My Scottish Summer

by Connie Brockway

  Taking off her clothes, however, hadn’t figured into her scheme.

  The fact that she’d have to take off her clothes was attractive to no one but him. All night long he’d pictured her naked. Not only that, he’d pictured her naked and in his arms. There was nothing in Dunbar legend that said a man couldn’t have a mistress and not a wife. Mistresses were happier, more content, and those relationships always lasted longer.

  And there was a possibility that he might want Emily a good long time.

  What she didn’t know was that she’d never find the secret room, and he wasn’t sure if he’d ever show it to her. He’d have to trust her first—he’d even have to love her— and he’d never trusted or loved a woman in his life.

  He leaned across the table and pushed the deck of cards toward her. “Odds usually favor the dealer. I know how much winning means to you, so be my guest.”

  Her jaw was set, and she stole a glance at the porcelain clock that ticked atop the table beside her chair. “We stop at midnight. Right?”

  “Or till you or I have nothing left to wager.”

  “Too bad you aren’t wearing a kilt.”

  “Too bad you’re wearing layers. I’d hoped you’d come tonight in a slinky evening gown. One ante—your dress—and I’d come out the winner no matter what.”

  She was loosening up a bit. Not as tense—yet. Her pretty green eyes sparkled as she dealt the cards, but she didn’t look at him when she responded. “I was told your lady friends usually come to dinner scantily clad. I wasn’t about to fall into the trap.”

  He found himself smiling. “That’s quite all right. Slow strip teases are far more fascinating.” And watching Emily strip would be the most enticing, exciting experience in his life.

  He stood for a moment, took off his coat, and tossed it onto the center of the table. “That’s the ante.”

  She slipped off her jacket, folded it carefully, and placed it over his. She was stalling for time, and he knew it. That was quite all right. Stretching out the pleasure of her company was all he wanted right now.

  Emily lifted her cards and watched Colin lift his, too. The game had begun, leaving her tense and even a little confused at why she was going through with this. Was getting photos inside Colin’s castle all that important? Was it worth stripping for? How would she feel about all of this—about herself—when the game was over?

  Suddenly the butterflies in her stomach had multiplied and were fluttering at a maddening pace. Her heart was doing the same. There was no need to worry about the consequences now; she was already in the game. She’d worry later.

  Lifting her cards, she took a peak. A straight, ten high. Not bad for the first hand, but she kept her poker face, refusing to let her delight show.

  “How many cards?” she asked.

  He smiled slightly. Was his look one that said, I have a fabulous hand, or a smile that said, It’s crap, but I’m planning to bluff? He closed the cards within his palm. “I don’t need a one.”

  She tossed him the same enigmatic smile. “None for me, either.”

  Lifting his whisky glass, he took a sip, then stood, pulled off his belt, and tossed it atop the coats.

  Slowly she did the same. “I’ll see your belt and raise you—” What? She gritted her teeth, pulled off one of her strappy sandals, and plopped it on the belts. “I’ll raise you one shoe.”

  Not the least bit daunted, he took off one shoe and then another, and set them beside hers as the pile of clothing rose. “I’ll see you another shoe.”

  She took off her second shoe, set it neatly on the table, then looked at her hand to decide if she wanted to go any further. Finally she said, “Call.”

  He laid his hand down on the table. “Full house.”

  Thank goodness! “Straight.” She swept up everything but her initial ante and tossed his coat, shoes, and belt on the floor behind her. Slowly she put her shoes back on as well as her belt.

  Emily couldn’t miss his frown as he watched her dress. Colin Dunbar thought she wanted to win. Oh, no, not on her life. She planned to lose at the stroke of midnight, not before, and she planned still to be wearing clothes when it happened. She’d rarely lost at poker, but this time she had to, to find that secret room.

  What Colin didn’t know was that she planned to lose in her own way.

  “Ante up,” she said.

