Her eyebrows lifted. “And that’s your final answer?”
“Yes.” It felt good to set her straight. No more jacking around. “Your obsession with Christmas could get me fired!”
She sauntered past him and picked up his gloves from the bar. “It’s a shame. I thought we were coming to an understanding.”
The word coursed through him as she stopped and held his gaze.
Then she shifted and faced the wreath hanging over the bar as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. “Fine. If ye don’t care to know the people of Gandiegow, then my father and I will have to bring in another company that will.”
Bring in another company? There. The lightbulb went off in his brain. The number one rule when dealing with customers was to figure out what they wanted. Max was no dummy, but since the moment he’d met Pippa, he had been thinking with his member instead of his brain. He should’ve figured this out sooner.
“So that’s what this is all about? You’ve made me take part in all of your Gandiegow Christmas nonsense so I’ll take the townsfolk into consideration while we’re hammering out this deal?”
“Aye. The reason for the season.”
Time to backpedal from his earlier assertion. “I’ll need a minute to change my clothes.”
She tapped his arm with an index finger. “Ye’re a quick learner, Mr. McKinley.”
“Not as quick as I should’ve been. But top of my class at Texas A&M.”
Pippa was holding the damned deal hostage and he resented it, and at the same time, he understood. She was just watching out for her town. And for that, he admired her.
He stepped behind the bar, but stopped. “Why the sweater?”
“Ye’ll see.”
“Tell me now.”
“The people we’re going to visit today don’t have a lot to laugh about. I thought the fact that you bought Amy’s sweater, and that a gorgeous man such as yereself would actually wear it, would bring a smile to their faces.”
Had she just barbed him and called him gorgeous in the same breath?
When he returned, Pippa had two coffees and a thermos. She gestured to Amy’s sweater, softness in her eyes. “Ye’re a trouper.”
“I can suffer through a few hours of humiliation as long as the deal is made in the end.” He gave her a capisce-look, grabbed his coat, and held the door open for them to leave.
Before starting their deliveries, they retrieved the wagon from Quilting Central. He’d assumed most of the packages would be presents, but their load consisted primarily of food and essentials. Their first stop was the small house belonging to the Bruce family. Poor Mrs. Bruce was worn-out, deep lines between her eyebrows. With five sick children at home and her husband the janitor at NSV, she looked to be scarcely hanging on to her sanity. Max stoked the fire while Pippa put the groceries away. He tried not to notice how bare the cupboards were. His mother raised three kids as a widow, but they’d never gone without food like these folks.
The oldest of the Bruce children, a coughing seven-year-old, cornered him. “Play with us.”
With a big grin, Max joined three of the kids in front of the fire. The homemade blocks made a racket as he poured them from a basket onto the floor. The kids shhed him because their baby brother was asleep in the crib in the corner.
“Pippa, can I fix you a cup of tea?” Mrs. Bruce looked hopeful for some company.
“Aye.”
The women sat at the table and talked quietly.
“Are your shutters in good working order? A big storm is brewing,” Pippa finally said.
Max stacked two more blocks on the tower he was building.
“The screws have gone loose on two of them.” Mrs. Bruce looked down, embarrassed. “I need to get out there and tighten them. With Calder so tired at the end of the day, I haven’t had the heart to ask him to do it.”
With a quick apology Max handed off his blocks to the children and got to his feet. “Put me to work, Mrs. Bruce. Do you have tools?”
She pointed to the bed in the corner. “Under there.”
Pippa beamed at Max with approval, but he avoided her warm gaze. It was just a couple of screws. He retrieved the tools and his coat. After he secured the storm shutters, he fixed the loose leg on the dining table. When one of the Bruce girls brought Max her doll, he fixed it, too. Pippa’s gaze seemed to follow him wherever he went, and he couldn’t help liking it, even though he knew he shouldn’t.
The little girl’s face lit up when he handed the toy back, its arm reattached. “Danks,” she chirped, then took the doll and climbed into her mother’s lap, sticking a thumb in her mouth.
