Lord of the Isles: International Billionaires VIII: The Scots

by Caro LaFever

  Drifting in a sea of passion.

  Forgetting everything except him.

  Ignoring what he needed more than her.

  Iain McPherson shouldn’t hide anymore. Although she loved the fact he’d chosen to hide with her, he was not coming to grips with his life and finding his purpose.

  She was his lover, but she was also still his friend.

  “You’ve been talking to your da, eh?”

  “He said he’d cook for us tonight.”

  His brawny shoulders shivered in mock dread, making her chuckle. She’d got more and more encouraged every day. He laughed more. His eyes gleamed with health. She caught him staring out at the window a time or two and when she’d asked, he said he was thinking.

  Thinking was good.

  Laughing was good.

  She merely needed to give him a bit of a push. The next step, so to speak. “I’m going to call dad and tell him we’ll be there at six, okay?”

  “Okay.” The word came smooth and calm and Lilly jumped from his leather chair in excitement. Ringing her delighted father and letting him know, she bustled into the bedroom, intent on dressing in more than jeans and a T-shirt for once.

  “Are ye going to do some girly things?” Her lover came around the arch and leaned on the stone wall. “Can I watch?”

  She glanced at him and decided to confess something she’d come to accept years ago. Yet she never could seem to squelch her mom’s lectures about being a lady. “I’m not much into girly stuff. Though I did like the girly stuff you bought me.”

  “I know. Ye liked the soaps and lotions, but you’re not much into fancy dresses and lipsticks.” Sauntering over to where she stood, he eyed her meager clothes selection spread on the bed. “That’s one of the things I like about ye.”

  “Really?” She cocked her head, a bit stunned. Most men liked when women got dressed up and made up.

  “Aye. Really.” He swept a red sweater into his hands. “Wear this with some jeans. You’ll be fine for me.”

  “Sometimes, I think I should be more than fine.”

  “Do ye then.” He eyed her. “Why?”

  “My mom.” She’d cut the thread of spoken demands and unspoken expectations years ago. But running through her were always the remnants of guilt for not being what was wanted. “She thinks I should be a lady.”

  “A lady?” He threw his head back and guffawed.

  That hurt. She slapped his bicep and tried to pretend his reaction didn’t sting. “Shut up.”

  “Ah, now.” Before she stomped off to the bathroom, he roped her into his arms. “See here, lass.”

  “I need to get ready.” She stood in his grasp, tight and withdrawn, and still hurt.

  “Not right at the moment.” His finger came again and pushed her chin so he met her gaze. “I’m thinking I need to make something clear.”

  “Go right ahead.” She narrowed her eyes, daring him to do more damage.

  “You’re not a lady.” His finger edged along the line of her jaw. “You’re far more than that.”

  “Far more?” Confusion brushed aside her irritation.

  “Haven’t I been telling ye that all the time when I call ye donas?” His accent blurred the sudden impatience in his voice. “Don’t ye understand?”

  “I guess not.” The tension in her body eased because she saw the clear affection and respect in his gaze. “Tell me.”

  “Tell me,” he sing-songed. “Talk to me.”

  “Iain.”

  “Iain, she says.”

  His teasing coaxed a reluctant humph from her.

  He settled her into his arms before continuing. “A donas is wild.”

  “Wild.” Puffing out a breath, she gave him a wary smile. “I don’t know if that’s good.”

  “It’s very good.” One of his hands swept down to grab her butt and squeeze. “A donas is also powerful.”

  “I like the sound of that.”

  “As ye should.” He leaned in, his gaze direct and certain. “And more than anything, Lil…”

  “Yes?”

  “More than anything, a donas is a force.”

  She crinkled her brow. “A force?”

  “A force to be reckoned with.” His gaze flickered to her mouth. “A force that takes a man for her own and makes him whole.”

