Ten Days with the Highlander (Love Abroad)

by Manning, Hayson

  He swallowed his smile. This morning, he’d nearly burned through the sheets at her reaction as she’d checked him out. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t returned the favor. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such an attraction to a woman, and it was way more than physical. He’d been attracted to Heather Cameron back in the day, and she always showed her interest when she was back in town visiting her parents. On Tuesday, she’d given him a look that every functioning male understood. He’d turned her down with a shake of his head. When they were sixteen, and through college, they’d had a thing, and by the time he realized his place in the world was here, Heather wanted a different life.

  Like the woman sitting across from you now.

  Fair call. She did, but there was something about Georgia Paxton that had slipped under his skin. He hated everything that she stood for professionally, but on a core level they clicked. And it wasn’t just the banter between them that was effortless, it was the looks he’d catch when she thought he wasn’t looking. The slight blush, the pulling of her bottom lip between her teeth. Her gentle nature, her looking out for Robert, a man she didn’t know.

  Even Delilah loves her.

  And the goat was notoriously picky.

  She belongs here.

  Where that missile of a thought had come from, he had no idea. She wasn’t the stick around kind of girl, and there was no point thinking otherwise.

  They drove in relative silence the rest of the way to his mum’s house. The haunting notes of Moonlight Sonata filled him with calmness, the way only classical music could. He’d watch his father pour over blueprints, classical music blaring until he’d found a solution. Callum had picked up on it, and used it to calm and blank his mind when he needed to work out a problem.

  His current problem? The gorgeous, vivacious, smart woman beside him.

  He pulled up outside a farmhouse on the outskirts of town. Outside, a sign read, Palm reading. See your future, no charge.

  Resignation swirled in his stomach. His mum would be the death of him. He’d been trying to get her to pull that sign down but she refused, saying it was her gift, and her obligation to share her sight with those in need of seeing their future.

  He turned to Georgia to find her eyes glossy.

  He jerked the car into park. “Jesus, what’s the matter?”

  He unbuckled his belt and leaned toward her, his pulse spiking.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, wiping her hand across her face. “Sorry, I got lost in the beauty of the notes. The beauty of the story.” She gifted him a watery smile.

  He frowned out the window at his mum’s house. A soft rain had started falling, covering the windows in a mist. It was like they were in their own private grotto, but to see a story in it? He turned back to her. “Story?”

  She must have seen the confusion on his face. “Not the house, the music. I know it doesn’t have words, but I think the music has a story. You don’t think Beethoven was thinking about something or someone when he wrote it?” She fished out a tissue from her back pocket. “It isn’t random notes, fitted together. There’s real emotion that went from his heart to the notes he wrote. It’s beautiful.” She stared ahead. “My story would be different from yours, but everyone would hear a story to the music. Don’t you think of something beautiful or tragic when you hear this?”

  He stared at her, at the vulnerability and beauty pouring out of her and seeing a story in her head of one of Beethoven’s finest, in his opinion. Her soft, feminine perfume filled his senses and made him ache for her.

  Delilah’s bleats broke the moment.

  “She wants to see my mum.” He reached for the door, but her hand landed on his shoulder.

  “Can you give me a minute? I look terrible.” She adjusted the rearview mirror.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  You’re always beautiful.

  He jumped out of the car before she could argue, and let out the impatient goat.

  They made it to his mum’s front door just as the heavens opened. They stomped their feet and shook out their jackets, all the while Delilah headbutted the door.

  Georgia laughed. “What’s up with her?”

  He opened the front door. “She’s Ma’s goat, but she couldn’t care for her, so now Delilah lives with me.”

  “Temporarily or permanently?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Permanently.”

  “Ahhh,” she said, understanding him.

  He pushed open the door and inhaled the aromas of his youth—old books, always a pot of Mary MacGregor’s finest tea brewing, scones, jam, and whipped cream—but now they were mixed with healing herbs, and the faint smell of weed.

  Georgia’s eyebrows lifted.

  He walked into the kitchen, knowing his mum would be at the table with either tea brewing or being sipped.

  Sure enough, his mum sat at the kitchen table, a shaking pencil in her hand, a crossword on the table.

  He kissed her on the cheek. She had good days and bad days, and today looked like a bad day. She gripped the table when she’d tried to stand, her knuckles white. He laid a hand on her shoulder, but she waved him off. “Why don’t you sit awhile,” he said gently. “We’re not going anywhere.”

