Scot on the Run

by Janice Maynard

  “We?”

  “There are nine of us. Each with his or her own specialty. We brainstorm together twice a month, but when we have an idea, we run with it on an individual basis. Most of us are not comfortable with creation by committee, though we’ve come to learn that there really is something to the idea that two heads are better than one.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  “Sarcasm?” He lifted an eyebrow.

  “Not at all. You’re the first person I’ve ever known who works in a fish tank.”

  “Think tank.”

  “Oh, right. I forgot.”

  “I see the problem,” he said suddenly, his gaze holding hers like a mesmerist.

  “Problem?”

  “You said men don’t like it because you’re so smart.”

  “I never said exactly that.”

  “But it’s true, right?”

  “Um…yes. I suppose.”

  “You must talk circles around them…the poor clueless ones, I mean. They don’t stand a chance.”

  “I like interesting conversation. What’s wrong with that?”

  Now he focused his gaze on her mouth. It might have been her chin, but she was almost certain it was her lips. She bit the bottom one to keep it from trembling. “Quit staring.”

  “Utterly impossible,” he said quietly. “You are a stunning woman.”

  “Until I open my mouth. That’s what most people think. I tried being quiet and ladylike once, but it didn’t take.”

  “Do I make you nervous, Bella?”

  His wicked smile slid beneath her defenses and made her want things that were unwise. “Of course not,” she lied.

  He reached out and took her hands in his. “Tell me about your novel,” he coaxed. “I’d love to hear about it. Truly.”

  A lump in her throat made it difficult to speak. His gaze was warm and charming. Honest. Was he truly interested, or was this a ploy to win her trust? “I don’t want to.”

  “Please.” He squeezed her fingers, conveying an intimacy she needed so badly it scared her.

  She pulled away, wanting to stand up, but hampered by her injured foot. The only way to put distance between them was to fold her arms over her chest. “It’s hard to explain.”

  “Now where have I heard that before?” he teased gently.

  “Oh. Sorry.” She had called him out for using that same excuse. “Well, it’s probably a longshot. There are a million people out there writing books these days.”

  “But they don’t have your brains and your passion for the time period.”

  “Some of them do…”

  “Bella…” The warning note in his voice told her it was time to come clean about her secret project.

  “I’ve been working on a massive outline for ages. It’s going to be historical fiction with a strong romantic element.”

  “Go on. Tell me more.”

  “My main character is a commoner who bears the bastard child of a nobleman. She knows her only chance out of poverty and obscurity is to convince her lover that the son is brilliant and needs to be part of court somehow. Basically, she makes sure that the nobleman falls in love with his child. She doesn’t allow him to ignore the boy, so gradually a bond forms.”

  “Fascinating.”

  Bella searched his face. His comment appeared to be genuine. Still, it was difficult for her to take it at face value. “That’s all I’ve come up with so far,” she said abruptly. “You probably have work to do. I need to rest.”

  Ian sat back in his chair and leaned it on two hind legs. “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what?” She held herself tighter as if the kitchen were chilly, when in fact, it was delightfully cozy.

  “Whenever we make progress, you shove me away.”

  “What does that mean…progress?”

  “Now who’s being clueless? I like you, Bella. And I think you like me.”

  “You’re not bad,” she said grudgingly.

  “Damned with faint praise.” His smile made her want to climb across the table and curl into his lap. “I understand the word no. If you’re not interested in pursuing this attraction, all you have to do is say so.”

  She gaped. “Attraction?”

  He nodded solemnly. “You remember that thing you said about ravishing me?”

  “That was the drugs talking. Besides, you were supposed to ravish me, not the other way around.”

  “You said it before I gave you the drugs. And since I know how you feel about gender stereotypes, I’m happy to play your submissive if that’s something you want.”

  “Submissive?” She looked at him in horror, no less shocked than if he had sprouted horns and tail feathers.

  “I’ve never had a woman tie me up. It might be fun.”