Mrs. Bruce squeezed her daughter and gave Max a grateful smile. “Thank you, Mr. McKinley.”
“My pleasure,” he said sincerely.
Pippa bombarded him with another of her tender looks as she handed him his scarf and coat. “We need to be off. We have several more stops to make today.”
Mrs. Bruce stood. “Where to next?”
“Mr. Menzies,” Pippa said.
“Wait just a minute.” Mrs. Bruce wrapped a fresh loaf of bread. “Can ye give this to him from us?”
Max was astounded at her generosity. The Bruces had so little.
Mrs. Bruce and three of her children waved good-bye from the door as he and Pippa made their way down the walk.
Mr. Menzies lived in nothing more than a shack. He had to be in his eighties and was nearly deaf. But he had the gleam in his eyes of a much younger man who loved making merry. He was full of funny stories about Pippa’s father, especially the trouble Lachlan had gotten into as a boy, before he’d become the McDonnell. Mr. Menzies seemed to grow livelier the longer they were there, and Pippa sat listening without the slightest show of impatience, even though she’d probably heard the same stories a dozen times.
Then Mr. Menzies mentioned the land NSV sat on, a piece of property that had gone to him after all his family members had passed.
“I never expected to see a dime of rent for the place.” Mr. Menzies cleared his throat. Max was afraid the old man might be overcome with emotion. “I’m right grateful to the McDonnell for starting up the factory.” He pointed to the new woodstove in the corner. “I’m making some needed improvements around here with the extra cash.”
Pippa hugged Mr. Menzies and then wrapped a green-and-gold quilt around his shoulders.
He reached for Pippa’s hand. “Thank you, lassie. Ye’re a good one.”
Max tried to not be affected by the old man’s fondness for Pippa, but she seemed to bring it out in people. She brought it out in him!
The more places they stopped, the closer he felt to NSV’s chief engineer and Gandiegow’s benevolent elf. He found excuses to keep touching her—straightening her scarf, dusting snow from her sleeve, adjusting her hair when she pulled her cap off. He couldn’t help himself. His attraction toward her had shifted into something tender, something that made him slightly uncomfortable in his own skin. She seemed to have softened toward him, too. The pull to be together was strong. He used every ounce of his willpower not to kiss her between houses. He focused on the task at hand and began warming up to being an elf right along with her. But only an elf. He could have compassion for these people and still hold on to his grudge toward Christmas.
When at last their wagon was empty, he should’ve been smart and hightailed it to the pub alone. But when it came to Pippa, he was anything but rational.
“Will you come back with me?” He wanted her to himself. “For cocoa?” Something sweet, hot, and satisfying.
“Aye. I’ll come with ye.”
They’d have an hour, maybe a little longer, before the pub began filling up for the evening, and he wanted to spend every minute of it with her. To hell with keeping his distance.
They didn’t talk as they walked through town. They left the wago
n outside of Quilting Central, then continued straight on to the pub. Max was on a mission, and it seemed Pippa was, too.
At the pub, they slipped inside and climbed the stairs, the cocoa forgotten. He held the door open as she walked into his room. Before he had time to shut the door fully, Pippa was in his arms, kissing him.
* * *
She kissed him because she couldn’t be around him another second without having his lips on hers. Why had MTech sent this one? It was bad enough that he was good-looking. But for Max to have a generous heart added insult to injury! Even worse, he didn’t know he was a good guy.
She’d made him come along to deliver presents to teach him a lesson—that the people of Gandiegow mattered—but what had happened had only drawn them closer together, made her want to know him more thoroughly, made her ache to be in his arms.
Damn him. She could not fall for the Yank.
But she could . . . do other things.
As they kissed, her desire for him increased, need pulsing from the very center of her. As she ran her fingers through his hair, he retaliated by pulling her bum to him intimately. She could feel exactly where this was headed.
And she couldn’t stop it. She didn’t want to.
