To Scotland With Love

by Patience Griffin

  He looked up, surprised to see her still there.

  She took one step into the room. “I have some bad news.”

  “Great,” he said. “Just what I need.”

  Because he hadn’t exactly bitten her head off, she took another step closer.

  “You were bugged,” she announced.

  “Bugged?” He looked as if he didn’t understand the word.

  “As in someone was spying on you.” She’d go to hell for the lie she was about to tell.

  “Someone spying?” he asked.

  “Are you going to repeat my every word? I’m trying to tell you something important.”

  “Go ahead.”

  She stepped all the way in but didn’t look him in the eye. “You don’t have to worry about it, though.”

  “Caitie?” His voice had a warning in it. “What did you do?”

  “I took care of it,” she said.

  “How, pray tell, did you do that?”

  “I found all the cameras and deleted all the recordings,” she answered.

  “You what?”

  “And the backups,” she added, as innocent as the morning dew.

  “Why would you do such a thing?”

  She shook her head emphatically. “The nerve of some people. Videotaping you in your own home.”

  He rubbed his chin. “Did you look at any of this video?”

  “No. I wouldn’t dream of invading your privacy.”

  She saw his sly smile.

  “No, I guess you wouldn’t,” he said.

  “I’ll see you later.” She hightailed it out of the room, feeling vindicated and dejected all at the same time.

  When she got back to the cottage, Deydie wanted to know what she’d done with Mattie.

  “Duncan and Graham are back,” Cait told her.

  Deydie said nothing but looked worried. Cait guessed it had to do with Duncan.

  But when Deydie did speak, it had nothing to do with the Buchanans. “I’m off to Kenneth’s to sit with him tonight so Moira can go out and do a wee bit of New Year’s celebrating. You should go with her to the pub. Knock back a few. You deserve it.”

  Great. Just when Cait had decided to hell with it all, her crotchety gran had opted to be nice.

  “I think I will,” Cait said. Drowning her sorrows in a pint or two might be just the thing.

  For the next hour, Cait and Moira sat companionably at a table inside The Fisherman while all of Gandiegow celebrated around them. Amy popped over every little bit to say a few words and then went back to serving the rowdy crowd. For the hundredth time, Cait’s thoughts strayed back to Graham, wondering and worrying over how he was doing. She took another sip of her ale.

  As if she’d finally conjured him up, Graham wandered in, his mood made clear by his bowed shoulders. Cait held her seat but had a strong urge to rush to him and lift his burden—if only she could.

  Moira elbowed her. “Do you see who just came in?”

  Before Cait could answer, Amy, from across the room, gestured to her and inclined her head to indicate that Himself had just arrived.

  “Yes, I see,” Cait said.

  Moira smiled at her warmly as Graham made his way to the bar. Bonnie, the annoying gnat, flew over to him with a bottle of Scotch and a shot glass. Cait’s hackles went up. Then Bonnie leaned across the bar, practically pushing her boobs in his face, as if she expected him to reach out and fondle them.

  Moira stood and pulled Cait up, too. “You’d better go tend to Graham. Don’t worry about me none tonight. I’ll go help Amy and Coll with the serving, and they can walk me home later.”

  “Why does everyone think Graham is my responsibility?” Cait asked. He didn’t want anything to do with her. And she didn’t want anything to do with him.

  Moira shrugged. “He might not be your responsibility, but I think he’s taken a shine to you. He’s been alone far too long.”

  Amy sidled up to them and joined in their conversation. “Moira and I are on the same page. Graham needs a good woman.”

  “You’re both a couple of ridiculous romantics,” Cait said.

  Amy jabbed her thumb in the direction of Deydie’s house. “You know I love your gran, Bethia, and Rhona, but they seem to have given up on Graham finding anyone.” She winked at Cait. “But I think he already has.”

  Cait rolled her eyes. “Your overactive imagination is at it again. I’m the last person Graham wants.”

