by Kam McKellar
“I have clothes in my bag, b—”
“Great, it's settled then.” She rose and came down the final few steps. “I'll make us something to eat while you get cleaned up. Sound good?”
She stood in front of him with challenge and tension in her dark eyes. He might also add annoyed, jumpy, and uncomfortable to the list, which was brilliant—not exactly the things he wanted to inspire in her. With a nod, he went to the door, grabbed his bag, and headed upstairs.
Stripping, he tossed his wet clothes into the pile with hers and stepped into the shower. It smelled of peach-scented shampoo. “Perfect,” he muttered and turned on the spray. The hot water felt good on his cold skin. He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, the scent—now synonymous with Abbie—bringing her image to mind with ease. Abbie lathering her hair, the suds sliding over smooth olive skin...
He grew hard in an instant, his slick, soapy hand gliding over his erection.
His heart gave an eager bang. But as much as he wanted to take the edge off, he wasn't going to jerk off in Abbie's shower. Gritting his teeth, he turned the water to cold and let it shock the lust right out of him.
When he was dried off and dressed, Liam threw their wet clothes into the laundry basket and took them downstairs to the small laundry room and started the wash. He walked barefoot into the kitchen as Abbie turned with two plates in hand. “I hope you like BLT's”
“Aye, thank you.” He took the plate and followed her into the living room.
With the fire going strong and the storm outside, the room seemed to be an island of warmth and isolation. And way too small to hold the tension between them.
Abbie sat and then popped back up. “Forgot drinks.” She hurried from the room. He took a big bite of the sandwich, his stomach growling; he'd worked up an appetite at Malcolm's.
By the time she returned with two glasses and a pitcher of lemonade, he was almost done eating. She poured him a glass and laughed. “You want another one? There's more bacon.”
“Aye, that'd be fine. Thank you.”
“No problem.”
CHAPTER 15
As Abbie made Liam a second BLT, she tried to calm her nerves.
It'd be nice if she could control her attraction to the man. Every move he made, every expression, every breath he took was sexy. Well, until she'd glimpsed the hurt and tension in his eyes. It pained her to realize that her reaction earlier had honestly hurt him and now made him careful and reserved around her.
When she returned to the living room, she handed him the plate. He sat forward on the recliner as though ready to get up at a moment's notice. He thanked her and dug in.
She turned away and busied herself with poking at the fire. A loud lightning crack made her jump and the lights flickered. Over her shoulder, she met Liam's eyes. “That was close.”
He finished chewing and took a drink. “Aye. But it'll pass. You dinna care for storms?”
She sat on the ledge of the fire place. “Actually, I do.” She smiled. “Guess it's the whole dark-and-stormy-night thing.”
His first real smile appeared. “You've always liked mysteries?”
“Since I was a girl. Solving riddles, puzzles, who dunnits, crimes...”
“'Tis the challenge,” he said.
“Yes. The journey, the clues, putting the pieces together.”
“How's your work going?”
“It's picking up. I'll finish on time.” Which reminded her of poor Bree MacLaren. “So your story about Bree...” she began, biting back a smile.
Liam winced. “Who told you?”
“Fran. I can't believe you! I totally bought it, the entire thing. That was quite a story you told.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and gave her a boyish smile. “Aye, well, you seemed so eager to hear it.”
“Oh.” She rolled her eyes. “So it's my fault you lied.”
He laughed. “You want the truth?”
She nodded.
“The fault is all mine.” The way he was looking at her, with a twinkle in his eye, made her hold her breath. “My tall tales bought me a day in the ruins with you, so I canna regret my sin too much.”
The room seemed to grow smaller. The rain and thunder made it even more so. And the war inside began again, indecision causing her to bite her lip, her heart and body urging her to immerse herself in all things Liam for the next six weeks.
Maybe she should. It was risky and insane, and—
A loud pounding on the door shattered her thoughts and had her jumping to her feet, her face in flames. “I'll get it.”
Abbie opened the door, surprised to find Hamish in a yellow rain coat. “Hamish. Hi.”
“Hello, lass. Just here ta gather the lad,” Hamish lifted his head to see beyond the droopy hood covering his head. “Ah, there ye are, Liam.”
“Hamish.”
The old man looked from Liam to Abbie, then back to Liam again. “Right. I'll be waitin' in the truck.” He tipped his head to her. “Good ta see ye, lass.”
A little confused, she replied. “You, too.”
“I called him while you were in the shower,” Liam explained as he drew near.
She flinched inwardly. He hadn't wanted to be here. With her. Not that she could blame him. Before he could see anymore emotion on her face, she turned away and watched Hamish jog back to the truck, the engine and headlights running.
Liam slung his pack over his shoulder. Only a few seconds ago, she was seriously considering taking him up on his offer. And now... Well now it seemed like her mouth wouldn't cooperate.