  As much as she’d thought about Colin’s naked body, she hadn’t imagined anything quite like what she saw when he pulled his sweater over his head and tossed it onto the table.

  Bronzed. Buff. Beautiful.

  She took a quick sip of whisky and studied his muscles over the top of her glass. Lots of muscles and a dark mat of hair across his chest that V’ed into a slim line of hair right below his pecs. That slim line meandered under the waistband of his pants. It was a sinful thought, but she could easily imagine her hand meandering there as well.

  The prospect of seeing Colin with nothing on fascinated her. So did seeing his secret room.

  A tough decision lay before her: win, and she could see every inch of Colin’s body; lose, and she could have a week in his castle, a week of taking photos, a week of searching for the secret room—and a week being with Colin.

  And spending a week with Colin surely would lead to seeing every inch of his delicious physique.

  A wicked smile touched her mouth. Losing was her only choice.

  But… would Colin keep his promise if she lost?

  She’d given a man everything once. He’d promised to love her forever, but everything he’d said had been a lie. He’d deceived her and in the end stole her recipes, her ideas, and ended up selling 2 million cookbooks before his second book fizzled and no publisher would option a third.

  Would Colin end up hurting her, too?

  “Getting cold feet?” Colin asked as she hesitantly dealt their next hands.

  She shook her head, and decided on a whim that Colin would not deceive her. Something about him made her think that under the shameless behavior lay an honorable man. “I’m the one wearing shoes,” she answered. “Remember.”

  “Things could easily change with just one deal of the cards.” He grinned as he looked at his hand. “I’m going to win, Emily. Count on it.”

  Three hands later Colin was down to his trousers and nothing more. He casually leaned back in his chair, not the least uncomfortable that he was slowly losing all his clothes, that his body was exposed to her wandering eye. When Emily dealt another hand, he glared at his cards for the longest time, then stood, pulled off his pants, and tossed them on the table.

  Emily’s gaze drifted to his black silk boxers, which rested low on his hips. His legs were hairy, just as he’d said, but they didn’t frighten her a bit. She wanted to reach over and run her fingers through the hair, wanted to know if it was soft or coarse. And then, goodness knows why, she wanted to know what his legs would feel like trapped between hers.

  She dragged in a deep, calming breath and tried to concentrate on losing.

  “Excuse me. Emily?”

  Her eyes flickered across the table to catch the grin on his face. “Yes?”

  “That was my raise. One pair of trousers.”

  “Oh.”

  She looked at her cards. A flush, something terribly hard to beat What to do, what to do? The game could easily end here and now. She could take her photographs—of everything but the secret room—and be gone in a few days.

  But she wanted more.

  She wanted Colin.

  So she folded.

  He didn’t question her move. He merely smiled, put his pants back on along with the watch he’d wagered during that hand, then tossed her bolero and shoes behind him.

  Another hand was dealt. He drew three cards. She drew three as well.

  He bet both socks. She tossed her ring on the table and called.

  He had two eights. She had two sevens.

  Again she dealt.

  He bet both socks again.

  She l
ooked at him over the top of her cards. “I don’t have any socks. I no longer have a watch. What would you say is an equal value?”

  A wicked smile danced on his lips. “Your blouse or pants will do.”

  Either was worth far more than a pair of socks, but what was she to do when she had nothing else to bet?

  Slowly she unbuttoned her blouse, watching the clock ticking closer and closer to midnight. If she drew this out, maybe she could lose with at least an ounce of dignity left.

  Colin cleared his throat. “No fair stalling.”

  “Fine!”

  She tugged the blouse from her body and watched Colin’s gaze fix on her breasts. “I’d expected you to be the white cotton type, not sheer blue silk.”

  “That shows how little you know about me.”

  “I aim to know a lot more before we’re through.”

  Afraid to go any further, to raise, she laid her cards faceup on the table. “Call.”