She pulled at his coat and pushed it to the floor, never breaking their kiss. He did the same to hers. She was a woman who knew how to get things done and her goal was to get to his skin. She pulled Amy’s ugly sweater over his head, but didn’t quit there. She yanked his red T-shirt off, too, and tossed it.
“My turn.” He took the bottom of her sweater, eased it off, and threw it on his bed. He gazed at her appreciatively before pulling her back into his arms. Apparently, his goal was to get to her skin, too. And to kiss her senseless. The heat surrounding them was scorching.
As his hands cupped her breasts through her bra, the door downstairs slammed. They stilled.
A woman hollered. “Max? Max McKinley? Are you up there?”
He froze. Pippa gazed into his hard glare.
“Max?” There was a clicking noise, heels coming up the steps.
“Shit,” he growled.
“Who is it? Oh, God! You better not be married!” Pippa jerked away, reaching for the nearest piece of clothing—Max’s red T-shirt on the chair. Just as she got it over her head, the door flew open.
A woman sauntered in. Pippa followed her stern gaze to Max, who had grabbed Amy’s sweater and was pulling it over his head, the awful thing tinkling away. This woman’s skin was more white and flawless than a vampire’s. She wore a severe pantsuit under her black cashmere trench coat, and her bobbed black hair was razor-straight. With sharp, intelligent eyes, she scanned the room and digested the situation in an instant.
“Getting cozy with the natives, I see.” Her eyes flitted to Pippa’s sweater on the bed. Clearly in retaliation, the woman retrieved Max’s coat, slung it over her arm, and stroked it as if it were a lion cub.
“What are you doing here, Miranda?” Max’s voice held an edge.
Pippa should’ve known. This could only be the woman she’d spoken with on the phone. Miranda was everything that her voice had suggested—powerful, perfectly coiffed, forty but hiding it. And her actions solidified Pippa’s initial thought—she was more to Max than just his boss.
Miranda pointed a bloodred nail at her. “Scullery maid?” She was so cool and put together that on some weird level, Pippa admired her.
Max’s mouth flopped open like a damned halibut. “Scullery maid?”
“Aye,” Pippa said, directing her comments to Miranda. “And nearly his one-night stand. Thanks for interrupting. You did me a favor.” Pippa cocked her eyebrow at Max and he glowered back. Good, at least he knows I’m still in the room.
He spun back on Miranda. “You didn’t answer the question. Why are you here? I have things under control.”
“You certainly do.” Pippa grabbed her coat and pulled it on. “I’ll leave you two alone.” She nodded in Max’s direction. “I have to get to the factory,” she said flatly.
He frowned at her but she kept walking toward the door. Before she left completely, she had a weak moment and looked back. Part of her hoped Max would—what?—kick Miranda out and insist Pippa stay? But his eyes were glued to Miranda. The scullery maid had become invisible.
Pippa found refuge in the lonely hallway. “God, I’m so freaking stupid,” she whispered. The way Miranda looked at Max, and the way he acted in return, Pippa knew they were more intimately involved than boss and underling. How could Max be with a woman like Miranda? She was all wrong for him.
Shades of the past wrapped around Pippa, all the asinine mistakes she’d made with men. Starting with Derrick from college—smooth-talking, charismatic, all-the-right-moves Derrick. He’d taken her virginity in his dorm room, making all kinds of promises about their future together. Pippa later found out that he and his girlfriend had been together for four years. Pippa felt awful about being the other woman. Then she’d discovered that she wasn’t the first freshman to fall for his line . . . or the last. Two-timing bastard. If only he’d been her only lapse in judgment. She’d dated Tony, then Patrick. Neither one had broken her heart, but both had given her further glimpses into the casual dishonesty and vast unfaithfulness of men. She’d given up trusting in the opposite sex then.
But why had she sidelined her beliefs when the Yank walked into Gandiegow? She wanted to bang her head against the wall.
As she quickly descended the steps, she looked on the bright side. Thank God the universe had intervened to keep her from making another monumental mistake. What did she really know about Max McKinley? Nothing. Except he was a helluva kisser.
