He understood why she was angry. “Give me a minute to explain.” What could he say? He’d been a coward to leave as he had? That while he was gone his plan had backfired and he still hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind? He definitely couldn’t say he wanted to peel her out of that robe and make love to her.
She glared at him. “You left without saying a word.” Her voice cracked.
He reached out to touch her, but she backed away.
She shook her finger at him as if Deydie had given her lessons in how it was done. “You’ve told everyone in the country that we’re such great friends, yet I was left looking stupid when you snuck off in the middle of the night.”
“Nay. I worked on the shelves through the night and left early in the morn.”
She glared at him harder. “You know what I mean.”
He didn’t like that he’d upset her. A flush had crept up her neck into her face.
And he got it. He hadn’t just upset her; he’d hurt her. Didn’t he promise that he would never do that? “Come here.” He pulled her into his arms quickly and spoke before she could pull away from him. “I’m sorry, lass. I didn’t think it through.”
“No. You didn’t.” She stood as rigid as a plank on the deck of the Betsy Lane.
He rubbed her back, hoping to soothe, but really hoping she would forgive him. “Ye want the truth?”
She nodded into his chest.
“I respect you too much to use ye.”
She pulled back and nailed him with a sneer. “Yet you didn’t respect me enough to say good-bye.”
She wasn’t listening. Or he wasn’t being clear. “Do I really have to spell it out for you, lass?”
She stood there, waiting, staring him down.
He stepped away, laying a hand on the banister, not meeting her gaze. “I came here just now to tell ye that we can’t see each other again. I can’t be near you.” There. He’d gotten it out.
But still she said nothing.
“Don’t ye get it? I’m a strong man, Sadie.” He tilted his head back and gazed up at the simple chandelier in the foyer of the quilting dorm. “But I’m not strong enough to be around you and not want to take ye to bed.”
Chapter Fourteen
Sadie breathed in sharply. Had she heard him right? He wanted to take her to bed? Her? Plain Sadie?
Ross faced her, and she found herself staring into his eyes. Kind eyes. Genuine. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have been so blunt.”
She grabbed his shirtfront and pulled him down. Before she kissed him, she sent a message with her eyes . . . I may be plain but I’m not meek, and I want you, too. When she was pretty sure he got the message, she went for the gold . . . she kissed him long and hard.
At first, he seemed shocked, but then he kissed her back, hungrily. After a moment, he grabbed her arms and set her away, panting.
“No! I’m not going to use you. I told you that I care too much about ye to do that.”
Yeah, yeah, I get it—we’re just friends.
But so much had been taken away from her. But she could have this one thing, couldn’t she? She mustered up every brave cell in her body and said what was on her mind. “Well, I’m not quite as noble as you. I plan to get a proper good-bye this time. And if in the process, I happen to use you, then you’ll just have to deal with it.”
She held her breath, waiting. She’d never said anything so bold in her whole life.
It took a couple of seconds for him to react. Maybe he was warring with himself. Or maybe her being so direct and straightforward was hard on his system. Finally, he growled and wrapped her in his arms. She grabbed him by the shirt, kissing him back. She was so desperate for him that she would’ve done anything to be with him.
He scooped her up and carried her to the sofa in the living room. When he set her down, he knelt beside her. “What’s that?” he said, gesturing toward the blazing hearth. “A fire? At this time of year?”
“I was cold,” she said. “And I wasn’t waiting around for some man to keep me warm.”
He laughed. “Ye’re full of yereself right now. Bringing this big man to his knees has ye feeling pretty cheeky, doesn’t it?”
He stopped laughing and stared into her face, as sober as the fire was warm. He touched a finger to the birthmark above her mouth, and traced it. “I’m quite fond of this heart of yeres.”
He closed his eyes and leaned in, kissing her birthmark tenderly. It was intimate. Exquisite.
“Take me to the bedroom,” she murmured. “Anyone could walk in. Like Deydie. Or my brother.”
He pulled back, giving her a slow smile. “Good point.”
He stood and helped her to her feet. But he didn’t take her to the bedroom. Instead he pulled her to him, kissing her again. At this rate, they’d never make it down the hall. To move things along, she ran her hands under his shirt, up and over his chest. He ducked his head and she pulled off his shirt, dropping it to the floor. For a second, she soaked him in, but she couldn’t do that for long without touching him. She ran her hand down his chest and abdomen as if she was counting the muscles. But it only made her antsy and she was done messing around. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hopped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist, the whole time kissing the heck out of him. That got him moving to the bedroom.
Once inside, he flipped on the light switch and closed the door.
“Lock it.” She unwrapped her legs and slid down.
He did as she asked and came back to her. “I want to see you.”
She gave a half smile. “Are you sure? There’s not much to see.”
“Oh, luv, I bet there is.” He reached out and with two fingers carefully lifted the tie of her robe. “May I?”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
As if he was dragging out the anticipation of opening a present, he slowly untied the bow.
He was killing her, but she remained still.
“Can’t you hurry up?” she teased.
“Don’t spoil this for me, lass. I’ve wanted to peek under yere clothing from nearly the first moment I met ye.”
“Ha, ha. Very funny,” she said.
