Scot on the Run

by Janice Maynard

  Cinnamon was a huge help. Bella clutched the end of the leash in her free hand and let the dog pull her up. For the young animal who was barely older than a puppy, the whole nighttime excursion probably seemed like a lark. Truthfully, though, Cinnamon’s usual exuberance was muted as though she recognized the gravity of the situation.

  At the top of the hill they paused for Bella to contact Hilda. The call signal still wasn’t strong, so she sent a text instead:

  Come quickly. My house. We have Jackie.

  Then they set out across the last hundred yards. They had no more than made it to Finley’s front porch when a cavalcade of vehicles appeared in the drive. With no real parking available, cars were abandoned wherever they stopped. Hilda and her husband led the charge. They jumped out and ran.

  Jackie’s father extended his arms. “Let me have him. Is he…?”

  Gently, Ian handed over the boy. “I think he has a broken arm. He’s semiconscious, but his pulse is strong. Is there a doctor nearby?”

  An older woman stepped forward. “I’m the doctor. I’d like to take him inside for the exam if I may.”

  “Of course,” Bella said. “The door’s open.”

  Jackie’s parents, the tiny patient, and the doctor went inside.

  For a moment, the crowd of townspeople was silent. Then pandemonium broke out. “Tell us where you found him,” someone yelled.

  “Where was the boy?”

  “Did he say anything?”

  The questions went on and on. Bella tried to answer as many as she could. Ian was at her side, but slightly behind her. He didn’t say a word. Though the hour was late, several cars had left their headlights on, illuminating the unfolding rescue scene. Both traditional cameras and smartphones flashed. Everyone wanted a record of the day’s events.

  Suddenly, three men pushed forward from the fringes of the group. Bella recognized them instantly. They were the same annoying reporters who had showed up on her doorstep and later tried to ambush Ian at the restaurant.

  Bella’s spine stiffened in outrage. This time there was no escape route.

  The most aggressive of the trio shoved his way through the crowd and stopped right in front of her. “I want the name of the bloke who rescued the kid. It’s Larrimore, isn’t it? Ian Larrimore?”

  Still, Ian said nothing. Bella frowned. “He would prefer to remain anonymous.”

  The man shot a glance at Ian. For a moment, the reporter wavered as if abashed by his own persistence. Then he literally shouldered Bella aside and shoved a microphone in Ian’s face. “Tell us what it feels like to be one of Britain’s most eligible bachelors and a hero on top of that. Your adoring public wants to know.”

  Short of turning his back and walking away, Ian had no choice but to respond. Bella’s fists clenched at her sides. She was fiercely protective of her houseguest and violently angry at the scurrilous quasi-newsman.

  Ian’s body language was an amalgam of outrage, icy disdain, and utter distaste. But in the dark, and with the artificial glare of the headlights, Bella was likely the only one who read him correctly. He cleared his throat. “I’m not a h-h-hero. I’m just deeply glad the l-l-l-ad is safe.”

  To the listening crowd, it seemed as if Ian was overcome with emotion. Only Bella knew the truth. She held up her hands. “Please give Hilda and Jack some space. It’s been a very difficult few hours. Thank you for your concern.”

  The onlookers muttered and began dispersing. Bella turned around to speak to Ian, but he was gone.

  Chapter Ten

  Ian stumbled into the house and wiped his face with his hands. His body ached. He had scrapes and scratches. Worst of all, he was embarrassed. He’d left Bella to handle the mess outside. What kind of man did that?

  Hilda jumped up from the sofa. Her small son lay with his head resting in his father’s lap. The man stroked the child’s forehead. The doctor talked to the boy in a soft voice. Hilda flung her arms around Ian and hugged him until his ribs threatened to crack. “Thank you, thank you, Mr. Larrimore. My son nearly died. I’m forever in yer debt.”

  “How did you know my name?”

  The ghost of a grin painted Hilda’s face despite her emotional trauma. “Bella refused to confirm yer presence, but Portree’s a small town. Word gets around. I don’t know how we’ll ever repay you for savin’ our boy.”

