He could’ve argued with the McDonnell, but it seemed best to have Pippa talk some sense into him.
Max drove straight to the factory and walked in like he owned the place. He didn’t greet Bonnie or ask permission to go through the double doors leading into the plant. He just did it.
He ignored the curious looks from the employees as he marched to Pippa’s office. Without knocking, he slung the door open and slammed it shut behind him.
Pippa jumped. Her surprised expression transformed into a glare.
The place had been cleared considerably. Pippa had gone on a cleaning jag. Two stacks of files were gone from the floor. She was standing with the third stack at the new filing cabinet by the south wall.
He locked the door. He wanted no interruptions and he wasn’t letting Pippa escape this conversation either. He pulled all the shades, too. He wouldn’t make it easy for the natives to overhear, though he didn’t doubt for a second that everyone in town knew absolutely everything that transpired between them. They certainly all seemed to know about last night. Maybe he should invite them to watch next time!
Pippa dropped her files on the desk. “Thalla is bheir ort.”
“No,” he said firmly “I won’t ‘get lost.’”
“How did—”
“Pippa,” he cut her off. “I think I know you well enough to have a clue what you’re saying. No matter the language.” He gave her a pointed look. Half the time while they were making love last night, she’d purred Gaelic approval in his ear. The other half of the time, she issued orders.
“Time for a chat,” he said.
“There’s nothing to say, Yank. We hooked up. It’s over.”
“It’s not over.” A brief thought raced through his mind. It would never be over between them.
She got a funny look on her face as though she’d read his thoughts, then washed it off as quickly as it’d come. “I say ’tis over,” she hissed.
“Batten down the hatches, lassie, because you’re about to be hit with a major storm.” He paused, but it wasn’t for effect. He was still getting used to the idea himself. “I’m moving into your house for the duration.”
She slumped against the cabinet. “My da?” she sighed heavily.
“What?” He stared at her for a long moment. “You knew your father wanted to skin my hide but you didn’t have the decency to give me the heads-up? Do you know how humiliating it is to come before the father tribunal? I’m not a teenager. I’m thirty-frigging-four!”
“At least you weren’t there and witnessed them telling it.”
“Deydie and Bethia,” they both hissed together.
“Can’t you stay in the other quilting dorm?” Apparently Pippa understood that he and she under the same roof would be impossible . . . like putting together lit matches with gasoline and telling them not to ignite.
He raised an eyebrow at her. “That’s not the point. Your father is intent on keeping his eye on us. On me.”
As if she couldn’t help herself, she assessed him from head to toe, glanced at the closed door, then chewed her lip.
“Stop it, Pippa. This is no time for fun and games. We need to figure out how to get out of this mess.”
“Oh, I don’t know. There might be some advantages.” Subconsciously, her tongue touched her top lip.
He stepped forward and got in her space. “Don’t start anything you’re not willing to see through to the end.” If she wasn’t careful, he’d find interesting ways to use her newly cleaned desk.
She grabbed a manila folder and fanned herself. “I don’t know what ye’re talking about.”
He stepped back, satisfied he’d made his point. “Now, about your dad. Can you convince him to give up this asinine plan?”
Her hackles went up. “Don’t speak of my father like that. He’s the most levelheaded man I know.”
“Then you think it’s a good idea for me to sleep in the bedroom next to yours?”
“Of course not.”
“Then speak to him. Convince him that if he insists on me staying there, he’s basically giving me his blessing to ravish his daughter.”
A spark shot through her gaze. It was either satisfaction or desire. Max couldn’t tell which. He didn’t care. He went on autopilot and took her into his arms. And he didn’t wait for permission to kiss the hell out of her.
She pulled him against her and in return, his weight pressed her into the new filing cabinet. It would be so easy to push her skirt up and get some release . . . Next thing he knew, she was unzipping his pants. He couldn’t argue with her decisiveness, but . . .
“Tell me what you want, Pippa,” he whispered in her ear.
“No,” she said breathlessly.
“Say it,” he growled.
“Dammit, Max.” She pushed desperately at his clothes, trying to get to his skin. Finally, she stilled and looked him square in the face. Her desire was as evident as his hard-on. “I want you,” she whispered. “Are you satisfied?”
“Yes.” He tugged her back to him, smashing their mouths together while he fumbled to get his wallet out of his back pocket with the condom tucked inside. He was frustrated with her, attracted to her, wanted her . . . and had to have her. He could sense all of the emotions roiling through her as well. She pushed his pants and briefs down, took the condom from him, and suited him up. Without hesitation, she wrapped her legs around him and slid down on him hard. She bit his lip and he groaned, enjoying the delicious pain of it. He hushed her moans with kisses and did his best to keep his own climax from announcing to the factory what was going on behind Pippa’s locked door.
When they’d both had their release, he lowered her gently to the floor but held her tight, breathing hard, their foreheads resting together.
He loved the satisfied look still lingering on her face, knowing he was the one who’d put it there. If he stayed at her house, he’d be seeing her like this often.
