Lodged in the center of it like a fairy girl burr. His heart shuddered at the knowledge, but it had been dead for so long and he wanted it alive now.