  “Anybody could have found him,” Ian said, shifting from one foot to the other. “I’m honored I could help.”

  She squeezed hard and released him at last, allowing him to breathe. “I know ye must be jiggered after what ye did. Took a lot of brute strength. Go on now and get some rest.”

  Ian knew he should wait for Bella, but he was raw and wavering on the edge of an explosion. He’d come to Finley’s house in the back of beyond to hide out. Now, not only was his cover blown, but he’d unwittingly become embroiled in a town drama.

  He loped up the stairs to his room and stared blankly at the space that had seemed a refuge. Or maybe it was a prison. He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that he wanted to get away from here.

  It was the same feeling he’d had in London, only worse. Bella must think him the most awkward fool. A grown man who couldn’t answer a simple question on camera without stammering.

  Pacing the confines of the small room, he was completely unable to calm himself. His agitation grew worse and worse until at last, he cursed and punched the wall as hard as he could.

  The outburst produced a variety of outcomes. Tiny flecks of dust littered the floor, but the plaster got the best end of the deal. Ian’s knuckles split and bled. Pain shot up his arm and lingered to throb along every nerve from his fingers to his shoulder.

  His humiliation was complete when he turned and found Bella standing in the open doorway, eyes round, expression aghast. “Ian,” she cried. “What did you do to yourself?”

  He put his hand behind his back, feeling slightly ill. “Nothing. Will you go now, please?”

  She ignored his belligerence and came to him, taking his injured hand in both of hers and examining it carefully. “Oh, Ian. What a mess you’ve made.” Her concern and gentle care should have made him feel better. Instead, he wanted to howl his frustration.

  Bella was right. It was true. Not only had he showed rank cowardice in fleeing London, he had done something even worse. He had let a curvy, opinionated woman with big blue eyes and masses of raven-wing hair worm her way into his heart.

  And to what end?

  “Leave me alone,” he muttered. “I’m fine.”

  “I’m so sorry, Ian.”

  Her sympathy felt like alcohol poured on a raw wound. She wasn’t talking about his bloodied hand. Bella had witnessed him revert to a stuttering school boy when pinned down by the dogged little reporter.

  He shrugged, not meeting her eyes. He didn’t want her kindness or her understanding. Harsh-toned words blurted from his lips unfiltered. “I’m going home,” he said. “Tonight. I’ll drive to Inverness and catch the early train in the morning.”

  Bella froze. Her face paled, and her eyes sheened with tears. “Why, Ian? What’s the point? They got what they came for. They’ll leave you alone now. Don’t go…please.”

  He put his hands on her shoulders and set her aside, trying not to notice how small and fragile she felt. “I have work to do.”

  “What about us?”

  Her question stopped him dead in his tracks. His jaw worked. “There isn’t really any us,” he said flatly. “We flirted with the concept, but we never made it to the prototype. I’ve interfered with your time in Scotland. Let’s reset the clock. It’s the wisest thing to do.”

  Bella practically went up in smoke. She glared at him. “Heaven forbid that the mighty Ian Larrimore should ever do anything unwise. You’re a horse’s ass. You stuttered a bit. So what? I was the only one who realized. Everyone else thought you were feeling torn up about what happened.”

  “You don’t understand.” He pulled his suitcase out from under the bed and began
tossing things in haphazardly.

  Bella thumped his back with her fist. “I understand more than you think. You’ve spent your whole life believing you’re a superior intellect. Turns out, you’re just as clueless as the next guy. It’s okay not to be perfect. I like you the way you are.”

  He whirled to face her, tormented. “I don’t give a damn if you like me,” he shouted.

  She gaped at him, her beautiful, soft pink lips forming a perfect O. A single tear rolled down her cheek, driving the final nail in his coffin. “Okay, then,” she whispered, her gaze tragic. “I’d rather have the whole house to myself anyway,” she said. “Good-bye, Ian.”

  It was the limp that got to him. That and the brave set of her shoulders. Bella Craig was so damn spunky and so utterly unable to protect herself from emotional harm. What other woman of his acquaintance would be so open about her feelings? What other woman would let him know so candidly that she cared?

