The Sweetest Hours (Harlequin Superromance)

by Parry, Cathryn

  * * *

  AFTER DINNER, KRISTIN went searching for Malcolm. “You’ve been gone a long time. Are you all right?” she asked.

  Malcolm was in the Laird MacDowall’s wine cellar, formerly a whisky cellar for the old castle. Malcolm was sitting on a low shelf, holding a bottle of port, just staring into the distance.

  When he heard the scuff of her shoes on the stone floor, he straightened. “Sorry. Things were going so well with you and my family that I let my mind wander. I actually got a thought that the answer to our dilemma might be to change the pricing model. That would adjust our profit numbers across the board and we could—”

  Kristin laughed and put her fingers to his lips. “As much as I appreciate your working so hard on my account,” she teased, “I’m not impressed by the fact that you appear to be a workaholic.”

  “I’m really not,” he protested.

  “Then prove it to me.” Kristin stepped close to him and ran her hands up his strong forearms, feeling the slight hairs beneath the sleeve of his jacket, and then farther up, to his strong shoulders. She gazed up at him, holding his eyes, feeling so full that she needed to take a deep breath.

  Malcolm was a good man. The longer she’d sat with him and his family at dinner, the more she had trusted him, and them. She was probably even falling in love with him a little.

  Maybe her feelings were still a bit skittish, but if she was afraid of being tied down, then in many respects, Malcolm was the perfect guy for her. He lived so far away, after all. He was safe.

  She moved in, stepping between his legs, pressing her torso to his. He moved his hand to the small of her back. Lightly first, but then pressing.

  She stood on her tiptoes, stretching her feet inside the constricting boots she wore, and extended her spine to press her lips to his in a kiss.

  She just seemed so full of pent-up passion. He seemed to be, too.

  If their kiss outside the ruins of her family’s castle had been chaste, this one was fiery. She couldn’t be sure who started it; it seemed to be both at the same time, but they were deliciously slashing and mingling the kiss with their tongues. “I can’t keep my hands off you,” he gasped.

  “Stay with me again tonight,” she insisted.

  “Your room. It’s safer. You’re on the quiet corridor.”

  “Agreed.” She went back to kissing him.

  He ran his hands up her back, to the base of her scalp, his fingers massaging. She made a small moan. She was in heaven with him, this solid, rock fortress of a man.

  He broke the kiss. His hands still cradled the base of her scalp and his forehead pressed to hers. He spoke as if he was out of breath: “Kristy, I may be daft for saying this now, but if you keep this up much longer, I’ll have to have you on the floor of this cellar, and I really don’t want that, because anybody could wander in here at any time.”

  She laughed, straight from her diaphragm. “That, and we might never get anything else done, including that report that needs to be approved by your uncle.”

  “Aye. About that.” He wiped his hand with his mouth. “You know why I’m down here, thinking so much about pricing models? It’s because I really want to pull this off for you. If I can’t—if we can’t pull this off together—are you still going to want to be in bed with me before you leave?”

  Stunned, she didn’t answer. Put like that...

  In the darkness, he shook his head at her. “Think about that one, Kristy. Think long and hard.”

  * * *

  KRISTIN DID THINK about what Malcolm had said, and the answer was simple. And since he hadn’t come to her room as he’d promised, she went to his.

  A crack of light shone beneath the door. Earlier, she’d heard the shower running, but now it was silent inside. She had no idea how much longer he would be awake, so if she was serious, then she needed to act now.

  She wanted him, physically, at least. She’d felt the need building in her, longer and more intense with each passing hour that they’d spent in the same room together. Looking over his shoulder, so close that she could smell the soap he’d used on his skin. The shampoo she’d given him—her shampoo, in his hair.

  Every time his smoldering, intense blue eyes had turned to her, she’d felt herself melting a bit more. It was delicious torment. Sensations that she hadn’t let herself feel in years.

  Last night, when he’d said, “You are perfect to me, Kristy,” that had unlocked something in her soul that had seemed to set her free, to give her permission to actually believe it herself.

  That belief freed her. And it had changed everything between them, which was more important than either answer to the question he had posed to her.

  There was no doubt about it, Malcolm was a good man. She certainly cared about him—at least, she did in this moment. Beyond that, Kristin wasn’t sure just yet how much of herself she could offer him.

  But now, tonight, she had made her choice. He could reject what she offered, but she didn’t think he would.

  Knocking softly, she turned the door handle. It was dark, and though the light was on in the walk-in closet, from the doorway, she couldn’t see him. She shut the outside door.

  At the noise it made, Malcolm stepped into the room. He wore nothing but a white towel wrapped low around his hips.

  She stared at the towel, and then she looked into his eyes. They were steady and burning. It emboldened her.

  She crossed the room and, when she got to him, laid her palm flat on his chest. His heart beat slowly beneath her hand. His skin was damp and warm from the shower.

  “May I?” she whispered.

  She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

  * * *

  MALCOLM STOOD, STUNNED. He had not expected her to come to his room.

  “Follow me,” he said. “We’re going to your end of the corridor. I want us to make as much noise as we please.”

