Scot on the Run

by Janice Maynard

  “Let me be clear,” he said. “Babies come from sex, so if a woman starts talking procreation, a man’s brain goes straight to the bedroom. If ye aren’t making any kind of serious offer, I suggest you change the subject.”

  Unfortunately, she had used up all of her best conversational material. Now all she could think about was seeing Ian Larrimore in her bed, naked, ready to make babies with her. “I should get to work,” she said, standing so abruptly her chair wobbled. “Don’t worry about the kitchen. I’ll tidy up later.”

  * * *

  Ian finished his breakfast and lingered to enjoy a second cup of coffee. Often, when he was in the midst of a project, he became so engrossed he forgot to stop for lunch. That made the first meal of the day all the more important.

  This morning, though, his thoughts were focused on something far more titillating than any experiment or computer program. He was fixated on Bella Craig. The way she smelled, like lavender and fresh air. Her rapid fire conversation that kept him on his toes. The delightfully feminine curves of her breasts and bottom. Head to toe, she was an exceptional female.

  Too bad she was only here for a visit.

  After breakfast, Ian retreated to the guest room, set up all of his equipment, and configured it to connect with the wireless network. Finley had spared no expense in this area, a decision Ian endorsed wholeheartedly. Good communication frameworks were a must in the twenty-first century.

  When he had everything up and running to his satisfaction, he checked his e-mail, answered a few pressing queries, and then read the London papers online. In every instance, there were stories about Ian and his life and work. The invasion of privacy gave him indigestion. Why did anyone care?

  He opened a program on his laptop and tried to concentrate, but he was disgruntled and frustrated. It was his custom to spend hour upon hour in isolation. Some of his best ideas and breakthroughs came when he was in the zone, all alone. Which made it all the more peculiar to realize he was curious about his American hostess.

  Questions. So many questions. He had heard Finley mention his sister on one occasion or another, but Ian had never paid too much attention. All he remembered was that she was supposed to be very smart and that she was obsessed with European History, Great Britain’s in particular.

  At last, he settled into his routine. But he’d only been at it an hour when he heard a crash in the kitchen accompanied by loud barking. After lurching to his feet, he stumbled down the stairs and came to a halt in the doorway. The urge to laugh was almost uncontrollable, but he squelched it.

  “Need a hand?” he asked, his question utterly uninflected.

  Bella stared up at him. She was kneeling on the floor cleaning up broken glass. Cinnamon had apparently jumped up on the table and sent crockery flying. “Do you even have to ask?” The unrepentant dog sat at her hip, tongue lolling happily. An expensive leather leash lay abandoned nearby.

  Ian crouched to pet the beautiful animal. “What’s all the commotion about, big fella?”

  “She’s a girl. So there’s that. And apparently, she thinks I’m going to be a pushover and let her run around outside without a leash.”

  Cinnamon flirted shamelessly, not even making a pretense of protecting her mistress from the big, bad stranger. “Such a sweet baby,” Ian crooned as he tickled the dog behind her ears.

  “Oh, good grief…”

  Ian extended a hand to help Bella to her feet and watched as she emptied the dustpan into the waste basket. Though her fingers were small and delicate in his much larger palm, nothing about her indicated a lack of strength. Quite the opposite.

  He released her immediately, though it went against the grain. “I wondered if you might be up for a drive,” he said.

  Bella seemed shocked. “I thought you had work to do.”

  “I always have work to do,” he said with a laugh that held little humor. “But it’s a beautiful day and you’re…” He stopped abruptly, wary of coming on too strong.

  “I’m what?”

  Still the suspicious frown.

  He’d almost said you’re a beautiful woman. Instead, he took a less volatile conversational path. “You’re here to see Scotland. Shouldn’t you be out and about?”

  “A fair point,” she conceded, as if in the midst of a Supreme Court battle, “but what about your paparazzi?”

  “They’re not mine,” he protested.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I’ll wear a hat. And sunglasses. We’ll take back roads.”