  Moira touched Cait’s arm. “Graham deserves love. He’s a good man.”

  This was nuts. Neither one of them was listening to her.

  Amy tilted her head in Bonnie’s direction. “If you don’t step in, our friendly bartender is going to take advantage of Graham. He’ll hate himself in the morning if it happens. Something has to be done.” She paused, which was unusual for her; silence was not her forte. “I’ve never seen him like this. He’s as vulnerable as a baby seal.”

  Cait glanced over. Bonnie, indeed, had a determined gleam in her eyes, which Cait wanted to scratch out.

  Moira squeezed her arm. “You’ll get him home safely?”

  Cait shook her head but said, “Aye,” anyway.

  Both of the romantics hugged Cait before she made her way over to Graham. She could feel Bonnie’s glare on her forehead like the crosshairs on a gun. Cait ignored her and leaned against the bar next to Graham so he could see her.

  “Hey, sailor, want to buy a girl a drink?”

  “No. I’m not sure I’m staying.” He looked so exposed and helpless that it broke her heart. She laid a hand on his shoulder.

  Bonnie snorted like a wild boar. “Off with you.” She pushed a shot in front of him. “Graham, darling, here’s your drink.”

  Cait moved it away. “He said he’s not staying.”

  Bonnie puffed up, her face turning ruddy. “Why, you little conniving . . .” she hissed. “He’s better off staying here with me than being with the likes of you.”

  Graham glanced up but said nothing. He didn’t seem to care what he did.

  Cait was prepared to make a scene—pull a little of Bonnie’s hair if need be—but thank goodness, Doc walked over and intervened.

  “Do you need help getting him home?” Doc asked.

  Graham rose. “Nay, I’m fine.” He looked anything but.

  As Cait walked Graham to the door, she caught sight of Moira and Amy beaming at her. Bonnie stood behind the bar giving poor Doc an earful as Graham and Cait slipped out into the cold.

  She walked beside Gandiegow’s favorite son through the village, wanting to put her arm around him, to do something to comfort him. “Do you feel like talking?”

  He made a harsh, throaty noise, which she took as a no. It was okay. There were no words anyway for what he was going through and the pain he felt.

  They climbed the bluff in silence. At the mansion door, Cait glanced up at him with a sad smile. “Well, I’d better get back to Deydie’s.” She turned to go.

  Graham reached out and snagged her arm. “Stay.”

  “But—” she tried.

  “For a while,” he said.

  She couldn’t turn him down. She followed him inside to the parlor and slipped off her coat while he laid more logs on the glowing embers.

  She didn’t know what she was expected to do. Graham was hurting, and he’d made it clear he didn’t want to be comforted.

  He took off his coat, too, and threw it over a chair before going to the dry bar.

  She spoke to his back. “Is alcohol the answer?”

  He lifted the whiskey decanter. “I need something so I don’t think about . . .” He let the words trail off.

  She didn’t hesitate but went to him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him to her, letting him know he didn’t have to carry the burden all alone. He se
t the decanter down and slumped.

  “God, Caitie, what am I going to do if—”

  She twisted him around and pulled him close. His head dropped to her shoulder and she rubbed circles into his back.

  “I could lose him,” he choked out.

  Pain racked him, and it nearly undid her to see him so sad. She lifted his head and saw his despairing eyes. She needed a way to let him know she was there for him, so she kissed him—for a distraction and to comfort. It was a lifeline that he took. He kissed her back desperately, crushing his lips to hers, holding her tight. She gave in to his need. She understood. There was nothing like the threat of death to make a person feel like they had to prove they were alive.

  Unabashedly, she kissed him back, sending her tongue into his mouth, making sure he understood she’d use everything she possessed to help lessen the pain.

  He moved to her neck and kissed it hungrily. “Caitie,” he rasped, “I want you.”

  “I know,” she said in consent. She wanted him, too. But most of all, she wanted to help him.

