Ten Days With the Highlander

by Hayson Manning

  They drove back in comfortable silence. He caught her sneaking glances at him, and she blushed when she caught his not-so-secret glances at her.

  The night was looking up.

  They stopped by the hotel to drop off Delilah and grab the eggs he’d saved for Ainsley.

  Georgia was fiddling with his radio when he came out. “Sofa, you’re going to have to let me loose on your musical collection.”

  He pulled out of the driveway and began the short drive to the pub. “I hear your take on music every morning. Today was Beyoncé singing about being a boy.”

  He could feel her blush in the darkened cab. “I’m sorry. I’m impossible to wake up. I’ll set it to maximum vibrate next time so I don’t bother you.”

  “Don’t.” He leaned across and squeezed her leg. “Then I wouldn’t get to teach you to use the coffee machine.”

  She chuckled then faced him, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Hey, when am I going to see your spotted dick?”

  He pulled into the car park behind the bar. “Sooner than you think.”

  He wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard her say Yes.

  Chapter Eleven

  Georgia hadn’t meant “You Don’t Own Me” to wake the dead the next morning. She didn’t know it was playing until a big, soft hand slid the phone from hers, then pressed every one of her fingers against the screen until the menu must have popped up, and the room was filled with blissful silence.

  She snuggled back into the warm quilt, and reluctantly opened an eye. An amused Callum stood over her, already dressed and with a grin on his face.

  Stop looking and smelling so delicious.

  “I like lager, but I don’t think it likes me.” She put a hand across her face.

  “Don’t move.”

  There was no way she could move. Her head overruled her body and demanded quiet from all corners. Only one part of her body, where most of the lager now was, refused her request and issued one of its own.

  She hissed at her bladder like a rabid dog. She got up, made it to the bathroom, took care of business, then jumped in fright. She ran a hand down her hair that, up until yesterday, had been mostly straight with some of the kink pushing through.

  Not today.

  The keratin blowout had left the building.

  Curls and waves bounced off her shoulders. She paid a small nation’s debt for the conditioner that would now slide off this mass in worthless hundred dollar bills instead of slipping between cuticles and smoothing.

  Nope, she hadn’t remembered to take off her makeup, either. She groaned to the mirror. Panda eyes, smeared lipstick, and lager breath. Wasn’t she the treat to make every man’s day.

  Ugh.

  She washed her face, cleaned her teeth, then froze.

  Not my T-shirt.

  Callum’s, by the spicy scent ingrained into the fabric.

  She did a quick feel underneath. Underwear was intact. Unsure what to think, she headed back into the room. He was waiting, holding two cups of coffee.

  “I officially love you,” she said, slipping back into bed and holding out her hand for the cup. She inhaled, her eyelids fluttered closed, and she took a long, rejuvenating sip. “Thank you for your T-shirt.”

  Callum perched on the edge of the bed and ran his hands along Hello Kitty. When had she arrived? Groaning, Georgia stretched her achy shoulders.

  What part of her didn’t ache?

  “Did you have fun last night?”

  Did she have fun last night? Wasn’t that the understatement of the year.

  “I did. That Lemon Sole with blushing tomatoes and pesto was fantastic.”

  Dark eyes twinkled. “You had yours and half of mine.”

  Oh, go butterball.

  “You were the life and soul of the pub last night. Telling everyone about us having three children.”

  She blinked. “What?”

  A smile teased Callum’s very kissable lips. “Yep. Robert Bruce, Loch Nessie, and Hello Kitty.”

  The coffee cup rattled when she went to put it down. “Oh my God, I didn’t.”

  “You did.”

  She tried to capture the wisps of memory teasing the corners of her mind. Chatting with the locals, a pint of delicious lager in her hand, talking to everyone, another pint… Playing darts terribly, eating from Callum’s plate, telling him he’d be an awesome dad flicked into life in her brain in a fuzzy Technicolor memory.

  Was that all she’d done?

  “Um.” She looked down at the soft T-shirt with a Scottish thistle printed on it.