  “Everything here is a back road,” she said wryly.

  “C’mon, woman. Say yes.” He halted abruptly and felt his ears get hot.

  Bella, always prickly, noticed immediately. “What’s wrong?”

  He shrugged. “I just realized I don’t actually have a car up here. You’d have to drive.”

  “Is that a problem for you? A woman behind the wheel?”

  Her indignant question made him roll his eyes. “I’m as much of a feminist as the next guy… or woman, for that matter. So how about not assuming the worst about me every time I open my mouth?”

  His retort was sharper than he had intended.

  Bella blinked. “You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s sort of a knee-jerk reaction because of my dad and a couple of other chauvinist specimens. Perhaps we could agree to a détente while we get to know each other.”

  “I’m not the one who’s tossing around allegations of misogyny.”

  “Okay, okay. You’ve made your point. Shall we take food with us, or shall we be spontaneous?”

  “I suggest a compromise. Apples and crackers for a snack with the option of stopping at the other end of the island for dinner if we’re in the mood.”

  “Sounds like a plan. I’ll meet you back here in ten.” Her sunny smile caught him off guard and told him he had far underestimated her appeal.

  As he gathered his wallet and the few other things he might need for the island’s mercurial weather, he told himself not to get too invested. Bella was an American with a life back in the States. Ian, God willing, would soon be returning to London and a pleasantly humdrum existence.

  Not to mention the fact that Finley was Ian’s friend. He would skin Ian alive if Ian tried to make a move on Bella. Even if Bella reciprocated, it would be a stupid thing to do. Which didn’t explain why the thought of spending a platonic day with her was so damn exciting.

  Bella drove like she talked. Point A to Point B with no rabbit trails. She played tour guide for him, sharing the history and significance of local points of interest. Her descriptions were vivid and concise. She would make a wonderful university professor. He wondered if that was what she had in mind for her future.

  He didn’t have the heart to tell her he had actually visited Skye before, twice in fact. And to be honest, not much had changed in the interim.

  At his suggestion, they climbed several rock formations and at last sat down to enjoy the view. The clouds were high today and the visibility was good. In the distance, sunlight glinted off white caps and turned the water a shade of blue that matched Bella’s eyes.

  Finley’s decision to live here made sense. It was a place where a man could breathe…a land close to the roots of civilization, close to the bounty of the sea. Ian leaned back on his hands and studied his companion out of the corner of his eye. She had scaled the steep hillside without complaint, and scarcely breathed hard in doing so.

  He had tried over the years to be sensitive to women’s issues. Certainly he believed in equal pay for equal work. Yet, suddenly, he could see how a woman who looked like Bella might have trouble gaining acceptance into the sometimes stodgy environs of the academic community.

  She had referred in passing to men who had treated her badly. Who were those faceless men? Boyfriends? Colleagues?

  Ian wasn’t naïve. He knew many men who wanted to go out with women who were soft and amenable and not inclined to steal a man’s thunder. Ridiculous nonsense, but there it was.

 
; Bella Craig was smart and funny and surprisingly self-aware. Had she been hurt by someone who diminished her self-worth by discounting her intelligence? He found himself righteously indignant on her behalf without knowing the slightest thing about her circumstances.

  “So tell me,” he said. “What is it you’re working on while you’re housesitting for your brother?”

  Bella’s profile never changed. She gazed out into the distance as if her thoughts were miles away. Finally, she shrugged. “I was hoping to start my dissertation, but I wasn’t able to nail down a topic before I left home. History should be vibrant and alive. I don’t want to be the person who reduces it to a few dry chapters bound and stuck away in a university library.”

  “And therein lies your problem, I suppose.”

  She wrinkled her nose. When she half turned to face him, her small smile was wry and tentative. “If I tell you something, will you promise not to laugh?” Her knees were raised to her chest, arms tucked around them.

  “I swear, lass.” He mimed locking his lips and throwing away the key. “I’ll take your secrets to my grave.”