  Watching her walk toward the door seemed to last forever. Everything inside him turned to ash. He was terrible at relationships. If he stayed, he would mess things up. He knew it. The sensible thing to do would be to leave her alone…let some other man snatch her up and make her his.

  The thought of that literally set his teeth on edge. Bella was his. There was no rhyme or reason to the feeling, but he recognized its gut-deep validity.

  “Wait,” he croaked. “Stop.”

  Bella hesitated and turned around. He felt deep shame when he saw the way she regarded him. He’d been rude and cruel. She braced visibly for another volley. “What?” she asked quietly. “What else is there to say?”

  He lifted his shoulders and let them fall, his hands jammed in his pockets. “I want you.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel special?”

  His neck grew hot. “I’ve wanted other women,” he said slowly. “But until I came here and met you, I’ve never considered the possibility of a relationship. I never wanted to risk it. I’m barely thirty-five, but I’m set in my ways. I’m not easy to get along with. The female brain is a mystery to me.”

  “No one ever mentioned a relationship,” she said. Every nuance of expression had been wiped from her face. He couldn’t read her at all. “You and I considered the possibility of a fling, but that’s off the table now.”

  “Why?” he asked urgently. “Why is it off the table?”

  She lifted her chin. “Because you’re a pompous ass and a lily-livered coward.”

  “You sound like an American Southern belle when you say that. Though it’s true,” he said hastily. “I’m no bargain.” He ran his hands through his hair, feeling as if he were being torn apart and reassembled in the image of a man he didn’t know. “Give me another chance,” he said softly.

  “Long distance relationships never work. You in London. Me here. It’s pointless.”

  Was she deliberately misunderstanding him? He picked up the suitcase and dumped the contents on the bed. “I’ll stay.”

  “Don’t expect me to dance a jig over that news.” Her nose wrinkled as if she smelled an unpleasant odor.

  “I had a few bad moments. I’m feeling better now.”

  “You were angry that I saw you at your worst,” she said. “You pitched a tantrum because of injured male pride.”

  He swallowed hard. “Give a guy a break.”

  “I’ve had enough drama in my short life, Ian. Most of it from men who professed to care about me. So forgive me if I don’t rush to accept your apology. Although now that I think about it, you never actually said you were sorry for anything, did you?”

  “Lord, you’re pretty when you get all worked up.”

  “And don’t patronize me,” she yelled. “If you think you can blink at me with those long eyelashes and expect me to sleep with you, you’re insane.”

  “We wouldn’t do much sleeping,” he vowed, closing the distance between them. “Not with you in my bed or vice versa.”

  When her mouth did that cute little O thing again, he kissed her gently. “I am so very sorry for being a beast to you tonight. I don’t want to go to London, Bella. Not at all.”

  He kept his hands on her upper arms. His emotional state was wobbly, and he didn’t want to do something they would both regret.

  She bit her bottom lip. “You came here to hide out,” she said. “If that’s no longer feasible, why would you stay?”

  “You know why.” He folded her close, pulling her against his chest and sighing deeply. “Let’s start over. Can we? Me not a fugitive. You not a reluctant innkeeper. Can’t we just be a man and a woman who happened to meet on the Isle of Skye and decide to explore a connection?”

  She was quiet for a very long time, but her arms remained linked around his waist and her cheek rested over his heart. “Would that make it a Highland fling?”

  He groaned. “Puns. Really?” His mood lightened. “Fling. Rendezvous. Any word you want to use.”

  “If we start over, that means no sex for the immediate future.”

  He nodded glumly. “I know. You don’t do that on a first date.”

  “Or a second or a third.”

  “You drive a hard bargain, woman.”

  “I don’t take sex casually.”

  “You don’t take anything casually,” he pointed out. “But I like that about you,” he said hastily.

  She pulled back and smiled up at him, her gaze misty. “Nice save, Bachelor number two. I’ll bet it drives you nuts not to be number one… your competitive nature and all that. I suppose you could try to bump Prince Harry out of the top spot, but it wouldn’t be easy.”