“We can’t seem to control ourselves.” He gave a half laugh, but what he was feeling was more serious. “Pippa, I care for—”
She cut him off. “Ye’re right, Yank.” She pulled her panties up and then pushed down her skirt, all business now. “Something will have to be done. I’ll convince my da that you should stay elsewhere.”
She had gone aloof on him again, but he understood. Pippa needed to step into Alistair’s shoes every now and then to regain the upper hand when she thought she’d lost control.
Max’s cell blipped. He checked the text. “Crap.”
“What is it?”
“Miranda.”
Grenades shot from Pippa’s eyes. She pulled away. “She’s back already? What does she want? A booty call?”
With his free hand, he cupped Pippa’s face and stared into her eyes. “You’re the only one I want in my bed. Do you hear me?” It was true. Honest to God true.
She removed his hand.
His cell rang this time.
“Answer it outside. I can’t bear to hear you whisper sweet nothings into Miranda’s ear.”
He righted himself and went to the door, the phone still ringing. “This isn’t over, Pippa. Not by a long shot.”
* * *
As Max walked out, Pippa dropped into her chair. She waited until she knew he was truly gone before letting her head fall on her desk.
“Idiot,” she said to herself. Honestly, why couldn’t she control herself when she was around Max?
And the jealousy was consuming. Until Max, Pippa had never experienced it before. It felt foreign to be so irrational, so crazy. It left Pippa shaky. But Miranda herself had said she was gunning for them to be a power couple. And Pippa’s instincts told her Miranda would use every one of her assets—which were considerable—to get Max.
Pippa sat up. What could she do to keep Miranda away from him? Maybe she should search Google for
a flamethrower.
As if the filing cabinet had called out, Pippa’s eyes fell on it. A heavenly twirl danced across her stomach and her nethers ached for him again. Damned Yank! What was he doing to her?
Pippa didn’t stay long at the factory. She should write herself up for truancy, but she needed to go home and clean up. She grabbed her coat and bag, leaving the building without an explanation to anyone, and headed to her car.
She had to speak with her father alone before Max showed up with his duffel bag and his damned good looks. She’d make her da see reason.
“My father practically forced me into bed with the American,” she muttered as snow plastered her face. She got in her vehicle and started it. “If only Da hadn’t insisted that I stay in Max’s cozy room and care for him while he was sick.” Yes, it was all her da’s fault.
Carefully, she drove back to town and made her way home. She found her da where she’d left him—in the den. He stared off into space.
“Why aren’t you out in the parlor? Didn’t Freda show up today?” Pippa was starting to worry. She hadn’t seen Freda since their shopping trip.
Da shook his head, the light behind his eyes dimmed.
“Can we talk?” Pippa had so much to say. She needed to talk to him about Max staying here at the house, and how that was impossible. She needed to tell her da about the changes to the contract so he’d stay informed. And maybe, just maybe, Da was finally ready to hear what she had to say on the matter of Ross.
“Nay,” her da said. “I’m too tired to talk.” He’d been proclaiming that a lot lately.
“May I sit with you for a while?” But she could see the answer before he even said it.
He shook his head. “I need my rest. Turn the light out now.”
Tears stung Pippa’s eyes. But she did what he asked and left. She hated seeing him like this. His spirit was broken. Pippa was at fault here, but damned Deydie and Bethia should take some of the blame, too. She ran upstairs, cleaned up, and put on jeans and a sweater.
Before she left, she stuck her head in the dark den. “I’m going out for a few minutes.”
“Don’t be long.”
She’d never had a curfew before, but it felt as if at thirty, she had one now. Feeling wrung out, Pippa grabbed her coat and left.
Sure enough, Pippa found Deydie and her minion at Quilting Central. Earlier, she’d been too stunned when the women had ratted her out to her da, but now she was armed with resentment. She went straight to the ladies, cutting to the chase.
“If ye ever tell Da about my comings and goings again, I’ll put ye in the factory’s metal press and flip the switch.”
Bethia frowned, but Deydie cackled.
“Like ye scare us, lassie.” Deydie thumped Pippa on the back as though she’d told a bawdy joke. “Ye’d have to catch us first.” And she waddled away.
“Well, hell.”
Bethia tsked at her. “We thought we were doing right by ye and Ross.”
“And the pickle ye got me in with my da? How was that helping exactly? Max is furious, too.” But Pippa couldn’t think about him without thinking about the damned filing cabinet, too.
Pippa glanced at Bethia. “Gandiegow needs to leave me in peace and let me handle this thing with Ross by myself.”
Bethia wrapped a thin arm around her shoulders. “Nay. Gandiegow is here to guide ye. It’s our way.” She nodded at the sewing machine Pippa had been using. “While ye’re here, lass, ye should put in a little time on yere quilt.”
“Aye. The auction.” It would be here before she knew it. “I think I will.”
Pippa grabbed her project from the cubby and sat at her machine. But instead of working on the quilt, she decided to finish Freda’s Christmas present. The pillow wouldn’t take long and then she’d get back to the quilt for the auction.
Everything was riding on the auction. Once she fixed her da’s health, then she could worry about everything else.