  “I carried you home. Got you upstairs, but I couldn’t very well put you to bed clothed. I couldn’t find Spock or the Romulan so…” He let the words trail off, but his eyes trailed down her body. The quilt had dropped to her hips.

  Did I attempt to jump him? Was I at least wearing decent underwear? Was it matching?

  Well, she could answer that one. Probably not, unless it was by sheer luck. She pulled underwear out at random. If it matched it was down to statistics.

  “Ah, Spock,” he said, walking to the fireplace and picking up a rolled-up T-shirt. He smoothed it out, folded it, and put it on the bureau of drawers, which was empty. Her clothes were either scattered around the room or still in the two suitcases that constituted her life. He walked back and sat dizzyingly close to her, his unique Callum scent washing over her and leaving Georgia lightheaded.

  “Why do you always smell good?” she blurted out, and was rewarded with a smile that roped around her heart and squeezed.

  “I could ask you the same question.”

  “Then I think you should see an ear, nose, and throat specialist because I do not smell like roses.”

  “No, you always smell like honey, coconut, and sunshine.”

  Something weird worked in her throat, making it tight.

  He lifted one of her now-frizzy curls. “This suits you.” His fingers sifted through her unruly hair. Something shifted behind his eyes.

  “You also need to see an optometrist. This is the Medusa look. I should warn you, I can turn people to stone.” She made the sign of the cross. “Stand back and don’t look.”

  He shook his head. “You’re very hard on yourself.”

  She wasn’t hard on herself, but him being here after last night, all warm looking and smelling like him, was freaking her out, and Georgia Paxton did not freak out. She would be the face of calm when the office was in crisis. She’d bring donuts, coffee, and talk in a calm and relaxed manner and her boss would hug her after the crisis had died down.

  Bubbles of emotion never expanded in her throat like they did now. Tears didn’t rattle around in her chest. Some weird feeling like belonging didn’t take up residence in her heart and start laying out a welcome mat and planting flowers.

  He studied her. “Are you okay?”

  No, I am having a huge internal freak out.

  “Today is admin and staff meeting day at the pub, but I’ll be back tonight.” A sneaky smile was on his face.

  “Do you ever take time off?” She pulled at the quilt.

  He shrugged. “I don’t think of hanging with friends and neighbors as work.”

  No point ruining the morning by calling him out on his work ethics. She pulled at the quilt some more, a thought drifting into her mind.

  “Wait.” She calculated the days and bounced up higher in the bed. “Today’s Friday. I get to see your spotted dick.”

  “Aye.”

  In her excitement, she’d moved too fast, and her head reminded her in a beating ache that water, and lots of it, was required.

  Concern rippled across his face. “I’ll be back in a few.”

  If she could move, she’d be up and showered, not sitting here in his soft T-shirt, rocking the Medusa look, trying to figure out what was wrong with her. She wasn’t hormonal—a box of pills taken religiously answered that question.

  Hello Kitty stood, arched her spine, then settled against her. Rain fell in heavy sheets down the win
dow. Georgia reached for her phone and stared at the empty inbox, and ignored the missiles in the outbox waiting to be launched around the world.

  Callum walked back in, carrying heaven on a plate. He’d cut the toast into triangles, and smothered it in butter and her favorite strawberry jam.

  She loved her toast cut into triangles. Her mom had done it when she was sick.

  She swallowed rapidly. “Thank you.”

  He walked to the fireplace and started building a fire. She really shouldn’t be checking out how his butt filled his jeans or the movement of his thighs. The waistband on his underwear she longed to drag her fingers underneath. Would his skin be as soft as she’d imagined? And boy had she imagined.

  “What’s with the eBay auction you were talking about last night? A Jurassic Park helicopter token?”

  He looked at her over his shoulder, and no doubt spotted her eyes glued to his ass. A chuckle brought her back into the room, followed by a heated look.

  She dragged her gaze to his face, loving the scruff that made a centerpiece of his mouth.

  What hadn’t she talked about last night?

  She finished the toast, taking the time to clear her head. “We moved a lot growing up, my parents on a mission to find their perfect aura, which is linked to moon cycles.” She loved her parents but as a kid trying to make new friends only to up and leave had at times sucked. Occasionally Hailey would drift into her head.

