A combination of burning rage and the gnawing urge to chase away Joanna’s painful demons sparked in Grant’s core, smoldering like glowing coals ready to blaze. He ached to pull her into his arms and hold her. Instinct stayed his hand. Joanna was a wounded animal cornered by her pain. She needed to come to him.
“Wee Tyler said the man caused ye to lose a well-paying job.” Grant picked up the empty whisky glasses and took them to the wet bar. He reached into the small built-in refrigerator and retrieved two bottles of sparkling water. Returning to the cushioned settee, he placed the bottles on the coffee table. “I take it your boss sided with his cur of a brother?”
Joanna picked up one of the waters, unscrewed the cap, and took a long drink. Slowly replacing the cap, she frowned and pursed her lips, staring down at the cobalt-blue bottle. “Most definitely. I was informed that the Tasker brothers always stick together and if I didn’t drop the charges, I’d not only be fired from AP but he’d ensure that no other drug company in Chicago, or for that matter anywhere else in the United States, would hire me.” She looked up at Grant and smiled a cold, bitter smile that reflected the pain in her eyes. “After all, Matthew was a respected OB-GYN to the Chicago upper crust. If word got out that he not only cheated on his wife but also abused women, it could ruin him.”
“I take it ye didna drop the charges?”
“No.” Joanna leaned back, pinching the bridge of her nose and massaging the inner corners of her eyes. “And my CEO and Matthew had enough contacts to make good on their threat.” She folded her arms across her chest and stared across the porch at the rain pelting against the windows. “Their smear campaign was very effective. I became unhireable in Chicago. So, I called Lucia and ended up here. Between our pooled resources, mediocre credit, and our pain, we came up with Carolina Adventures to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table.”
Words couldna express the admiration he felt for Joanna. He just wished she could see all she’d done and look at herself as a brave survivor—not a…what had she said?…not a loser magnet. He decided then and there that somehow, he’d open her eyes to the courageous woman she was. He took a swig of his own water, replaced the cap, then rolled the wide-bellied bottle between his hands. “Well…at least the bastard ended up in jail.” Such a less-than-adequate punishment. If Grant had had his way about it, the son of a bitch wouldha been horse-whipped.
Joanna snorted out a bitter noise that sounded like a cross between a sob and a laugh. “Uhm…no. The rich asshole paid off the judge and everything disappeared as though it had never happened.”
Grant clenched his fists so tight all his knuckles popped. He wouldha made the bastard pay. Women were to be cherished. Protected. Women were the life-givers. They were t’be respected even if they nettled ye ’til ye felt like railin’ against all creation.
“So now you know what an idiot I am,” Joanna said as she straightened, scooting to perch on the edge of the sofa while defensively lifting her chin. “I’m a poor judge of character, I have no self-control, and if there’s a loser within a five-mile radius, I will find him and make him mine.”
That last part stung. Was the woman callin’ him a loser?
“Beggin’ yer pardon?” Grant leaned forward, balanced his arms on his knees, and laced his fingers together. “Are ye sayin’ I’m a loser?”
Joanna’s dark green eyes flared open wider and her pale cheeks flushed a rosy pink. “Uhm…no…you’re not a loser—” She weakly flipped one hand in the air and shrugged. “It’s just that…” Her voice trailed off and her face grew even redder. “It’s just…”
“Just what?” He took a bit of solace in her obvious discomfort, but ’twas damn small solace indeed.
Joanna took a deep breath, then blew it out with a quick shake of her head. “It’s everything I’ve heard about your moodiness, how you can be a real jerk, your…odd ways. After what I just told you, I’d think you’d understand why I have no interest in hooking up with another bipolar…asshole.”
“Aye.” Grant took in a deep breath and slowly blew it out, sorting through his thoughts carefully. Use yer words well. Words are weapons, son. His mother’s advice played over and over in his mind. “I do understand yer reasoning but I would ask ye a question, if ye dinna mind?”
Joanna squeezed the pillow she still held across her lap until her knuckles whitened. “Go ahead,” she finally said with a jerking nod.
“Ye said ye became ‘unhireable’ in Chicago after the heartless bastards spread their lies about ye. All rumors, aye?”