  His eyes darted from her breasts to her measly pair of jacks, then laid down his twos and sixs. “I’m afraid two pair win this round.”

  She put her hands on everything she’d wagered and shoved it across the table. “Why don’t we just consider the game over? I lose.”

  His lips tilted at the corners as he shook his head. “It’s not midnight, and you still have things left to bet.”

  He tossed his watch back on the table, then took a sip of whisky. “Ante up.”

  She slid her glass across the table, right in front of his laughing eyes. “Could you fill this for me? Please.”

  “Gladly.”

  While he poured, she stood, unfastened the button on her pants, slowly peeled down the side zipper, and let her baggy trousers fall to the floor.

  He pushed the whisky toward her. “Blue silk panties, too.” His eyes flickered toward hers. “You have a lovely body, Emily. You shouldn’t hide it behind suits.”

  She felt a blush rise to her cheeks—whether from his blazing stare or from the whisky she didn’t know—but plopped back down in her chair and dealt the cards very, very slowly. It was five minutes until midnight.

  At last she had a winning hand again. It wasn’t enough to keep her from losing their match, just enough to keep her from losing her bra and her panties. It was her turn to bet first, so she merely laid down her cards. “Call,”

  He stared at her three jacks, then smiled and plunked down three queens and a pair of fours. “Full house.”

  He swept the pot onto the floor, all but his watch, then tossed a smug grin her way. “Ante up.”

  All she had left to ante was a sheer silk bra and matching panties. Oh, hell, what did it matter if she took everything off? What she was wearing didn’t leave a whole lot to the imagination.

  She sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a huff. Then her hands went behind her to unfasten her bra.

  “Wait a minute.”

  “Is there a problem? Have you decided you don’t want to see what’s under here?”

  “I’m very interested in seeing everything, Emily. I just think the moment calls for a more intimate atmosphere.”

  Emily looked at the clock as Colin walked across the room. Three minutes until midnight. She was losing, and time was running out. If he wanted an intimate atmosphere, that was fine by her. The longer he took creating it, the longer she could keep her undies on.

  Slowly the lights dimmed in the room, and then went off entirely. The only illumination came from the dying embers in the fireplace and the moonlight shining across the card table.

  “There.” He sat down again. “A more intimate atmosphere. A little more mystery and intrigue.”

  “You want to play in the dark now? You realize I could cheat.”

  “You won’t. And you already know I’m going to win, but winning doesn’t mean I want the mystery to end here and now. I can have the satisfaction of knowing you’re wearing nothing. When I actually see you that way— which is going to happen sooner or later, because you want it as much as I do—I want to see you in full light, and I want you to be comfortable letting me see every beautiful inch of you.”

  “You’re awfully sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

  “I try to be. You’re sure of yourself, too. But underneath all that bravado you’ve got an innocence about you, too. The mixture is what I enjoy.”

  He was a smug devil—one who was surely out to take her soul.

  Why couldn’t this game just end!

  The clock ticked. Two minutes to midnight “Why don’t we quit right now,” Emily suggested, “since we already know I’m going to lose.”

  “I want you to lose fair and square.” She could almost see his smile in the dark. “It’s your turn to ante up.”

  She unfastened her bra and slowly pulled it from her body, hoping he wasn’t deceiving her, hoping he didn’t intend to flip on the lights.

  The bra dropped from her fingers to the table. The only saving grace was that the firelight was behind her, making her body probably little more than a silhouette to him. Still, the thought of sitting in front of him, almost stark naked, made her anxious inside, wondering—fearing—what was going to happen next.

  Slowly she dealt five cards. He took none. She took three, hoping she could at least draw a queen or ace to match what she’d kept in her hand. She didn’t even come close.

  He tugged his sweater off and tossed it on the table. ‘That’s my bet. Are you going to see it?”

  All she had left were her panties.

  She folded.

  He took a sip of whisky. “One more deal. One more ante.”

  “Fine!”