  “Whole.” A shock of thrilled fear ran through her. Thrill at his clear intentions, fear at his belief in her. Could she do that for him? Just her, all by herself? She’d come here to help him and she had. Still, she’d always assumed she’d eventually steer him toward professional counseling. She wasn’t sure, and she didn’t want to risk Iain’s future happiness on her supposed prowess as a newly-minted donas. “I don’t know if I can—”

  “Och.” He stroked her curls and tugged her into his chest, muffling her last words. “Ye can. Believe me.”

  “Mffimgg.”

  “I love when ye talk to me this way.” He chuckled, butting against her cheeks and mouth, filling her nostrils with his clean scent. “But I’m thinking ye should probably get dressed so I can eat some of your da’s good cooking.”

  He eased his grip, and she popped her head up to meet his amused gaze.

  “I don’t know—”

  “Oops.” He pushed her back into his chest. “I’m thinking we might need to change the subject now and contemplate the wonders of the dinner that’s awaiting us at your da’s cottage.”

  She couldn’t help herself. She laughed, a muffled sound against him. Her dad’s idea of a good meal would be slices of meat and cheese with some day-old bread. Thankfully, he knew himself well enough to partake of Mrs. Butler’s generosity. She had no doubt her dad was making a pilgrimage to the village store as they spoke.

  His hand smoothed over her curls, a loving touch. “I’m wondering if we’re going to have coq au vin.”

  Another of her chuckles escaped.

  “Or perhaps my favorite, haggis.”

  At the thought of him sitting down with her dad to eat a pudding composed of the liver, heart and lungs of a sheep, Lilly pushed away from him and rolled with laughter.

  He grinned at her.

  And there he was. The real Iain McPherson. The lad who’d shown her his secret stairs and given her this exact same grin. The man who should smile like this every day of his life, and would, if she had anything to say about it.

  Perhaps she should let him believe she had all this power because if he did believe, it might make him listen to her as she pushed him into the world. Maybe she should trust fate and trust her ability to land on her feet and make sure he landed on his own.

  “Are ye going to put on that red jumper?” he asked. “Because I’m hungry.”

  His gaze told her he wasn’t hungry for only food.

  He was hungry for her.

  Lusting for her was great. She handled that just fine. Yet, believing in her ability to be there for him was trickier. She hadn’t been there for anyone in a long time. On purpose.

  But for Iain, she wanted to be there.

  She very much wanted to be the person he could rely on.

  He hadn’t ever been to Edward Graham’s cottage, but he knew the place as if he’d been there a thousand times. The stone had been quarried from the island granite over a hundred years ago, he’d bet. The dark thatched roof covered the traditional two-up, two-down layout. Though the windows sported freshly painted frames and the door was a stout new oak, the place exuded the history of his land and his people.

  He felt uncomfortably at home here. As if his skin had been torn from him and now was layering back onto his blood and bones.

  “Welcome.” Lilly’s father beamed when he opened the front door. “Come in, come in.”

  Iain spotted the hero worship in the man’s eyes immediately.

  Shite.

  He’d thought maybe this man, of all the villagers, would be aware of what Iain really was. He’d thought maybe Lilly had let her da know how wretched and broken the McPherson had become.<
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  Apparently, she hadn’t.

  “Hi, Dad.” She bounced into the house and gave her father a kiss on both cheeks, all smiles, all happiness. “Thanks for having us.”

  As if this were a normal meeting. As if he’d come knocking at this man’s door throughout the last decade, ready to take the lass out for a drive or a spot of tea. As if he were a regular man, worthy of courting the daughter of the house.

  He wasn’t. Not yet.

  He had a lot of work to do.

  “Come in, Iain,” the older man said with a genial smile. “You’re welcome here.”

  The man should be looking him over with a distrustful eye before even opening the door. He should grab his daughter and lock her in a closet, far from the ravening beast who lusted for her day and night. If Edward Graham had a spark of knowledge about the true reality of Iain’s mental state, he’d have told his Lilly to stay away from the castle and the madman who inhabited it.