  She put her hand over her mouth, but he could tell she was smiling. He tossed on a pair of jeans and led the way, barefoot and shirtless.

  Once inside her guest room, she turned and locked her door.

  Without a word she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. And then, with both hands, undid his jeans button and zipper and slid the pants over his hips until they dropped to the floor.

  It was mind-blowing for him. He was the natural leader. He’d directed people his entire life. Until he’d met Kristin, this free woman who did as she chose. Who always surprised him. Who utterly fascinated him.

  She was the one who slipped a condom on him—new, this time, from a box she must have bought—which made his heart just crash.

  This was not the time to think about it, but, in the past, he’d only known women to want to get pregnant with him. His last relationship, years ago, had ended when he’d realized what was happening. “You are perceived as being rich, Malcolm,” his uncle used to lecture him, even when Malcolm was a teen away in boarding school in America. “You need to be careful, always vigilant, if you don’t want to be trapped.”

  Kristin had no desire to trap him. She didn’t want his money or his notoriety.

  She just wanted him.

  * * *

  MALCOLM WOKE FROM a light doze. The sun hadn’t risen yet but would any minute. Faint light was coming through the window.

  Kristin was wrapped in his arms, sleeping on his chest. From head to toe, she was stretched out against him, and it felt damn good.

  He ran his fingers through her hair, the strands just tickling his nose. Lightly he kissed her, his sleeping beauty, but she was exhausted and didn’t wake.

  Very soon the rest of the house would be waking. Just four other people besides them for the time being, but before long it would be bedlam, with cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents all starting to trickle in for
the family meeting and then the wedding. That just gave him extra impetus to work as hard as he could to find the angle toward keeping Born in Vermont open and functioning.

  If Kristin couldn’t move to Scotland and work at Byrne Glennie, then Malcolm could at least hope to schedule frequent business trips to Vermont to check on their investment. That was his personal hope for Born in Vermont. Kristin, he knew, had her community and her people for her motivation.

  Malcolm had her.

  Oh, Kristy. Everything he’d said to her in these past few days had been the honest truth.

  He needed to get a start on the day. They had just a few hours until the castle was invaded—twenty-four hours or so until his uncle arrived for the presentation.

  Gingerly, he peeled back the covers on the bed. Extricated himself from beneath Kristin’s sleeping form. She sighed and rolled over, her arms wrapping around the pillow he’d slept on. Across the room on a desk he fumbled for a bit of paper and a pen and wrote her another note, similar to yesterday’s: Meet me at nine o’clock by the back door to the garden. We’ll get started then. He thought of signing something more endearing and private, like a lover, but she wasn’t his and, given her reluctance to love him, wasn’t likely to ever be. But he could wait, giving her time and patience. He signed the note with an M and left it beside her on her pillow.

  At least he could give her that one gift before she left Scotland. Born in Vermont was something concrete he could focus on and wrap his arms around. He was a numbers guy, after all.

  On the way out her door, he pocketed the shampoo vial she’d given him earlier. The floor was cold to his bare feet, the air cool on his bare chest. He pulled on his jeans, zipped them, and then looked both ways before heading down the corridor to his room. Doing the walk of shame, where there had been no shame.

  He had almost made it to safety, when his sister stepped out of her door, dressed for her morning walk on the grounds. She took in his disheveled hair, his bare chest, and just raised an eyebrow. He put his finger to his lips.

  She smiled her approval.

  Inside his room, he took a long, hot shower. He used the shampoo Kristin had given him, just a small amount so he could save it and use it again. Prolonging her presence.

  It smelled like her. God, it smelled like her.

  He didn’t wash the suds out, just stood with his chest under the spray. Everything about her had been explained to him. He saw the reason for her earlier skittishness now. The granny nightgown. The loose, baggy clothing. The woman who longed for adventure, but who was so encased in fear that she never left her hometown.

  He would do everything in his power to help her. Because to him, she was worth it.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  LATER THAT THURSDAY MORNING, the castle became besieged with travelers, stomping up and down the stone staircase, hauling suitcases and lugging hangers holding men’s kilts and ladies’ dresses. All of Malcolm’s cousins had arrived—his whole crazy, extended family that he usually only saw four times annually at the Sage Family meetings.

  Rhiannon was nowhere to be found. Locked inside her studio, hiding from all the action, was Malcolm’s best guess. His sister just did not appear in crowds. At least among family, they understood her.

  Malcolm stretched. He and Kristin were taking a break from working on the Born in Vermont proposal. His mind was just stuck over what to do next in an attempt to make the numbers work. He sat outside, drinking an Irn-Bru, watching Kristin in the garden as she tossed a tennis ball to his mom’s golden retriever. Occasionally one of the cousins wandered past them, and Kristin greeted them, happy to meet new people.

  It hit Malcolm viscerally. Kristin was such a free spirit. He didn’t want to lose her, but how could he ever expect to keep her interested in him if this project didn’t work?

  He went upstairs, thinking they could try to tackle the project from a different angle. He just wasn’t seeing clearly what he needed to do to fix the problem. He’d moved his laptop and printer into his bedroom, and he sat down to concentrate anew, leaving the door ajar for when Kristin returned.