In the back of her mind, she let out an angry huff. There'd been a time in her life when she never let anything stop her from a goal. And here she was, knowing something great was waiting for her, if only she took a leap of faith. When had bowing out before the bell was even rung become her M.O.?
“Thank you for the food and hospitality.”
Abbie moved aside as Liam stepped to the door. His tone had become so . . . civil, so detached.
For a moment, he lingered in the doorway, then said, “Earlier today...” The shadow of a smile crossed his face. “This is your holiday, your time... I shouldn't have put you on the spot like that. Just pretend it didn't happen, aye?”
A cold chill swept through her, and she stared mutely at him in disbelief. By the time her wits returned he was sloshing through the rain and getting into Hamish's truck.
Abbie shut the door and leaned back against it.
He was taking it back.
Goddamn it.
Tears stung her eyes. Isn't that what she wanted? Now the risk was gone; she wouldn't have to make a decision, wouldn't have to worry about her heart.
She'd go home unscathed.
Except, the idea of never really being with Liam, never giving them a chance sure hurt like hell.
Regret settled like a heavy stone in her gut. The memory of him, standing before her with that damn ribbon as he laid voice to his hope, filled her mind. He couldn't take back his feelings so easily, could he?
No. She didn't believe it.
Abbie paced the kitchen, biting her nails and thinking. Her heart pounded. Her adrenaline rose. And she began to plot...
CHAPTER 16
The truck was quiet for all of ten seconds before Hamish let out a heavy sigh. “She's the one, eh?”
Liam jerked, gazing at the man with a half second of surprise before letting his shoulders relax. “Aye.”
“Bonny lass, ta be sure,” Hamish said slowly. “But there be a wealth of complications where that one's concerned, ye ken? The distance, the ex-husband, the bairn. Ye ready ta be a da?”
Was he? He gazed out the window into the black night. His chest went tight and he resisted the urge to rub the place it hurt. He would've been more of a father than Abbie's ex had ever been. Hell, he would've been a great da. The thought sent a surprising ache through him. “Well, you dinna have to worry about that, Hamish, as the lass willna have me. And right she shouldn't, seeing as h
ow we hardly know each other.”
Hamish let out a blustery snort. “Why, that's nothin' but nonsense. I took one look at Franny and lost my heart right then and there. One. Bloody. Look. The heart kens what it kens, ye ken?”
Liam laughed softly and murmured. “Aye, I ken.”
“Looks like yer brother and Harper on are the mend,” Hamish told him. “Lass went up ta the distillery and hasn't returned since. Fran rang ta make sure she was all right, and the way she tells it, we'll be seeing new plans for the distillery and hearin' weddin' bells in the near future. 'Course, my Franny tends ta the exaggerations...”
A smile tugged on his lips and he tossed Hamish a look. “Hmm. Wonder where she gets it.”
Hamish let out an indignant huff, but there was a smile lost somewhere in that shaggy red beard of his.
Liam was happy for Ross. Thank God Harper had come to Scotland and turned things around. Now maybe they could get started doing what they both were born and bred to do. Make whisky. The family distillery was their legacy. It was in their blood and Liam had been waiting for the day Ross would realize it. Because as much as he'd wanted to restart the business, Liam couldn't and wouldn't do it without his brother.
Liam half listened to Hamish go on about weddings, bairns, and all the recent goings on about the estate. He'd put in a bloody hard day at Malcolm's and his body was starting to feel the pain. By the time Hamish pulled up to his door, he was stiff and weary. He thanked the old man, went inside, stripped, and crashed.
* * *
Rain danced on Abbie's head as she jogged slowly forward. One foot in front of the other. She'd long ago stopped trying to hold the hood over her head as the wind delighted in tearing it off at every turn. Mud splattered her legs with every step and rain had found a nice path down her neck and beneath her shirt.
Adrenaline and purpose urged her on.
She'd plotted. She'd outlined. She'd written the script in her head.
And now she was going after what she wanted.
Taking a risk.
Once she'd let down her guard and been honest with herself, she felt freer than she had in a long time, and more hopeful than she had in a long time, too.
Her mother had been amazing. Abbie had called and talked through some of her fears—not sharing everything about Liam, but enough that her mother had gotten the gist of it. And her mother had been incredibly supportive and surprisingly happy, so happy, in fact, that she'd held her hand over the receiver to share the news with Abbie's father.
They wanted her to find love and happiness, and they'd apparently worried a great about it ever happening.
She was glad she took the leap and called them. And she was glad she'd overcome her penchant for keeping everything inside and letting her worries and fears compound. Funny how most of them had been inconsequential.
Now the hard part.