He pulled away, cocking an eyebrow.
“Why’d you stop?” Her disappointment was real.
“Because I don’t like ye putting yereself down.”
“I’m not. I’m just reporting how it is. I own a mirror.”
“Then ye’re not seeing what I see.” He took another step away from her.
She took a step forward. “That’s it? You’re going to hold out on me?”
“Aye.”
“That’s not very friendly.” And from the big lug who loved to tell everyone that they were great friends.
But he was a man, after all, and men like seeing women naked. She would just have to oblige.
Sighing heavily, she toyed with her belt that he’d been undoing a moment ago. “I feel bad for you.” She undid it and let her robe part. Granted, there wasn’t a lot there to look at. She had on a spaghetti-strapped cotton nightgown that came to just above her knees.
But the poor guy was looking at her, as if she was built like Jennifer Lopez.
She pushed the robe from her shoulders, taking one of the straps down with it. “Well, I guess you’d better leave then. I’m going to bed.” The robe slid to the floor.
Ross watched silently.
Hmm, now came the tricky part. Did she really have the gumption to strip completely naked with him looking on? She pulled back the covers, trying to decide if she did.
Ross moved closer, standing right behind her. He ran his finger under the other spaghetti strap. “Just once, say ye’re beautiful out loud. That’s all I’m asking.” His voice rumbled deep, his burr rich with emotion. No, she thought. Not emotion . . . desire.
>
She tilted her head to the side, willing him to pull down the other strap, but Ross only drove her crazy with his finger stroking back and forth.
“I can’t,” she whispered.
“Ye will.” He leaned down and kissed the strap, then ran his tongue along her neck. “For me.”
People lied in the bedroom all the time, so maybe this once, she would lie, too. “I’m beautiful.”
The waiting was over. He spun her around and kissed her as if he’d ached his whole life to put his mouth on hers.
She moaned, glad things were moving quickly now. She undid the buttons of his jeans as he kissed her face, her eyes, her neck. In the process her other strap fell and with it went her nightgown. She was left with nothing but her panties.
“Aw, lass, ye are beautiful.” While gazing at her, Ross stepped out of his jeans, as natural and effortless as water.
She knew that her breasts were no bigger than lemons, and her underwear was nothing special either—plain, white Hanes. But he looked as if he might drop to the floor and worship at her feet.
Pointedly, she gazed at his boxers. “Is that for me?”
He didn’t even glance down. “Still feeling cocky, heh?”
“No.” She gestured to the obvious. “Looks like you’ve cornered the market, though.”
“Come here.” He reached out and tugged her, pulling her to his chest for a kiss.
But a sobering thought hit her. She tore her mouth from his. “Do you have any protection?” She had never even considered bringing condoms to Scotland. And she was pretty sure Oliver hadn’t packed any for her either.
Ross glanced at his jeans lying on the floor. “In my wallet.”
“Good.” She wondered how many he had at the ready.
He cupped her face. “Can I get back to kissing ye now?”
Only if you do it in such a way that I don’t fall desperately in love with you.
She kissed him, but upped the ante by cupping his backside and pressing herself into him.
He groaned. “Aw, lass, don’t ye want it to last?”
She did. Forever and ever. “It’s your fault that I’m impatient.” She rubbed intimately against him.
“Ye’re killing me,” he mumbled indistinctly, because he was nipping at the pulse in her neck.
“I can’t help myself.” He was her fantasy lover and she would take advantage of this moment, the opportunity of a lifetime. She was never going to see him again, after tomorrow.
Oh, God!
Tears sprang to her eyes . . . I’m never going to see him again!
Instead of becoming a blubbering mess, she kissed him harder. And Ross responded. He eased her back on the bed and returned her fervor. He kissed every inch, starting at the top and working his way down. When he got to her panties, he peeled them away slowly, gently scraping her skin with his nails, then laid kisses everywhere his hands had been. Before he even got around to removing his boxers, she was frazzled, writhing on the bed, pleading with him.
“Ross. Now. Please.”
He nipped at her hip bone. “Patience, lass.”
But she’d had enough of his blasted calm. Turnabout was fair play. Or was it all’s fair in love and sex? She didn’t know. She wanted to make him feel as desperate for her as she was for him. She scooted out from underneath him.
She pushed him onto his back and crawled on top, though he had to have a hundred pounds on her. “My turn.” Her voice had become a husky rasp. She started at the top and began kissing her way down, but didn’t get too far when she realized that suckling at his ear drove him absolutely mad.
One second she was in charge, and in the next, he was back on top.
He reached over the side of the bed for his jeans. He cursed as he fumbled with the wallet and then the package. She didn’t even know how he’d gotten his boxers off. He wasn’t even suited up for a second, or gave her a cursory brace yourself, before he drove into her.
It was pure bliss, the most thrilling sensation of her life. To make him that crazy for her—the power of it—and then for him to fill her, wholly, completely . . . she was breathless for him.
“Sorry,” he gasped. “I couldn’t . . . stop. I had. To have. You.” He drove into her again and again.