  As he gazed into her face, he slipped his arms under her legs and carried her to the oversized sofa. Anguish still haunted him, but as he searched her eyes, she saw something more intimate burning there, a longing she recognized. She didn’t know if he meant to tell her he cared for her deeply. Or that he desired her greatly. Or maybe it was just gratitude. She didn’t care which it was. As long as she could erase his torment and make him whole again with her body.

  He kissed her, and the moments stretched out. Maybe time stood still. She didn’t know. The only thing for certain was that she lost herself in him. As she did, her objective shifted. No longer was this only about Graham; this was about her, too. Together, they both became more in the most primal way, in sensation and in touch. She arched toward him as his hands found her breasts through her clothes and his fingertips woke her neglected nipples. She moaned.

  “Don’t,” Graham growled. “You’re driving me crazy.”

  “I can’t help it,” she whimpered. She wanted more.

  He pulled back. She started to complain, but then he laid his forehead on hers.

  “Are you sure about this?” he said huskily, breathing hard.

  The appropriate answer would’ve been hell yeah. But action spoke louder than words. She gently shoved his chest, pushing him away so she could stand. With a slow smile, she unzipped her dress and let it slide to the floor.

  He liked her answer. His eyes turned smoky, heat transferring from his gaze to her bra. She undid the clasp and let it fall to the floor, too. He gave a suppressed groan as he took her in his arms once again. Mr. Darcy was no gentleman, and she’d have a fling with him, screw her past reservations.

  As he kissed her, she did her best to get his clothes off his body. She needed his skin—now. He laid her down and pulled off her shoes and tights, leaving her with nothing but her red-checked panties. There was no doubt now that they were both teeming with life, not just existing, but impatient for each other.

  She watched with eagerness as he stepped out of his jeans and could hardly wait for Graham to come to her so they could be together. Almost from the first, she’d wanted this but had ignored the chemistry between them. Or at least tried to. Right now, she would own the truth—she was going to make love to him and it would be the gift she gave herself. Later, she might pretend that she’d done it for him, to make him forget or to help him to feel better. But that wasn’t true; she was doing this for herself.

  He pushed down his boxers, glorious in his nakedness. He peered at her red-checked undies with keen interest. “We definitely don’t need these.” He pulled them off and tossed them. They landed on the chair by his coat.

  She started to giggle. It could’ve been nerves. But then he scooted in beside her and wrapped his arms around her once again. The sensation was heady. His closeness made her feel warm, consoled, and reassured. He positioned himself over her, using his arms as supports, and gazed into her eyes. She felt the shift; the game had changed again.

  He seemed to be searching her, looking into her soul, trying to puzzle her out. Then, as if he’d made his decision, he threaded his fingers into her hair and kissed her more deeply than before. This kiss wasn’t about foreplay, sex, or proving he was alive. This kiss was about claiming her.

  The shock of it sent her reeling, and oh God, it turned her on. Knowing she belonged to him, even if only for right now, sent her heart soaring. As she kissed him back, she gave everything to him— heart, soul, body—not withholding even a piece for herself. She was peeled back, exposed, knowing she was safe to do so.

  He seemed to know that she’d given it all to him in spirit. He rewarded her by entering her in one smooth motion. She gasped with the pure pleasure of feeling him inside of her. As he kissed her, he began to move. She could feel his restraint and was glad he gave her the time to savor their joining.

  “Caitie, my love,” he said. Then, in Gaelic, he murmured sweet nothings as he made love to her, thrusting gently, pulling her to the surface and then backing off. It was both delicious and cruel to make her wait for a release. And at the same time, she could stay like this forever—in his arms, feeling him above her, feeling him in her. From nowhere, she fell apart, a near sob coming from her lips. He kissed her as the world became perfect. Then he slid into her one more time, deep, ever so deep, and he shuddered as well with sweet undoing.

  As their breathing became normal again, she felt utterly content. At complete peace with the world, with what they’d done, and how she felt about him. He rolled over and pulled her on top of him, dragging the lap quilt over their bare bodies.