  The first log crackled in the hearth. Hello Kitty, hearing the call, leaped elegantly from the bed and walked toward the fire.

  “Indiana and I had one board game.”

  He added another log and sat on the bed, totally at ease, his wide shoulders in an eye-popping whiskey-colored sweater that he should wear every day—but only if Heather Cameron wasn’t around. She’d be running interference if Heather Cameron came into the pub.

  “Georgia?”

  She looked up from constructing a voodoo doll of Heather in her mind. “Oh, yeah, sorry. Momentarily distracted.” She pushed her hair behind her ears, but it sprung back. “Indy and I were fierce competitors in Monopoly. There’d be tears, death threats that didn’t help our parents’ auras, and deathly silences when we’d play, neither speaking until whoever won was allowed to say checkmate, then demolish their opponent’s red and green houses.”

  She smiled, lost in the memory. The scent of peppermints her father always crunched on, the musky, earthy scent of herbal tea, and her sister and her lying outside on blistering hot nights trying to best each other by counting stars.

  “Indy has the original board. It’s a beaten up old thing, and we love it to death. I started collecting tokens from around the world.” She flicked hair from her face again, her cheeks warming when she noticed how intently he watched her. “I’ve been waiting forever for the Jurassic Park Helicopter to come up for sale. I’ve been stalking Boot_The_Scotty_Dog on eBay. If they get it, I’ll be pissed.”

  “Maybe it’s Indiana.”

  “She claims it isn’t but I wouldn’t put it past her, we’re so stupidly competitive.” She rubbed the throb in her temple. “So, there you go, you know everything about me. I collect weird Monopoly tokens for my sister, I like lager, and enjoy embarrassing myself in public talking about our nonexistent children.”

  “I’ve only scratched the surface.” He leaned forward and traced her jaw.

  Her eyes widened at the warmth his fingers ignited under her skin. Tiny power plants pulsed into life and left a trail of heat where his fingers drifted. He traced her face, his eyebrows either looking at her in wonder or deep in concentration, it was impossible to tell. She couldn’t move, could hardly breathe. He continued down her nose, across her cheekbones, tracing under her jaw, then pressed his thumb against her mouth. She hissed in a breath, her nipples tightened, and she stared at him.

  Trace all of me.

  He swallowed. “I’ll see you ’round.”

  On that cryptic note, he stood, took the plate and coffee cup, and walked from her room, closing the door with a soft click.

  Way to leave a girl hanging.

  She reached out and touched all the places his fingers had traced, then flopped back onto the bed.

  What’s going on here?

  She wanted him.

  Three little words.

  The tension building between them was threatening to bust out of her, and she could see the scenario. The poor man would sit down, and she’d straddle him like she’d done in the Jeep. His body would be hard against hers, one part of his body harder than the rest, and she’d squirm against him. Being kissed like only he could kiss her. She touched her fingers to her lips. His kisses weren’t soft and checking out the territory. Oh, no, Callum MacGregor knew the territory. Roamed over it like he’d known it for a thousand years.

  She’d had enjoyable lovers, but she never got attached to any of them. Never wanting to hurt them before she moved on.

  She stuttered at the pain slicing between her ribs.

  Before she moved on.

  Awesome, I’m up to four-word sentences now.

  She lay snuggled in the bed, a weird feeling of contentment and belonging drifted over her.

  I may be content, but I don’t belong.

  She could see the future now. She’d be content for a while, maybe even take out a six-month lease, but that urge to move on would kick in then turn into a full-blown need to jump on a plane. And she would, because that’s what she did. What she didn’t do was belong.

  Time to shake off this mood and get back to the reality that was emails, a phone call on a landline that was temperamental, and a conversation with her boss that everything was going according to plan.

  Wasn’t it?

  …

  Callum placed a pint of ale in front of Leonard, who saluted him with the glass.

  Good house tonight. Friday was always a favorite, but tonight more so. A gleaming head of brunette hair and a sexy laughed turned his head, not that he needed to. He could pinpoint where Georgia was in the bar without looking. Some weird, pulsing thread ran between them.