  Chapter Four

  His sober promise made Bella smile. “It’s nothing so dramatic.”

  “Then tell me.”

  She pursed her lips, still unsure of him. “Never mind.”

  “Ach, lovely Bella. Don’t be a tease. You’ve got my imagination running amok.”

  “I love it that you know what that word means.”

  “Are you calling me a nerd?”

  “I would if I didn’t think you would take it as a compliment.”

  “Touché, lass. You know me well already.”

  They were flirting. She knew it, and she could see by the warm intimate look in his eyes that he knew it as well. It wasn’t a skill she had ever really mastered, but with Ian she didn’t feel the frozen awkwardness that hobbled her in other intimate situations.

  Despite his looks and his inclusion on that much-maligned list of bachelors, Ian was easy to be with. Real. Honest.

  It would crush her if that impression turned out to be false.

  “Okay,” she said. “I guess I have to say it now. My field of study has narrowed to the evolution of courtship and marriage rituals among the aristocracy from the seventeenth to eighteenth centuries.”

  “Is this the part where I try not to laugh? Sounds very reasonable to me. Not that I’m fully cognizant of acceptable doctoral topics in the history department.”

  “It’s a fine topic. Suitably boring. I’m ninety percent sure it will be approved if I write up the proposal and submit it.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  She took a deep breath, her stomach flipping and flopping as her cheeks heated. Even Finley knew nothing about this pipedream. “I’m not excited about a dissertation. I want to write a novel instead.”

  A long silence ensued. Apparently, Ian liked to think before speaking. Another point in his favor, even if it left her dangling in limbo.

  He sat up and brushed off his hands. “Interesting.”

  A hot blush worked its way from her throat to her hairline. She angled her head away from him, pretending to study a ship out in the horizon. Her eyes stung, though she didn’t know why. She had shared something intensely personal with a virtual stranger. What had she expected?

  “We should go now,” she said abruptly. “It’s getting late, and I’m hungry. I want to grab an early dinner and get back to the house.”

  Before she could shoot to her feet and head down the hill, Ian caught her wrist in a gentle grasp. “I hurt your feelings. Or made you angry. Or something. I’m sorry, Bella. Talk to me, please.” His voice was low, his words urgent. “I’m a clumsy oaf when it comes to this kind of thing. I had a very short-lived relationship in college with a woman who told me I had the emotional dexterity of a block of wood. I’m afraid she was right. I understand algorithms and equations, but I’m tone deaf when it comes to deciphering the nuances and subtext of conversation. Especially with women.”

  Bella was torn between laughter and tears. It wasn’t often that a man identified his own shortcomings so succinctly. “It’s not your fault,” she said. “I threw that at you without any context. I shouldn’t have expected a glowing endorsement.”

  He released her arm, but put a finger alongside her chin and forced her to look at him. “Is that what you were hoping for from me?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.” The color of his eyes entranced her. The shade reminded her of a summer forest back home. Wriggling away from him, she stood up and wrapped her arms around her waist. “It’s not important.”

  “It must be, or you wouldn’t be so upset.”

  “I’m not upset,” she yelled. Stupid man.

  He stood up and nodded soberly, though his eyes twinkled. “My apologies for misreading the situation. It might help if you gave me a second chance. I’d really like to hear about this novel of yours.”

  “We’re leaving,” she said stubbornly. It was one thing to impulsively mention a lifelong secret dream. It was another entirely to keep plowing ahead when it was obvious the notion of skipping a dissertation was so far out in left field.

  Ian wisely allowed the matter to drop, but they were both quiet as they continued their circuit of the island. She suggested a restaurant in the next tiny village. He agreed. The dining room was so small there was no place for a photographer to hide, even if one had gotten wind that Ian was out and about.

  A couple of the other patrons shot the lanky Scotsman a curious stare, but their interest could have been attributed to his striking looks instead of anything related to the bachelor list.