And she was with him. To the edge too quickly. She wanted it to last. She felt beautiful in his arms, absolutely beautiful. Sex, at this moment, was everything it was supposed to be. She was everything she was supposed to be! She spilled over into the abyss, crying out his name. Over and over.
And then it really was over. He rolled off, both of them panting hard.
She didn’t know what she expected next, but she certainly didn’t expect him to sit up, rake his hand through his hair, and reach for his boxers.
By the pull of his brow, he looked conflicted. She didn’t know what to do. Seconds ticked by, but that only seemed to frustrate him more.
He glared at the floor while pulling on his boxers. “Dammit, Sadie. I shouldn’t have done it. And didn’t I tell you this would happen? Now, what am I supposed to do? We made a right mess of it, and I’m sorry for it!”
She wanted to punch him. Sorry? She wasn’t sorry. She was spent, and at the same time, she wanted more. He sounded angry. At her? At himself? She didn’t know.
He turned on her. “I told you this wasn’t in the plan.” He looked into her eyes, and as he did, the anger slipped away and was replaced by self-loathing. “And bluidy hell, not only that, I should’ve been gentler.”
“No.” Her voice hitched. He should just be quiet. He’d been perfect. Too perfect. And now she was afraid she was going to cry.
* * *
Ross ran a hand through his hair, more confused than ever. What was wrong with him? He came here to the dorm intending to do one thing, but had done the opposite. Now wasn’t the time to be tangled up with some damned Yank who was leaving.
Now was his time to start living. For himself!
And gawd, if he was going to make love to her, he should’ve done it right, not been a horny bastard with zero self-control. He should’ve been a gentleman. But he’d taken her hard and fast. As if she didn’t matter. But she did. He was supposed to be her friend.
He had to apologize. She had to forgive him. “I’m—”
Sadie cut him off. “I don’t want to hear it.” Her voice was wobbly.
He had to know. “Did I hurt ye, lass?”
Her bark of laughter was derisive. “That was nothing, stud.”
She may have thought she sounded tough, but she was too genuine to pull it off. Sadie was the sweetest person he’d ever met, and now she was upset.
He looked at the door. “I screwed everything up.” They couldn’t be together.
Even though being together was so . . . right.
“I think you’d better go.”
Ross pulled on his jeans. He made it as far as the door, but couldn’t leave—again—without saying the right thing. He spun back around, ignoring her eyes. He had to. Her eyes held all the power.
“Good-bye, lass.” He couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
As he closed the bedroom door, he heard an erghh! from the other side, along with a pillow slamming against the frame.
* * *
Deydie knocked louder on the front door of the Armstrong cottage. Maggie had told her that Ross was home, but he wasn’t coming to the door. She turned the knob and went inside. She had to speak to him right away.
When yesterday’s storm blew in out of nowhere, canceling flights, keeping Oliver and Sadie here, Deydie knew it was a message from the Almighty—Keep the two of them in Gandiegow. At first, she hadn’t seen the lass’s worth, but she was starting to see it now. The town quilters were thrilled with her library, and surely the out-of-town quilters would be, too. And Sadie had done a hell of a job teaching the master qu
ilters. Kilts and Quilts could always use an extra teacher. And her talent for reading to others. Well . . .
“Ross,” Deydie hollered. “Where are ye?” Surely, he wasn’t still in bed. It was eight o’clock, late by fishing standards.
Deydie pounded on Ross’s bedroom door anyway. “Are ye here?”
He opened the door, shirtless, his hair a mess, and a mean scowl on his face. “I’m here.”
“Good. I heard ye were back. We need to talk. First, I need some tea.” She went to the sofa and sat.
He sighed heavily, following her. “What is it that ye want?”
“Less attitude. And tea,” Deydie said. “Earl Grey or oolong. Then ye and I are going to talk.”
When he didn’t move from his spot, Deydie got angry. “I don’t have all day. The wedding is almost here and there’s still a damned lot of work that has to get done.”
Ross went into the kitchen, put the kettle on, and then took the wing chair beside the sofa. “Tell me what’s on yere mind.”
These were desperate times, desperate times, indeed. “I need ye to keep Sadie in town.”
“What? She’s leaving today. And ye’re the one who told me to stay away from her.”
“It’s really Oliver. We need the lad here in Gandiegow.”
“Her brother told me to stay away from her, too.”
Deydie leaned forward. “I don’t care what he said; this is for his own good. And Gandiegow’s. He loves Kirsty, and he needs the right kind of push to marry her. The whole town needs him. If we’re to keep the Kilts and Quilts retreat top-notch, then he has to stay and do our computering.”
Ross looked away, muttering to himself.
“Speak up,” Deydie said. “Me ears aren’t what they used to be.”
“And Sadie? How do ye propose I make her stay? Handcuffs?”
“I don’t care. If handcuffs is what ye have to use, then I’ll look the other way. But I’d prefer that ye keep out of her bed.”
“Oh, good grief.” Ross’s cheeks turned red.
Deydie smacked the coffee table. “Ye have a way with the lass. We’ve all seen it.” And, well, it seemed as if the Almighty was on Ross’s side—He’d sent a storm to keep Sadie here long enough to see the lad again. That was a strong sign in Deydie’s book.
The Trouble with Scotland Page 22