  “It wouldn’t. Be fun,” Bella clarified. “I’m not good at that kind of stuff. I’ve never done those things,” she clarified. “I think we got off track somehow. We were talking about my novel.”

  “The one where the nobleman has a beautiful and enthusiastic mistress? I remember.”

  “I never said she was enthusiastic.”

  “If the nobleman was handsome and wealthy, I’m sure she was enthusiastic.”

  Chapter Eight

  It was no easy task, but Ian had finally gotten the upper hand. At least for the moment. It was a damn good feeling. His working group in London included four unique women. They were all highly educated and very smart, but none of them had Bella’s extraordinary combination of intellect, wit, and charm.

  She would lead some man a merry dance someday.

  Oddly, the thought of Bella getting married disturbed him. It would take a special man to live up to her challenging personality. She was brilliant, intuitive, and actually had the people skills so many advanced minds lacked. It would be a crime for her to end up with a guy who didn’t appreciate her unusual range of gifts. Even worse, what if she fell for some Neanderthal who wanted to hold her back?

  It would be sinful for Bella to hide her light under a bushel. Anyone as multi-dimensional as Finley’s sister deserved a partner who would encourage her to follow her potential and interests wherever they led her.

  She cocked her head and stared at him. “I don’t know what to say about your last comment. Is that what bothers you? You’re afraid the notoriety from the magazine article will have women pursuing you for all the wrong reasons?”

  “That’s already happening. I told you about London, remember?”

  “Ah. Yes.” She nodded slowly. “Well, trust me. It might be aggravating to have women hurling themselves at you, but with or without the fame, a guy like you can’t really fly under the radar.”

  “A guy like me?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t make me say it. You’re man candy.”

  He bristled. “I most certainly am not.” The idea was ludicrous. He wasn’t physically repulsive, but he had never been the bloke who went to bed with a different woman every day of the week.

  “It’s not an insult,” she said mildly.

  “I think you meant it to be,” he said slowly. “You were trying to get a rise out of me. The same as if I called you arm candy.”

  “That would be dumb.”

  “So what we have here is two reasonably pleasant-looking human beings who have thus far in their lives never been the kind to attract interest from the opposite sex. Is that it?”

  “I haven’t had men mailing their underwear to me,” she pointed out triumphantly, as if this were some kind of backward competition.

  He felt his ears turn red. “I told you. It’s the damn article. The writer made me sound like a cross between a playboy billionaire and Bill Gates.”

  “Bill Gates isn’t sexy.”

  “I know that!” He pounded his fist on the table. “It makes no sense.” All the frustrations of the past three weeks bubbled up inside him. The loss of privacy. The inevitable ribbing from his colleagues. The feeling that something had been taken from him.

  The m
adder he got, the more his self-control winnowed away. He was confused and horny and miles outside his comfort zone. After his outburst, Bella subsided into silence, her eyes round with astonishment.

  At last, she relaxed and leaned forward to pat his hand. “It’s going to be okay,” she said softly. “Soon, some real celebrity will have an affair with a space alien. Or maybe a big-time athlete will be caught rigging a sporting event. If you’re really lucky, Prince Harry might get engaged. Then all your worries will be over. You’ll be yesterday’s news, and life can get back to normal.”

  She gazed at him with a mixture of compassion and impish mischief. If he were extremely analytical, he would have to admit that she wasn’t beautiful according to the traditional rubric most men used as a scale. She was neither blond nor willowy. Her breasts were average. Her nose was a trifle too strong for her small face. And her teeth were the tiniest bit crooked, as if her difficult father had never been willing to shell out for braces, or maybe the orthodontist was a quack.

  “Are you interested in having sex with me?” The words tumbled from his mouth unbidden, born of some deep, aching need in his gut.

  Bella didn’t respond at all for at least thirty seconds. Her pupils dilated, her breathing escalated, and she paled. He saw her throat work as she swallowed. “It’s not that bad, Ian. Honest. Why don’t you run up to your room and invent something? That will cheer you right up. Maybe an app that helps people survive in the wilderness. Something like that…”

  “I wasn’t kidding,” he said gruffly. “I don’t want to be with you so I can cheer up.”