  Her father waved him in.

  He grabbed onto his marred courage and stepped out of the misty rain falling across his land. Into this quagmire of expectations, his donas by his side. Because at some point, if he wanted to keep her, he was going to have to win this man over showing his true colors, not by hiding behind the heroic stars in the man’s eyes.

  “Dad.” Lilly patted her father’s arm exactly like she used to pat his own. Like a doggy. Perhaps he’d been a bit more upset by that action than he should have been. Maybe she did that to every man she knew.

  He didn’t want to be just any man to her.

  “Tell me what we’re having for dinner.” She cocked her head, her blonde curls fluttering around her face, making him want to touch and twirl her around his finger.

  Her da wiggled his grey brows. “Oh, this and that.”

  “Dad.”

  “Let’s take a seat before ye start quizzing me about the food.” He waved them in and Iain found himself sitting by lovely Lilly on a brown-and-blue-checked sofa. The older man eased himself into a leather chair that looked much like his own would in about a decade or two.

  He’d never courted a girl from any of his family’s islands. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been interested. But his title made him supremely self-conscious in every social situation.

  That’s the Lord’s son, Coira.

  He’ll be a lord someday too, ye know, Moire.

  The family has pots and pots of money, Leslie.

  Adding this to his innate shyness had made him a bumbling fool of a boy who’d been relieved, in some ways, to take off for Marine training at the age of seventeen.

  The donas snuggled into his side, not perturbed her father sat right across from them.

  He struggled to keep a flush from his face, feeling like he’d jumped back in time to being that bumbling boy once again.

  “Did you go into Fingal, dad?”

  “I did.” Edward Graham smiled. “Mrs. Butler had some nice scallops fresh from the sea Angus Hume brought in only today.”

  The man flashed a look at him, discomfort crossing his face.

  The fishing licenses.

  Iain’s hands fisted in his lap. Guilt swam around in his gut, along with the ugly plan he’d hatched as the whiskey went down his throat and his soul descended deeper and deeper into his hell.

  She coughed beside him, bringing her da’s attention back to her. “Don’t tell me that’s all we’re having.”

  “Naw, naw.” Her father chuckled, completely diverted from him and his wretched treatment of his kingdom.

  The sailors. The merchants. The villagers.

  His people.

  “Mrs. Butler gave me some Ayrshire tatties and there’s mushrooms and snap peas I’ll cook with the scallops.” Mr. Graham smiled at him. As if letting him know he didn’t mind that he was scheming to close Mrs. Butler’s shop down and that it was only by the grace of God old man Hume still roamed the seas.

  But that was going to change. He’d been thinking when he wasn’t being entertained by a lush tush and a sassy mouth. He’d loved every minute with Lilly, but there’d still been times at night where he’d stared at the stone ceiling and put together his thoughts. There’d been moments of time to think things through as they paddled across to his island. He’d had a few minutes every day to log on to his computer and do some research.

  Things were going to change.

  His plans might not work, yet he was going to start implementing them.

  He had to try if he had any chance of keeping her.

  “Iain cooks.” Lilly plunked the words right into the middle of the compact room. The words bounced off the wood-paneled walls, rolled across the simple oak side table, landed in front of him like a piece of…

  Shite.

  The flush threatened once more.

  He didn’t know why. He cooked. So what? But if Malcolm McPherson stood by the cold stone fireplace, he’d sniff and mutter about it being a woman’s work and what was his boy thinking.

  “Does he now?” The older man’s eyes didn’t light with disbelief. They lit with delight. “Then aren’t we the lucky ones. I’d be more than happy to hand over the duties if ye wouldn’t mind, my boy.”

  My boy.

  He’d always been his da’s boy. Like he kept pounding into his thick head, though, his da wasn’t here anymore. Iain stared across the woven carpet rug, the blue and green wool proclaiming the family’s allegiance to the clan McPherson, and saw in the older man’s expression complete and utter acceptance.