Joanna nodded, shifting the pillow and hugging it until the seams strained with the pressure. The threads showed white against the plaid print, threatening to rupture.
“Did ye feel it unfair that ye’d been blackballed by hearsay alone?”
Joanna bit her lip, her reddened cheeks paling a bit. She dropped her gaze, refusing to look Grant in the eye. Slinging the pillow back into the corner of the couch, she stood and walked over to the wall of windows. “I know where you’re going with this. Just stop.” She turned and looked at him. “Stop it. Okay?”
“Nay, m’love, I canna stop.” He slowly rose from his seat, keeping his voice soft and low, barely louder than the sound of the rain. “Yer the first woman in sixteen years…” His words stalled. Was he really ready to reveal his scarred heart and his painful history to an outsider, to a woman? A twenty-first-century woman who more than likely had ne’er heard of the MacDara druids or the druid clans? Nay. Not yet. She’d ne’er believe me.
“You expect me to buy the fact that you’ve been celibate sixteen years?” Joanna glared at him. Gone were her innocently blushing cheeks and startled doe-like eyes—replaced by a cynical look that clearly said she was about to call him a liar.
Grant stepped around the coffee table and joined Joanna at the windows. Before she could squeak out a protest, he pulled her into his arms and turned her to lean back against his chest, pointing them both at the rain-spattered glass and the soggy world beyond.
“I havena been celibate.” He rested his chin on top of her head and tightened his arms around her. She felt damn good against him. He hadna realized just how badly he’d craved the return of her warm, soft body against his. “But yer the first woman in sixteen years that’s made m’heart ache when I fear I’ll ne’er see her again.”
Joanna shifted in his embrace, taking in a deep breath and slowly letting it out with a sigh. She didn’t speak. Just slid her hands over his and hugged his arms tighter around her.
They stood that way for what seemed like hours, but Grant didna care. As long as he had Joanna in his arms, he was happy.
“So…where does this leave us?” Joanna took in another deep breath and blew it out, hard and impatient, between lips pulled so tight the air nearly whistled.
Grant turned her in his arms and tilted her face up to his. “This brings us to the beginning of our journey. Are ye willin’ t’join me? Come t’know me even better for the man that I am and disprove the man of the rumors?”
“Give you a chance, you mean?”
“Aye, sweetness. Give me a chance.” Grant leaned down and grazed a slow, tender kiss across her lips, reveling in the whisky-flavored softness of her mouth. “Are ye willin’?”
Joanna shifted in his arms and barely touched his face. She refused to meet his gaze; instead, she kept her eyes focused on the mesmerizing movement of her fingertips tickling along his jawline.
“I’m afraid,” she finally confessed in a small voice as she tucked tightly fisted hands back to her chest and ducked her chin.
Grant pulled her closer, tucked her tight to his chest, and held her. “I’ll ne’er give ye cause t’fear me,” he said. “I swear it on all that’s holy.”
“I want to believe you.” Joanna snuggled tighter against him, nuzzling her face up against his throat and pressing a tender kiss just below h
is jawline. “You have no idea just how badly I want to believe you.”
Grant scooped her up into his arms and strode over to the bamboo reading chair hanging in the turn of the porch. He steadied the slowly spinning seat that looked a great deal like a hollowed-out egg lavishly fitted with richly colored pillows and cushions. He backed into it, sank into the comfortable chair, then settled Joanna securely in his lap.
“Whene’er this time, this world, becomes nearly too much for me t’bear, I sit here and look out across the land and the river. I listen to the quiet of the woods and allow it t’soothe me.” He gently shoved against the floor with the toe of his boot, barely swinging the chair back and forth in front of the window. He kissed Joanna’s forehead, then scooped up her hand and pressed the silky backs of her fingers to his lips. This felt right. The warmth of her in his arms. Safe. Just the two of them. The rest of the world could just be damned.
“I swear I’ll ne’er give ye cause t’fear me,” he repeated as he tightened his arms around her. “And I promise I’ll always protect ye.”
Joanna snuggled deeper into his arms, pillowing her head on his chest as she wrapped her arms around his waist. “Unfortunately, you can’t protect me from myself. I’m my own greatest enemy.”