Finally, Abbie arrived at Balmorie Castle. It was the middle of the night, raining, and the last thing she was going to do was wake someone to drive her around the loch. No, this was her journey to make and hers alone. She continued on, heading down the road—at least it was paved now—toward the village where Liam lived.
Four miles or so.
Four. Long. Miles. By the time Abbie arrived, she felt sick. She was sweaty, yet cold. Mud clung to her, caked on her sneakers, and pants. The village was a ghost town, the street lights hazy orbs in the misty rain. She had no idea which side of the pub Liam lived, but thankfully the pub was still open, so she headed there and hoped someone could help her.
The door creaked as she pulled it open. The place was empty. Most of the lights were off, but to her relief Graham was behind the bar, cleaning up for the night.
He lifted his head. “Can I help you?”
Abbie stayed by the door, not wanting to track mud all over his clean floors. “Yeah, uh, hi.” She shoved the wet strands of hair from her face. “Do you know where Liam MacLaren lives?”
Graham came around the bar, flicked on the lights and stopped cold as Abbie squinted against the brightness. Frowning, he came closer, took a good long look at her, and then a slow smile built. “Looking for Liam, you say?”
“Yes. Do you know where he lives?”
“Aye. I do.” Humor danced in the man's dark eyes. “He lives next door,” he jerked a thumb to the left.
“Awesome. Thank you.” She glanced down at the huge puddle at her feet. “Sorry about the puddle.” And then she was out the door to the sound of his deep chuckle.
She'd have to make it up to him another time. Right now, her business was to the left, to the narrow, gray-stone townhouse squished between the pub and another building. The lights were off, save for a small outdoor lantern by the front door. Standing there, the door seemed to grow taller and more ominous.
After scrapping the soles of her sneakers on the sidewalk to remove the mud, she approached the door, drawing in a deep breath and gathering her courage. And then she knocked.
And waited.
And knocked again.
And waited some more.
What if he wasn't home? Or, worse, what if he had company?
Oh, yeah, that would totally be her luck. She could imagine the humiliation.
Abbie waited a few more minutes and decided to call it a night. She took two steps away, then shook her head and went back and pounded on the door. She'd come all this way...
“All right, all right, hold your bloody—”
The door flew open. She might have written the script in her head, but she hadn't expected the nerves nor had she envisioned Liam standing in the doorway with only a bed sheet wrapped around his waist.
“Abbie,” he said confused, surprised, taking in her appearance and growing worried. “Are you all right? Are you hurt? What happened?”
“Well, nothing happened... I just wanted to, um...” She frowned. Okay, she'd totally memorized an entire speech and it was a damn good one. “I wanted to talk to you.”
“Now?” he glanced around her as though he expected a hidden camera. Then, he took in her appearance again, the sleepiness in his eyes fading to realization. “Shite, Abbie. Did you walk here?”
“Well, it was more like run a little, jog a little more, walk a lot, run a little, jog a.... Yeah.”
Frowning now, he reached outside, grabbed her arm, and pulled her inside. “Look, if you have company, I can come back—”
“Hush,” he silenced her, his face screwed into a fierce, disbelieving frown as he tucked the sheet around him, freeing up his hands to unzip her raincoat. “What were ye thinking?” he pulled the thing off with a jerk. “Toe off yer shoes.” She did as she was told, then he bent down and pulled off her soaking wet socks. His sheet dropped and she had to hold onto his shoulder for support and look at the ceiling.
“Ye ken how bloody dangerous that was?” Apparently, his brogue deepened when he was angry. He grabbed his sheet and straightened. “Stay here.”
He stalked away, leaving her blinking in confusion, though it didn't take long for indignation to take over. Stay there, her ass. Had her socks and shoes been on her feet, she would've turned around and left. Ungrateful jerk. She hadn't come all this way to be scolded like a child.
Liam returned in low slung pajama pants and carrying a folded towel and clothes.
Oh.
She hadn't taken the time to really appreciate his state of undress... She'd imagined him shirtless countless times, but apparently her imagination was failing her because it hadn't even come close to the real thing. Broad shoulders, hard, defined muscle, flat abs, and a small trail of hair leading beneath his waistband...
He set the clothes on the table by the door and then fisted the bottom of her shirt. “Arms up.” She listened without thinking. Her wet shirt went over her head and he tossed it onto the floor with her raincoat. Next he grabbed the waistband to her pants.
“Wait—”
“You're freezing cold, shaking, and yer lips are blue. The wet clothes are coming off, then y
ou're going ta take a hot shower, dress, and tell me what the hell was so bloody important that ye risked hypothermia ta go out on a night like this with no bloody protection.”
Angry brogue again.
“Well, I had a raincoat. And it's not like it's winter. I don't think hypothermia can--”
He rolled his eyes. “You're in Scotland. Look it up.”
As she stood there shaking from cold, he crossed his arms over his chest and lifted an eyebrow.