There was only one man she trusted and he was back at the house in a wheelchair. Pippa hurried home to her da.
The cold air outside made her eyes water; those certainly weren’t tears on her cheeks. She wiped her face with her scarf before opening the green door to her house. She hung up her things and went in search of her father. She found him and Freda in the parlor. They both looked over when Pippa entered the room.
Freda shoved her hand-stitching project into her bag. “I better get home. I need to bake some cookies for Mr. Menzies. His nephew is coming to visit in a few days.”
“Thanks for sitting with Da.”
Freda glanced at the McDonnell first, then she gave Pippa a warm smile and lightly touched her arm as she passed. “It was my pleasure.” But then Freda glanced down at the oversize T-shirt that Pippa was wearing. Questions filled her face, but Freda had the decency to keep them to herself. Pippa wanted to hug her.
Da didn’t seem to have noticed his daughter’s strange attire. “Night, Freda. Will ye be by tomorrow?”
“Aye. I’m making you fish soup.”
“My favorite,” Da said appreciatively. “And chocolate fudge?”
“That, too.” Freda gave Da one of her fond glances before heading toward the door.
“I’ll be right back.” Pippa slipped upstairs and donned her Edinburgh University sweatshirt, shoving Max’s T-shirt under her pillow before returning to her father.
“Daughter?” the McDonnell called out. “Can I have a minute of your time?”
Panic, mixed with guilt, washed over her. Maybe he’d seen Max’s T-shirt after all, and her splotchy face.
Pippa stepped into the parlor.
“Sit here by me, where I can see ye.” Da seemed a little down, pensive.
Pippa chose the chair next to him instead of the one across.
“Now that ye’re home for good”—her father’s eyes fell on her, as if he was ready to weigh her reaction to his words—“I think it’s time you consider settling down.”
Even though she’d known this day was coming, Pippa felt blindsided. Ever since returning home in July, she’d been consumed with getting her da back on his feet, helping to heal his broken body, and g
etting the factory in the black. No one had expected her to jump right in and seal the deal with Ross, and he’d seemed in no hurry either. But now apparently the reprieve was over.
Da went on. “It would mean so much to me if I could see you wed.” He sighed heavily. “I may not be able to walk ye down the aisle, but I could be there and see it with my own eyes. Don’t ye think it’s time ye took Ross off the shelf and married him? It would be a comfort to me to know that ye’re settled.”
Pippa didn’t answer. She couldn’t . . . her throat was too tight. She’d do anything for her da. Anything. But did she have to marry Ross to prove it?
A crazy thought hit her.
What of Max?
If Miranda hadn’t shown up when she had, Pippa wouldn’t be here right now discussing Ross and the prospect of marriage. Her face flushed. She’d be naked in Max’s bed. Ross wouldn’t even be an afterthought.
Da took her hand. “I worry about ye. Tell me that ye’ll at least think about setting a date.”
It broke her heart to know her da was worried he wouldn’t be around to see her married. But she couldn’t give an answer. Hell, what could she say? She rose and kissed the top of his head, giving a noncommittal grunt instead, before hurrying from the room.
Outside the doorway, she plastered her back against the wall. She didn’t want to lie to her father or disappoint him. For as tough as Pippa came off to the rest of the world, deep down, she was still her daddy’s little girl and wanted to please him.
But how pleased would her da be that she’d come close to sleeping with MTech’s deal maker? Pippa felt her cheeks burn hot again. She ran upstairs to transform herself into NSV’s chief engineer, hoping the right clothes would put her in the correct frame of mind. She pulled her most professional skirt from the closet and dressed quickly.
As she hurried across town, she couldn’t shake off that her father wanted her to set a date. This time, she wasn’t sure she had it in her to be the obedient daughter. That this time, she didn’t have the option of running away from what her da and what the town wanted her to do. She squeezed her eyes shut.
The Accidental Scot Page 11