But dread covered Pippa. It might be too late for her father. Until recently, he had remained positive and upbeat. He’d been a pillar of strength for her and for the whole town. But now . . . he looked defeated.
* * *
As Freda lay in bed, she stared at her frosted window. She could no more see out than she could make herself get up and get dressed. Since leaving Lachlan a day and a half ago, she hadn’t eaten. She’d managed only as far as the loo and then back to bed. Her broken heart left her feeling dull and dead, like the gray of the frost on the window.
She hadn’t cried for Lachlan since she was a young girl, but she’d made up for lost time. She was still wearing her new clothes, but now they were twisted around her and rumpled. She grabbed the glass from the little table beside her and drank the last of the water. She crawled out of bed and went into her small bathroom. Unfortunately, she caught a horrible glimpse in the mirror of the person she’d become. Her eyes were a puffy mess. Her mascara made jagged lines down her cheeks and her lipstick was smeared. Her mother would be ashamed of her if she wasn’t dead and buried in the cemetery at the top of the bluff.
Freda had lived her life loving Lachlan McDonnell, sacrificing everything for him, making all her decisions with him in mind. Fifty-nine was pretty late to finally wake up and get a clue. She couldn’t go back and change the things she’d done, nor pick up and start over. But she could start living life for herself.
She’d gone to work at NSV as Lachlan’s assistant—to be close to him—but along the way she’d fallen in love with the business. And she was good at it. When the stubborn bampot injured himself, she’d left NSV to care for him. But no more. No more putting her own life on hold!
Freda stripped out of her new clothes, upset that she’d allowed her new outfit to be wrinkled on account of a pigheaded man. She would take care of her new clothes. She would take care of herself. And to hell—her mother wouldn’t approve of her swearing either—with what Lachlan thought.
She suddenly wanted food. She went in the kitchen, pulled out a bannock, and leaned against the counter. Sitting in front of her on the tiny table was the basket that held her English paper piecing project, the quilt she’d started for Pippa long ago. Suddenly she felt the urgent need to get it finished.
But first she would shower. And then she’d start living her life again.
Not the life where she’d devoted herself to Lachlan, like before, but something . . . new.
* * *
Max sat in his room over the pub for a long time. No matter where he ended up tonight, he was screwed. He should pack up and relocate to one of the small towns nearby, like Lios or Fairge. But the reality was that Max wanted Pippa in his bed. Whether it was here or there, it made no difference.
Pretty sure he was stuck, he crammed his things in his bag and left. But as he passed Quilting Central, he got a glimpse through the window of Pippa at her sewing machine. NSV’s chief engineer had the same effect on him as always—she stole his breath away. He made a detour inside and watched while she worked.
She was focused on chain-stitching pieces together, a technique he’d seen his mother and his sister do.
He sauntered up behind her chair. “What are you working on, roomie?” He was being a smart-ass, but surely she understood why.
She jumped and the not-so-nice-boy-in-him felt satisfied that he’d rattled her.
“What are ye doing here?” she said.
Max took the chair beside hers and pulled it nearer. “I won’t just walk into your house and make myself at home. I thought you should be there while I settle into my new residence.” And because she was so close, and she was staring at him steadily with her sea-blue eyes, a jet of heat filled his chest. Or maybe it was lower.
He shifted. No, definitely lower.
He exhaled. “What do you say? Can you help a cowboy out?”
She barked a laugh. “Ye’re as
much of a cowboy as I am the quintessential country lass.” She turned off her machine. “Aye. I’ll help ye get settled.” She put her sewing things away and grabbed her coat.
Once he was out of Quilting Central and he had a bit of distance from her, his head cleared a little. “Did you send the contract off to MTech today? Have they responded?”
She cocked her head to the side. “Like ye said, I need to read through our changes one more time. I want to be absolutely sure before we move forward.”
“Well, this might hurry you along. Miranda is on her way back. She texted me a while ago. Her business was cut short.”
“Can’t you tell her to go back to where she came from? That you have this under control?”
“Pippa, that ship has sailed. All the Christmas stuff you involved me in might’ve been worthwhile, but it took precious time away from working on the deal.”
She patted his chest, patronizing him. “Ye should get over whatever qualm ye have with Christmas. It’s the most wonderful time of the year.”
He stilled her hand, holding it in place over his heart. “You know nothing about it.” His tone was dead serious, and captured her attention.
Her eyes implored him. “I can understand anything if ye’d only tell me.”
He never talked about it, but suddenly he was talking to her.
“I told you about Jake’s accident happening on Christmas Eve?”
“Aye.”
“But there’s more. Much more.”
“Go on.” She leaned closer as if she really wanted to be there for him.
“When I was fifteen, I still loved the holidays.” Max let the words pour from him. He told her about the last time he’d seen his dad, the guilt over blowing him off, and the sense of loss he’d felt ever since.
“I’ve never told anyone before about how responsible I feel, not even my family, because I was afraid if I talked about it, that I’d relive the pain of losing Dad all over again.”
The empathy in her eyes showed such compassion that he knew she understood.
The Accidental Scot Page 20