  “You’re making fun of me.”

  “Maybe a little.” Her grin was cheeky.

  He ran his thumb over her bottom lip, realizing he had stepped away from what might have been the most monumental mistake of his life. “I really am sorry, Bella. My only excuse is that tonight was intense. I wasn’t at all sure we were going to be able to get to little Jackie. I worried about his arm. Then all hell broke loose with the cameras and the people. It was like a very bad dream.”

  “I understand. I think. But next time you’re about to flip out, how about giving me some warning?”

  “I promise.”

  “Okay, then,” she said. “Welcome to Portree. My name is Bella Craig. I’m Finley’s sister.”

  * * *

  Bella was trying to lighten the mood, but something in Ian’s eyes told her he wasn’t so easily tamed. His apology had been sincere. She had no doubt of that. Still, he was honest about what he wanted from her. Sex. Plain and simple. Between them, his arousal pulsed, hard and ready.

  If she kissed him, would he see it as invitation?

  Fortunately, he took the decision out of her hands. “Come here, lovely Bella,” he said. “I need to taste you again. I’ve got a hankering for your unique blend of tart and sweet.”

  Somewhere along the line, she got lost in what she was supposed to say or do. Reason and logic disappeared beneath a wave of yearning that honestly terrified her. She didn’t want to get involved with a man who was so complicated. Did she really have a choice?

  Her body said no.

  Ian took his time with her… as if they had never quarreled… as if this really were simple and sweet. He held her head in two hands, tilting her face to his, using his long talented fingers to trace the whorls of her ears.

  Though his touch was almost chaste, somehow he managed to light a wildfire that consumed them. Her arms twined around his neck. Her breasts ached to be touched. Her clothes were too hot.

  Kissing was supposed to be romantic and fun. Not this. Ian was intent on destroying her resistance. Even knowing that, she didn’t want him to stop. He was everything she had looked for in a mythical mate. Like a warrior clansman, he was big and strong and physically superior. He never used his strength for harm, but instead, to protect and cherish.

  Like the knights in her textbooks, he made her feel the vanquished maiden. Her femininity went to war with her feminist s
ensibilities. Since when did a modern woman swoon with delight?

  Perhaps since the man in question kissed like a dream and made her feel as if his entire existence might be in jeopardy if she didn’t give him what he wanted. He backed her toward the bed, sliding his hands underneath her shirt and finding the clasp on her bra. “Just this,” he pleaded. “Just this.”

  When his fingers brushed her nipples, she moaned. It felt so good she wanted to cry out. Her body was on fire. Future or no future, she didn’t care. Ian was hers for the here and now, and that was enough.

  “Undress me,” she whispered. “Please.”

  He rested his forehead against hers, his whole body quivering. “Not in the heat of the moment. I don’t want you to throw that in my face.”

  “I won’t. I swear. I was kidding about the three dates. I know you, Ian. Or I know enough of you. Let’s not waste any more time.”

  She knew deep down that this was no happily-ever-after. And it was okay. Ian was a unique man who had crossed her orbit at this moment in time. She’d be a fool to let him go.

  He muttered some words that sounded like Gaelic, something rough and heartfelt. She didn’t want a translation. She didn’t want to hear his doubts and misgivings. She had plenty of her own.

  With a groan, he rolled off the bed and stripped down to his knit boxers with dizzying efficiency. His body was toned and beautiful, rippled with muscles, sleek with golden skin lightly dusted with hair.

  She licked her lips. “I thought science nerds were pale and pasty.”

  His grin was feral. “I have a villa on Mykonos. Nothing fancy. Nice for a winter getaway.”

  “I should say so.” The admission on his part reminded her why he was on that stupid list. This was no absentminded professor smelling of mothballs and muttering indecipherable formulas. Ian Larrimore was the second most eligible bachelor in all the British Isles. He was handsome, wealthy, and fascinating. Women everywhere would give anything to be in her shoes. Bella Craig had found the golden ticket.