  “Are you saying I’m boring?”

  He ground his teeth and counted to ten. “You’re exasperating and argumentative and frustrating as hell. But…”

  “But?”

  This was it. He and Bella had reached a point of no return. Either they acted on the inconvenient, stomach-clenching desire that pulsed between them, or he had to leave. “I’ve always known I’m not the kind of guy who will likely get married. I would never be able to remember to take out the trash. When I’m working, I forget to eat most days. Children are a mystery to me. My father was remote and cold. I would never want to cause emotional harm to a baby because I happened to be too wrapped up in a project to be present.”

  Bella blinked. “I think I missed something. Do I strike you as the kind of woman who needs a man to take out the trash?”

  He groaned. “I’m trying to be clear about my motives. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Her chin went up and her blue eyes glowed with heat. “What if I hurt you?”

  He shouldn’t have laughed. It made her mad, and that wasn’t his intent at all. “I’d assumed that was a given. Judging by how much I want to see you naked right now, I’d probably walk through burning coals to have one last chance in your bed before I leave.”

  “You are assuming an awful lot,” she said, the words icy with disdain. Still, in some little corner of his brain that wasn’t thinking about sex, he recognized the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes.

  “Wrong,” he said flatly. “I’m asking. Maybe another man would take first and ask questions later. I don’t know. But you’re Finley’s sister, and I don’t want this to get weird.”

  “I’ll have to think about it.”

  The disappointment that gripped him was unprecedented. “So not tonight?”

  “Not tonight,” she said firmly. “We could try kissing, though. If it doesn’t go well, we wouldn’t have to fool with the rest.”

  “The rest?” Did she really mean to dismiss sex so cavalierly? Her nonchalant assumption that intimacy between them might be ho-hum set his teeth on edge…and awoke his fighting instincts. “I agree,” he said sharply. “Let’s get started.”

  She huffed, a little startled sound. Her gaze darted wildly around the kitchen. “My ankle might be broken. I don’t think that’s wise.”

  “You’ve been flitting around the island all afternoon. Don’t be absurd. Besides, I promise not to kiss your ankle…at least not yet.”

  It was amazingly gratifying to see gutsy little Bella twist in the wind. His suggestive comment turned her face red as the tomato on the kitchen windowsill. She sputtered and grabbed for her crutch.

  Casually, he moved it out of her reach. “You won’t be needing that, my dear.” He stood up from the table and watched her watch him. It was almost impossible not to smile. She was both intrigued and terrified. He could see it in her eyes and on her face.

  His libido took a momentary backseat to tenderness. Scooping her into his arms, he carried her through to the living room where Finley’s large comfy sofa awaited them. “Don’t be afraid, lass. I’ll not do anything you don’t want me to do, I swear.”

  When he sat down with her in his lap, he was exceedingly careful not to bump her poor bruised foot. Tonight was about pleasure, not pain.

  Bella plucked at a loose thread on his shirt pocket. “I’m not very good at…this,” she whispered. “It’s messy and unpredictable, and I never know how to let go and enjoy myself.”

  Her candor took him aback. “Only kissing,” he said. “Remember? No need for nerves.”

  “You won’t make fun of me? Or tease me?”

  He realized she was serious. Pulling back, he scowled at her. “My God. What kind of men have you been with? I might tease you in certain situations, but it won’t because you’re not good at kissing or sex. You’re amazing, Bella. How can you not know that?”

  “You’re yelling again,” she said timidly, though her smile was smug. By now she had discovered the extent of his arousal. It was hard to miss with her hip pressed up against him.

  He’d had it with talking. Some things were better communicated tacitly. Carefully, he unbuttoned her top. Her baby-blue bra was trimmed with black lace. He traced the top edge with a single finger, his chest heaving. This was a bad idea. A very bad idea. Somewhere between the kitchen and here, he had lost control. He wanted to lay her back on the long sofa and move on top of her.