  Hamish cornered her, and his chest tightened, but she eased out of the conversation, gifted Callum one of her smiles, and the tension dissolved. She walked easily amongst tables, stopping to chat. He could hear the conversations.

  How’s your knee, Harry?

  About the same, lass, but thanks for asking.

  Mary, is your sister still on her cruise?

  Yeah, she’s hooked up with one of the stewards. Free booze and sex. We’re going to go on one next year.

  Kathleen, I would love to stay and chat about Brexit and the implications on the European Union, but I think I heard my name called.

  She walked toward him, smiling.

  “Nice save from Kathleen.” He pushed a glass of water toward her. She’d insisted earlier that no alcohol was going past her lips after last night. As incredible as ale sounded, she’d said, she was only here to see his spotted dick.

  Speaking of.

  Ainsley walked out of the kitchen, balancing dessert plates, followed by another of his waitresses.

  Georgia sniffed the air.

  “Curiouser and curiouser,” she muttered, straining her neck to get a peek.

  “Wait your turn.”

  He’d purposely asked Ainsley to serve Georgia last, building the anticipation. Frustration was written in a scowl on Georgia’s beautiful face, and she huffed out a big breath. Finally, Ainsley slipped the dessert plate in front of Georgia.

  “My spotted dick, with custard.”

  Large green eyes flew to his.

  Shite. He caught the innuendo immediately and rubbed his hand across his jaw. “Christ, that sounds like a porno.”

  Georgia’s shoulders were shaking. “That line belongs in a public health warning pamphlet.” She picked up her spoon, and tucked into the individual pudding.

  She leaned forward so only he could hear. “Your dick is fantastic.” She scooped another mouthful. “Zesty and
tangy, with hints of cherry.”

  The actual topic of conversation stirred in his jeans. He was glad Leonard hadn’t caught that line. The man would pop a vein.

  She chewed slowly, never looking away.

  Oh, she was good. Excellent even.

  The tension between them was sucking the oxygen from his brain and his body.

  “Custard’s good, too. Just the way I like it…smooth and creamy,” she murmured.

  He lifted his finger, caught a tiny blob of custard on the corner of her mouth, and licked his finger.

  He’d swear in a courtroom that her eyes darkened, her pupils widened, and she shifted ever so slightly on her stool.

  She ate spoonsful of pudding, taking her time, appearing to savor each mouthful, drawing her teeth and lips across the spoon. Callum was transfixed. Watching her eat turned him inside out. His gut was twisted into a tight knot. Every now and then she’d glance at him and glance away, the tiniest of smiles on her lips.

  Christ.

  Finally, she finished.

  “Best I’ve had.”

  I don’t think so.

  “Excuse me while I powder my nose.” She slid off the stool and, without a backward glance, walked to the back of the pub.

  “You two should get a room.” Ainsley picked up Georgia’s plate. “Actually, you should just walk into her room, or her into yours tonight, and see what everyone else here knows.”

  “What?” He knew the answer.

  “You’re attracted to her in a way I’ve never seen you drawn to a woman before. You two fit.” Ainsley laid her hand on his arm. “You should do something about it.”

  He gave her a pointed look, then glanced down the bar to find Hamish’s gaze locked on Ainsley.

  She shook her head. “We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you and Georgia. I like her, a lot. You have to do something about it. Don’t let the best thing that’s walked into your life get away.”

  He blew out a breath. “Yeah.”

  “She belongs here with you, your lass,” Leonard piped in. “I see the way you look at each other.”

  Jesus, he had to have it freaking bad if Leonard, who was eighty plus, noticed.

  And there was the kicker. Deep down in his bones, he knew she belonged here. That she’d found her home. She chatted to the locals as if she’d lived here most of her life. He’d catch her watching him when she thought he didn’t see, her bottom lip snagged between her teeth in a way that turned him on, a blush highlighting her cheeks, the lazy way she dragged her eyes across him. But not always in a sexual way. He’d catch her staring at him, a shy smile on her face like she’d discovered how the universe was born.