  The redheaded waitress who brought them their drinks was young and timid. She repeated the dinner order twice. Bella felt sorry for her. Jobs in the area couldn’t be thick on the ground. This girl was clearly uncomfortable dealing with the public. Poor thing. Fortunately, she got everything exactly right.

  Bella and Ian chatted about this and that while they ate. The changeable Scottish weather. The strength of the dollar against the pound. Whether or not Scotland Yard and the FBI actually had enough personnel to keep tabs on everyone’s Internet searches.

  Mostly, the conversation was dull as dirt. Bella felt foolish for having lowered her defenses so easily for no other reason than sharing a beautiful blue-skied day with a handsome man. Ian seemed distant now, though he was infinitely polite.

  She decided to try one more time. “So tell me, Ian, how can you be away from your work for so long?”

  He shrugged, his expression hard to read. “I never use all my vacation days, so I had plenty of time built up for a lengthy sabbatical. Plus, I’m always working in some capacity. As long as I have my laptop with me, I’m never entirely off the grid.”

  “How do you get your ideas?”

  Ian tapped the tines of his fork on the tablecloth, then traced an abstract design. “I could ask you the same thing about your novel. Sometimes it’s reading about another scientist’s project that jogs my brain. Maybe one day the wisp of an idea simply comes to me. Honestly, I don’t really know.”

  Bella nodded slowly. “I suppose I understand that. I work from imagination, too, though in a different way. I’m always asking myself, ‘what if’? And fictional characters live inside my head. I begin to know them. Then I start to write.”

  His quick grin startled her.

  “We’re not so different then, are we, lass? Other than coming from opposite sides of the pond and the fact that you are most definitely female and I am not, we both like to see where our brains take us.”

  “I suppose so,” she said slowly. Though in Ian’s case, his phenomenal IQ gave him the capacity to truly innovate.

  When the little waitress offered dessert, Bella and Ian each declined. Ian smiled at the girl. “We’ll take the check now, please.”

  “Oh, but ye must try the treacle tart. It’s the best in all of Scotland.” She seemed unduly anxious about the subject.

  Bella
shook her head. “None for me. Thank you.”

  Ian nodded. “Nor for me. Another time perhaps.” He gave the server a gentle smile that reduced her to silent blushes. But she finally gave up on them.

  Unfortunately, she also seemed absurdly slow in returning to the table with their check. The wait was so long Bella finally excused herself and went in search of the facilities. When she exited the bathroom, she had to pass by the corridor that accessed the kitchen.

  The ginger-haired waitress was huddled against the wall, her back to Bella. The other woman spoke in a low voice, but Bella could hear every word.

  “They’re about to leave,” the girl whispered. “I can’t hold them any longer. If ye want your photograph, ye’d best get here in a hurry.”

  Bella gaped. Then she charged into action.

  Returning to the dining room, she leaned down and whispered in Ian’s ear. “Hand me my purse. I have enough cash to cover this. We need to get out of here. Our doe-eyed waitress has ratted you out to the press.”

  Ian blanched, but refused her offer to pay. He peeled a stack of pound notes from his wallet, tucked them beneath the salt shaker, and followed Bella to the door. Unfortunately, as soon as they peeked out, they saw the very same photographers who had besieged Bella’s hilltop home.

  Now this was personal. “I saw an exit beside the loo,” she said. “Hurry.”

  Ian didn’t waste time arguing. He spun on his heel and followed her, not running, but close. Bella knew she and her dinner companion must look comical to the other diners, but who really cared? Once they sneaked out the back door, they found themselves in an alleyway filled with dust bins. Ian loped to the corner of the building. “The reporters just went inside. We can make it if we hurry.”

  His legs were longer, but Bella was fueled by righteous indignation. How dare these dweeby little jerks hunt an innocent man like Ian? She jumped into the driver’s seat of her brother’s Jeep, turned the key in the ignition, and peeled out of the parking lot in a flurry of gravel.

  They were only twenty minutes from Portree. Bella kept her foot on the gas aggressively, but with an eye to caution. She didn’t want to collide with a hapless sheep.