  When he slipped one bra strap down her shoulder, her eyelids fluttered and closed.

  “No,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t go away. Stay with me.” He bent his head and eased her down against the arm of the sofa so he could reach her lips. When he covered her mouth with his, she whispered his name. The sound went straight to his gut, hardening his erection a millimeter more.

  Knowing that sex was off the table for tonight lent a sort of youthful unabashed experimentation to the moment. Her lips were pressed firmly together. He teased the seam with his tongue until she opened and let him in. The taste of her was intoxicating.

  He had forgotten to dim the lights. Cinnamon whined from the study where he had closed her up while they ate dinner. Though Finley’s cottage was nice, it was hardly a luxury suite at the Ritz. Yet somehow, the room narrowed to a quiet, erotic bubble of intimacy that held only the two of them.

  Bella curled her arms around his neck. “You’re nice when you’re not bossing me around,” she murmured, nipping his bottom lip with sharp teeth.

  Shuddering, he dragged her closer. “I hope that means we’ve passed the kissing test.” He slipped a fingertip beneath her bra and caressed one taut nipple. Danger. Danger. The sound blared in his head rudely.

  She had told him no. He intended to respect her boundaries. One more kiss. That was all…

  * * *

  Bella floated on a cloud of euphoria. Her whole adult life this kind of moment had eluded her. Yet here was Ian, the contrary Scotsman, turning her world upside down.

  His mouth was firm but tender. His hands learned the contours of her body. She and Ian were both mostly clothed. He’d made no move to unfasten her bra. Suddenly, she wanted to be naked, desperately wonderfully naked.

  “You’re a world-class kisser,” she muttered. “Top marks.”

  “Shut up, Bella,” he said pleasantly. “Shut up and kiss me.”

  They slid into a dream. One where nothing mattered except the beating of her hear
t and the harsh cadence of his breathing. She knew he was aroused. She had touched him hesitantly until he moved her hand away. It was the right thing to do. They weren’t having sex tonight.

  Hazily, she pondered her options. A brief, wonderful affair with Ian might be the best thing that ever happened to her. And if it went badly, they lived on different continents, so she wouldn’t be subjected to the humiliation of running into him at the market or at a social gathering.

  What she was feeling in this moment was new and disturbing. How could she be so aroused by a man who drove her insane on a daily basis?

  She was hot and kerfuffled and about to climb out of her own skin. Recklessly, she dragged his head toward hers and kissed him wildly. His response was immediate and thrilling.

  Big arms held her tightly against a body that was tautly muscled and damp with perspiration. He seemed desperate. That raw need seduced her as surely as any sweet words.

  “I changed my mind,” she panted. “Let’s do this.”

  Ian froze, his big body shaking. “Don’t say that, damn it. You have to be sure.” He released her abruptly and stood, leaving her like a rag doll, her limbs sprawled everywhere.

  Raising up on her elbows, she glared at him. “Haven’t you ever heard of getting lost in the moment?” That he could be logical and mature when she was practically sobbing with the need for him made her angry and hurt. Clearly, she was far too involved.

  She lurched to her feet, intending to button her shirt as she fled. But in her haste, she forgot about her ankle. When she put weight on it, she gasped in pain and lost her balance, falling against the man from whom she was trying to escape. Tears she couldn’t hold back dribbled down her cheeks, completing her humiliation. “Damn you, Ian. Let me go.”

  He didn’t state the obvious. The only thing keeping her upright at the moment was his comforting embrace. She sniffled against his shirt, feeling the sting of unappeased hunger. Lust. That’s all it was. Pheromones. It was a small house. They were both young and healthy. This was bound to happen.

  Gradually, she calmed. Ian stroked her hair steadily, his fingers brushing her nape. “I care about you, Bella. I don’t want to be one of your regrets.”