“Aye, lass, I can guard ye against such demons.” He gently pushed the swinging chair in a hypnotically slow swaying motion. “And I’ll be holdin’ ye tight until all the broken pieces of yer soul bind back together and make ye whole.”
“And what about my heart?” Joanna asked in a voice trembling and soft.
“Aye, then. Yer heart, ye say?” He gently cupped her chin and lifted her face to his. “Yer heart I’ll be claimin’ and bindin’ to m’own.”
Chapter 11
The soft sound of a steadily cycling gurgle accompanied by a rich, welcoming aroma coaxed Joanna to open her eyes. Other mouthwatering smells pulled her up to a sitting position on the couch. She glanced out the windows. It’s dark? Shit! How long did I sleep? The last thing she remembered was Grant holding her in the swinging chair on the porch.
A wave of confusing emotions laced with a double dose of panic rushed through her. Had he really meant everything he’d said? She raked her fingers through her hair and re-coiled the bun at the base of her neck. Where were the ladies? Oh holy crap! I’ve misplaced an entire tour group.
She scooted to the edge of the plumped cushions of the leather couch, wiggling forward until her toes touched the floor. It took a bit of a hop to rise from the depths of the overstuffed seat, soft pile of throw pillows, and cozy woven blankets. She looked around. This was definitely a man cave, but the edges had been softened considerably. Grant must’ve given his sister full rein to decorate the inside of his home too.
This space had a vaulted ceiling of cedar planks and oak trusses left their natural color, which glowed an even warmer gold in the light of the black wrought-iron chandeliers and sconces strategically placed all around the large room.
Joanna glanced around the seating area where she’d awakened from her nap. It adjoined the part of the porch closest to the river, overlooking a steep hillside covered in pines and cedar trees leading down to the shoreline. Two walls of this portion of the room were glass, giving the feeling that the area was just a rear expansion of the porch. The remaining walls were multicolored sandstones cemented into natural mosaics, spanning from the hardwood floors up to what appeared to be a loft or gallery with a roughly hewn wooden railing running along two sides of the room. Skylights were built into the slant of the ceiling, angled so that those standing or sitting in the second-floor gallery would have a clear view of the stars. A cheery fire flickered in the hearth at the opposite end of the spacious area, beating back the damp chill of the rainy March evening.
I’ve got to find Grant and get back to the ladies. She took in a deep, calming breath and her mouth started watering. Coffee first. There’s always time for coffee. Joanna followed the enticing aroma of coffee and something baking. She smoothed a hand across the velvet coolness of granite countertops, the earth-toned pattern swirling with warm creams, rich chocolate browns, and flecks of reddish orange to match the rest of the room. Beautiful mahogany cabinetry with stained glass inset in the doors and large commercial stainless-steel appliances shouted that Grant MacDara had spared no expense when it came to building his home.
The shrill beeping of the coffeepot led her to the inside corner of the sprawling kitchen with a massive U-shaped center island that reminded Joanna of the helm of a ship. A mug stand fashioned from a polished branch of driftwood squatted beside the coffeemaker. Joanna took down a chunky ceramic mug and filled it with the black brew of the gods.
“You’re up.” A teenage girl, blond and leggy, buzzed into the kitchen area from an adjoining room partitioned off with a black iron-bracketed sliding door that looked like it had been taken from somebody’s barn. “I’m Esme. Grant’s sister. I brought y’all some supper.” She pulled open the oven door and peered inside. “Miss Lydia said I’m supposed to let it get a crusty-looking brown on top.” She waved Joanna forward and pointed at the black cast-iron skillet of yellow cornbread in the oven. “That’s still kind of pale whitish yellow and kind of gooey-looking on top. Don’t you think?”
“I know nothing about cooking,” Joanna said while still bent and studying the contents of the skillet. “It looks like it’s almost solid on top, but it’s definitely not brown. Jiggle the pan. Maybe if it’s still squishy it’ll wiggle enough so we can tell.” She straightened, searching the room for a clock. “And did you say supper? I know it’s already dark, but what time is it?” Mounting panic dug its claws in and cinched her stomach into a nauseated knot.