  She didn’t regret it, feeling so happy it had finally happened. But then she saw remorse in his eyes.

  “I’m so sorry.” His brow collapsed together into a serious line. “I never should’ve done that.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Caitie rolled off and threw the quilt at his crotch. “Bastard.”

  Graham saw the hurt in her eyes, and it killed him. Shit, he’d never meant to upset her. But his emotions were in an uproar. “I mean, I didn’t intend for this to happen.”

  Now she looked even more pissed off. With exaggerated movements, she grabbed her bra, wrapping it around herself and mumbling loudly, “Fricking stupid. That’s what I am.”

  He wanted to go to her and wrap his arms around her, but in truth, she scared the shit out of him. He couldn’t tell her that he’d never experienced anything like that before. How he’d felt connected to her, like they belonged together. A frightening, forever kind of feeling. Besides, making declarations wouldn’t be fair. He was in no position to offer her anything right now with his life spinning out of control—Duncan’s leukemia, his demanding career. Everything. “It was a mistake. It’s my fault.”

  She glared at him as she snatched up her dress. “You could’ve just said thank you for the pity screw.” She paused. “Idiot.” Her tone was harsh, but it wasn’t clear whether she was speaking to him or to herself.

  In a different time, hell, in a different life, he would’ve taken her to his bedroom and kept her there, possibly forever. But right here, right now, that would be a selfish thing to do. Almost as selfish as making love to her a few moments ago to take his mind off his miserable life. God, he hated himself.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he tried.

  She picked up a throw pillow and hurled it at his head. “Hurt me?” With one hand, she seized her red-checked panties and shook them at him. “You didn’t hurt me. I’m fine. Never better.”

  She pulled them on and then cursed violently. “You didn’t even use a fricking condom.”

  “Oh, Christ.” He couldn’t get her pregnant. Not on top of everything else.

  “Relax, Graham.” She sounded anything but relaxed. “My period ended yesterday. There’s no way you knocked me up. Hell, I could probably sell
these undies on eBay for your stupid DNA.”

  He stood up and started yanking on his pants. “Caitie, wait a second. I can’t let you leave like this. Let me just explain—”

  “Forget it, Graham. You’ve made yourself perfectly clear.” She grabbed her parka and hurried from the room.

  He let his head drop, and there on the hardwood floor, lay her tangled tights. He picked them up and went to catch her at the back door.

  She about plowed into him as she came out of the room off the kitchen. She swiped at a tear.

  “You forgot these.” He held up the tights.

  She snatched them from him as though she wouldn’t deign to leave anything of herself behind. Then she fumbled with the door handle and slammed out of the house.

  * * *

  * * *

  * * *

  Cait stood for a minute outside the mansion, not knowing what to do. She couldn’t go back to the cottage; she was a mess, her emotions all over the place. She was furious with herself for sleeping with Graham when she knew full well he didn’t want to be in a relationship with her. Of course, she didn’t want a relationship, either, so why was she so upset? On the other hand, how dare he call it—call her!—a mistake? She was tired of him yanking her around. He couldn’t come on to her anytime he pleased. He had no right. And she was going to tell him, give him a piece of her mind right now!

  She opened the door and went back inside. She made it to the parlor’s doorway before spying him on the floor with Dingus in his lap. He was talking to the dog, and she stopped to eavesdrop.

  “It’s like this,” Graham told the pup. “I did a lot of praying while I was waiting at the hospital. I made a deal with God. Told him if he’d fix Duncan, I’d be a better da. No more arguments. No more trying to bend him to my will. I’d be more of a blessing instead of a hindrance.”

  The dog licked his hand, then looked up at him.

  “I’d willingly take Duncan’s place. Mattie needs him, and God knows how much anger builds up in little boys when they don’t get the attention of their father.” Graham ran a hand through his hair. “You understand what I’m saying, don’t you?”