  For who he was.

  Now.

  Something settled inside. The flush subsided and he took in a quiet breath. “I’d be happy to cook the scallops.”

  She clapped her hands beside him. “Yeah! We’ll actually have a nice meal.”

  Her da laughed.

  She laughed.

  And so did Iain.

  This was going well. Very well.

  Lilly swept her gaze from her dad, to Iain, and then back again. Both men had crowded into the small kitchen to cook dinner in a kind of weird male bonding ritual. She’d been relegated to setting the table and drinking a small glass of wine.

  Across from her at the table, her lover sipped on the glass of water he’d requested. He hadn’t flinched or looked longingly at the wine.

  Another win.

  Her father stuck a garlic-and-butter-laden scallop into his mouth and hummed.

  Yep. Things were going great.

  She dived into her own meal, the baked potato warm and comforting, the snap peas and mushrooms cooked perfectly. The boom of a thunderstorm rattled the window panes. Still, they were snug in the cozy cottage, and she wouldn’t think about the walk back to the castle just yet. Knowing Scotland’s weather, they’d likely have a clear sky later on. Instead, she let her vivid imagination go. She thought about doing this once a week. Her and Iain coming down from the castle to eat with her dad. How happy her dad would be.

  How happy she would be.

  The realization stunned her, even though she’d accepted the reality of her love. Loving Iain—his intelligence, his wit, his body—she’d fallen into that without a thought or a protest. But loving the McPherson meant loving his islands and his people. Loving him enough to let go of her freedom to roam the world and settle in to help him make his kingdom a good one.

  Glancing up from her food, she found his gaze on her, keen and pointed. His mouth edged into a wry smile as if he knew what swirled around in her brain and wasn’t sure she’d go for it.

  She wasn’t sure, either.

  Her life was good. She loved photography and seeing new places and meeting new people. She was excited about the opportunity with her new agent. The call had come through to her voicemail only a few days ago. The offer was waiting for her in New York.

  Except Iain wouldn’t love New York City. He wouldn’t want to travel the world with her, carrying her cameras and paraphernalia. He was innately shy and wouldn’t want to meet a thousand new people a year like she did.

 
His place was here on Somairie. If she wanted him, she’d have to choose this island and this life.

  This was so sudden, so startling.

  Was her love for him enough?

  Her dad eased back in his chair and patted his stomach. “That was a fine meal, Iain.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Lilly smothered a smile, letting her growing anxiety go for now.

  He was adorable.

  She loved how every once in a while the soldier in him appeared. The thorough planning for their adventures. The way he sometimes stood, straight and strong as he looked out on his sea. The respectful tone in his voice all through this evening, even though her dad kept trying to get him to call him Edward. “You did help him, Dad.”

  “Naw. Not much. I only supervised.”

  They all chuckled. She scooped the last of her scallops into her mouth.

  Yeah. This was going great.

  “So, Iain.” Her dad crossed his arms. “Tell me your plans.”

  Maybe not so great. She straightened in her chair, shooting a look across the table. “Dad.”

  “Just asking.” He brushed a casual hand across his chin, yet his gaze was intense.

  Since she’d never brought a boy or a man here to meet her dad, she’d never seen this look in his eyes. This look that said a father was quizzing and questioning to make sure this man was good enough for his girl.

  For goodness’ sakes. How crazy.

  Not so crazy, honestly. Not with the thoughts crowding around in her brain about her future. With or without the McPherson. Her dad wasn’t stupid. He knew his daughter.

  She threw a worried glance at the love of her life.

  Iain calmly sipped his water before setting the glass on the oak table. “I’ve been thinking.”

  “Good. That’s good.” Her dad hummed once more.

  He had? He’d said something about a Donal and his plans, but that had been days ago. Days where she’d tried to poke him about various sorts of paths into the future and he’d been stubbornly unwilling to go there.