  But it was Rhiannon who surprised him by entering, rubbing her arms and looking thoughtful.

  “Are you okay?” he asked her.

  She nodded and went to stand beside the window. “Kristin is very adventurous, isn’t she?”

  Malcolm put down his pages and went to join Rhiannon. Just seeing Kristin down in the garden with his cousins, laughing with such lightheartedness, tore his heart out. This week had meant more to him than he’d expected it to.

  “Actually, for a long time she rarely left her hometown,” Malcolm said. “When I met her, she worked two blocks from her job, and she lived in a house her brother owned, directly across the street from her parents.”

  “Is there something wrong with that?” Rhiannon asked, tongue-in-cheek.

  “No.” He looked at his sister and grinned.

  “So...why did she come to Scotland in the first place?”

  Because he had blown up her life. But he wasn’t going to tell his sister that.

  “I think a large part of her wanted to see her family’s castle. It turned out that it was only a ruin, crumbled down to the cellar foundation, but we found it anyway.”

  He crossed his arms. “The point is, Kristin had never left America until this week. But she finally did it. I’m pretty amazed by her, to tell you the truth.”

  “She came here alone?”

  “She had support from her family and friends, but yes.”

  Rhiannon traced her finger around the windowpane. “And now, she’ll go back home soon, won’t she? To America—to her family and friends?”

  There was his problem. The point Rhiannon made was irrefutable. “Yes. No matter what happens with Uncle John tomorrow, I suppose she will. I offered her a job that would keep her in Scotland, but she’s refused it.”

  “Are you in love with her, Malcolm?” Rhiannon asked him point-blank.

  Malcolm couldn’t answer his sister. He didn’t want to see her hurt any more than necessary when the inevitable happened.

  Rhiannon took a jar of the Born in Vermont hand cream from her pocket. “It is a lovely product she makes,” Rhiannon mused, hefting the jar in her hands.

  “I’m really trying to give her what she wants, Rhi. But it has to fit with our family’s interests, too. And so far, that isn’t looking likely.”

  “Are you afraid you’ll lose her completely if you don’t make your deal work?”

  He couldn’t voice his fears to Rhiannon. Then again, he shouldn’t set expectations too high with her, either.

  “To tell you the truth, it’s likely that I’ll lose her either way. It’s just an impossible situation.”

  Rhiannon appeared to be thinking carefully. “I believe I can help you, Malcolm.”

  He looked at her. “How do you mean?”

  “Never mind. Just let me take care of it.”

  He shook his head. “Thanks for offering to talk with her, but really, Rhi, Kristin is going to do what Kristin is going to do. We just have to accept that.”

  Rhiannon smiled mysteriously. She tucked the jar of hand cream into her pocket and, without a word, left.

  * * *

  BY LATE THURSDAY afternoon, Malcolm had done all that he could.

  “Here’s how it’s going to go down tomorrow,” he said to Kristin, pacing inside her guest room. “The family meeting is scheduled for most of the morning. Since my uncle is arriving late, he’s asked me to handle that piece of business. What it means for you and me is that our presentation for Born in Vermont will be held as a one-on-one meeting with my uncle and me, shortly after he arrives. I’m expecting that will be just before the wedding reception.”

  “I’m attending with you,” Kristin said. “We’ve worked on this as
a team, and that’s how we’ll present it, right?”

  He didn’t have an argument for her, so he just grunted.

  “Is there anything more we need to do with the presentation?” Kristin asked.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. He had cut down the proposal, focusing on just a few of the products, but still, the whole thing seemed haphazard to him. Something was missing, but he wasn’t sure what. He hadn’t known how to tell her, because it didn’t make complete sense to him either, but he would push it through with his uncle as best he could. The main thing was to remain positive for Kristin. “Nope, we’re all set.”

  “You don’t feel hopeful,” she said quietly. “Do you?”

  “You don’t need to worry, Kristin.”

  “Can I ask you something? If this proposal isn’t received well, will that reflect badly on you?”

  Of course it would. With his uncle, every slip was noticed.

  But Malcolm maintained a bright smile for her. “He’s my uncle, remember? Either way, this is good for me. It shows I’m being proactive and adding to the company portfolio.”

  Kristin nodded slowly. He didn’t fool himself that she wasn’t perceptive enough to pick up on his white lies, but she chose to say nothing more about it.

  “So, is there anything else to be done before tomorrow?” she asked.

  He wished there was. He wished he could see what was missing...the magical answer that would make everything work and solve all their problems.

  “Kristin?” Rhiannon poked her head inside the door.

  “Come on in,” Kristin said. “We’re just finishing up.”

  Tentatively Rhiannon joined them. She was dressed as if she’d just come in from the cold. Her nose was red and her hair windblown. She must have walked over from her studio.

  “I brought what you and I talked about.” Rhiannon held out the jar that Malcolm had seen her with earlier.

  Kristin took it. “This is gorgeous! Your design is so much better than I’d imagined.” She passed it to Malcolm. “Look at what Rhiannon did for us.”

  His sister had painted product labels, for the top, side and bottom of the jar. She’d also changed the container. Instead of plastic, the rich, healing cream was packaged inside an attractive glass pot.