“It’s after six. Grant should be back any minute. He had to help Ramsay and Alec get Da calmed down.” Esme frowned, pulling her blond braid to the front and worrying the end of it through her fingers. “A tourist triggered one of his ‘spells.’ ” She tossed the waist-length braid back over her shoulder and stood taller. “Da will be fine, though. He’s the strongest man I know.” She cleared her throat and forced a smile, moisture shining in her light blue eyes. “Miss Lydia sent ham and bean soup, the fixin’s for the cornbread, and peach cobbler for dessert.”
After six. Holy shit. She said after six? “My group. The ladies. The Knitting Chicks. Do you know where they are?” Lucia would kill her or even worse—not say a word, just give her “the look,” a look where she looked like somebody had just stolen her puppy. Joanna took a long sip of the scalding hot coffee, squinting against the burn. How could she have been so irresponsible? She’d completely deserted the tour group for an entire day and left them to find their own way back to their supper and the bed-and-breakfast. They’d probably demand a full refund. “Do you know if anyone took them back to the bed-and-breakfast?”
Esme bubbled with laughter, her blond brows arching high and the blue of her eyes growing darker and sparkling with mischief. “You mean that bunch of drunk old ladies?”
“Drunk?”
“Oh yeah.” Esme nodded. She covertly glanced around the room and leaned closer to Joanna. “Don’t tell Grant I said this, but those women got totally shit-faced with Mama and Miss Lydia in the dyeing barn. That’s why Mama insisted on putting them up for the night in the VIP lodge next to the keep. No way could they make it back to the bed-and-breakfast. As Da would say, ‘They were so deep in their cups they couldna find their arse with both hands if they tried.’ ”
“And since when does a proper young lady say ‘shit-faced’ or ‘arse’?” Grant appeared from behind a stone partition separating the kitchen from a casual dining area.
Esme rolled her eyes. “You said it after you helped Mama herd them into the VIP lodge.”
“I’m no’ a proper young lady.”
“No…you’re a proper pain in the—”
“Esme!” Grant gave her a warning look as he lifted the lid t
o the pot on the back of the stove, stirred the contents with a ladle, then returned both lid and ladle to their former positions. “I appreciate all that ye’ve done, but I’ll tan yer arse if ye canna behave like the sixteen-year-old daughter of a high chieftain should. Will ye be eatin’ dinner with us, sister?”
Joanna found herself hoping the young girl would stay. It wouldn’t hurt to have a “safety cushion” from Grant for a while, and what better chaperone than a teenage girl? What the hell am I going to tell Lucia about the group? How will we cover the cost of the VIP lodge?
Esme winked at Joanna, then scooped a set of keys out of a long wooden bowl in the center of the countertop. “Nah. I’ve got a couple of tests tomorrow. I need to study. Sadie said if I keep my grades up, she’ll take me on her next trip to New York.”
“It was nice meeting you, Esme.” Joanna wished the girl would stay, but she couldn’t fault the kid’s priorities. A trip to New York was a pretty cool reward for good grades.
Esme waved at Joanna as she tiptoed to peck a quick kiss to Grant’s cheek. “If I screwed up the cornbread, don’t tell Miss Lydia. You know she’ll never let me hear the end of it.”
“Agreed.” Grant smiled and gave an affectionate swat to Esme’s behind. “And keep to the speed limit. I’ll no’ be talkin’ to the sheriff anymore on yer behalf and I dinna want to have t’snap that leering deputy’s neck.” Grant chuckled and shook his head as Esme stuck out her tongue at him, then closed the door behind her. “That wee lass is a force t’be reckoned with.”
Joanna nodded, vaguely acting like she was paying attention to what Grant was saying while she searched the room for her phone. Where the hell is it? Did I leave it on the porch? I’ve got to call Lucia. Picking up the wadded throw from the couch, she held it by the corners and shook it out. “Have you seen my phone? I’ve got to let Lucia know about the group.” She folded the coverlet with sharp, jerking movements. Dammit. There goes the emergency fund. “And you don’t happen to know how much the VIP lodge is, do you? We’ve never rented that for any of our groups before. I don’t think it’s covered under our contract.”
Joanna's Highlander Page 11