  The butterflies had fluttered together into one big heavy ball that sat heavily at the pit of her stomach as she reached for her panties. Why couldn’t this just be over and done with?

  She took a deep breath, and Colin leaned across the table, reached for the porcelain clock, and pushed the minute hand to midnight. Mercifully it began to toll the witching hour.

  Was he a gentleman? Or was he merely toying with her, trying to suck her into some other ploy? It didn’t really matter what he was doing. She was annoyed with him for suggesting this game, for winning, and for being so smug. She was annoyed with herself for at least a million and one reasons, chief among them the fact that she’d agreed to this game in the first place.

  To top it off, she hated what he might be thinking about her right now.

  “Would you like some more whisky?” he asked.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Would you like to slip into my sweater?”

  The man was so completely maddening. Were his polite gestures meant to make her happy? He’d saved her from total humiliation, but she still felt as if she’d just sold herself to the devil.

  No longer caring how little she wore, she stalked toward his chair, grabbed her clothes, and yanked them back on, knowing and not caring that she was a disheveled mess.

  “I haven’t congratulated you on losing,” he said. “It was what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

  Annoyance burned inside her. “I lost fair and square. Please don’t forget that that means I have complete access to your castle.”

  “It also means you’ll cook for me.”

  “I haven’t forgotten. I’ll treat you to the best meals you’ve ever had.”

  He grinned in spite of her sudden fury. She’d wanted to lose, but now she just wanted to get out of his sin-filled castle and think about what she’d done.

  “You won’t poison me?” he asked as he turned the lights back on.

  “That’s how Dunbars get rid of people they tire of. Sinclairs do what they agree to.”

  “You agreed to live here for a week, too.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said, shoving her feet into her shoes. “I’ll be back bright and early tomorrow morning.”

  She stalked out of the game room and headed down the hall.

  “The front door’s to the right, not to the left,” came the laughing voice from behind her. />
  She stomped her foot, something she hadn’t done since she was a little girl. She had to walk by Colin again to get out of the castle, and annoyingly, he latched onto her arm.

  “Before you get lost, why don’t you let me walk you to your car?”

  “I’m perfectly capable of getting there on my own.”

  “But I’m a gentleman.”

  She stopped in the middle of the hallway and glared up at him. “Are you?”

  “I can be.”

  “Prove it.”

  “All right, I won’t touch you for an entire week. Fair enough?”

  “Does this mean you’ll stay out of my hair?”

  “No, lass, it simply means I won’t touch you. It doesn’t, however, mean I won’t watch you, that I won’t try to get you to touch me. And let me tell you this, Emily, it definitely doesn’t mean I won’t want you.”

  5

  Emily sat at one end of the exceedingly long dining room table and tried to concentrate on the steak and eggs she’d prepared for breakfast, but it was physically impossible to concentrate on anything with Colin sitting at the far end of the table, watching her.

  He seemed to have worked out a well-engineered method for observation: cut steak, stab it, place in mouth, lean casually back in chair, and stare while you chew.

  They were having their first meal of Day Number 1. If this went on through every meal—four of them each day for seven days—it would be a very long week of servitude.

  She lounged back in her own chair, finding it impossible to eat, and swirled orange juice in her glass. “Are you going to eat or stare at me all day?”

  Colin flashed a smug smile down the length of the table. “I have work to keep me occupied most of the day. During meals, however, I fully intend to enjoy myself, and that, lass, means looking at you.”

  He raised his glass of orange juice to his mouth and watched her over the top. “You’re rather beautiful in the morning. No makeup, curly hair flying about, blouse buttoned crookedly.”

  Emily’s gaze darted to the front of her shirt; sure enough, one side hung down farther than the other, and it gaped across her breasts. “I had a rough morning.” Go ahead, Emily, tell him the truth. “To be perfectly honest, being here with you now and the thought of being with you for an entire week makes me terribly nervous.”