  “You’re fussing like an old woman,” she huffed.

  He opened his mouth but his mum got in first.

  “If you say I’m an old woman, you can march yourself back out the door.”

  He kissed her cheek. “I’m planning on you being around for another hundred years.”

  “Ah, get away with ya.” His mum smiled, her face creased in soft wrinkles. “You’ve brought your wife?”

  Georgia fidgeted in the corner. Callum grinned. “I have. Ma, meet the missus.”

  Georgia turned an enticing shade of pink. “Oh, that was just for fun. It didn’t mean anything.”

  “Folklore shouldn’t be played around with,” his mum said.

  “I’ll never do it again,” Georgia said solemnly.

  “Well, of course not. You’re already married.”

  Delilah bashed her head against the back door, her signal to be let out. Callum obliged, then poured three mugs of tea, passing Georgia a steaming mug.

  She took a sip and smiled. “Mmm. This is now my second favorite drink after Callum’s coffee. I don’t think I’ve ever had this much tea in one day. Robert insisted I have at least two to put color in my cheeks.”

  His mum laughed. “May I see your palm?”

  Georgia blinked and held her hand out.

  “Ma is the leading palm reader in these parts, but I wish she wouldn’t put the sign out.”

  He knew she wanted to spend her time reading people’s palms, but he saw the physical aspect of the exhaustion the next day. He also hadn’t been able to convince her that there were bad people out there who did bad things, and inviting them into her home was only asking for trouble she couldn’t control. She just shrugged, smiled, and said she’d think about it. She was as stubborn as Robert.

  Mary studied Georgia’s outstretched hand. She traced over the lines, a faraway look on her face. A look Callum knew well. The trance she said she went into reading someone.

  “I see a lot in your future. You’re a busy girl.”

  He saluted Georgia with his mug. “That’s my Corporate.”

  “One marriage. A solid lifeline. Three children. A life well lived.” She studied Georgia for a beat. “I don’t get many hands like yours, my dear. You’ve made my day. So awful to deliver news of lives cut short, or babies not born.”

  Georgia laughed. “Oh, I’m sorry to disappoint you but there is no marriage in my future, and definitely no babies.”

  “Corporate’s a high-flyer, Ma, can’t stay in one place for too long. Restless leg syndrome. We’re filing for divorce in six days.”

  Damn, but that pinched his insides.

  “I am restless, and we are divorcing.” Georgia’s brow wrinkled. “Um, what do we have to do to get divorced by y
our folklore?”

  “Oh,” his mum said, staring off into the distance, her face pained. “Don’t rightly know. It hasn’t happened before.”

  He turned to his mum, whose family went back generations in these parts. They were one of the original clans in the area. “Ma?”

  “Well,” she drew the word out. “Back in the day, divorce wasn’t an option once clans were merged. You worked through your differences.” She took a sip of tea. “I can’t recall anyone who married in The Grotto in recent time that aren’t still together.”

  “Were you and your husband married there?” Georgia asked his ma. She took a large gulp of her tea, he suspected to keep herself from fidgeting. She couldn’t seem to keep still whenever he’d seen her try to work through a problem. She said her sister called her Twitchy, and he could see why.

  “No. Niall was from Dublin and wanted a big Irish wedding. I was young and in love.” Ma gazed into her mug. “Maybe if I had insisted, things would have been different.” She shrugged. “Maybe not. Niall never felt the pull of the land or the people.”

  The bitterness both his parents had gone through had faded over the years. His mum had mellowed, but his father was still chasing the next big deal, adding more money in the bank, until one day he’d fall over dead with only his filing cabinets turning up at his funeral.

  “Where is he now?”

  Ma smiled, her eyes sad. “In London. Waiting for Callum to come back and join the practice.”

  Georgia blinked and looked at him. “Oh.”

  He saluted her with his cup. “Yep, you’re looking at Corporate 101.”

  Silence.

  Georgia studied her cup. Callum shrugged. He’d lived that life and had moved on.

  His mum covered the silence by plunging in. “How are the renovations of the hotel going? I can’t wait to see them. She’s such a beautiful hotel. Hundreds of years old.” She nodded to Georgia. “I bet you can’t wait to see her when she’s all restored.”

  Nothing from Georgia. Was she off her head?

  He shook his, and soon he and his mum were engrossed in what was up with the hotel. He caught Georgia mouthing “bathroom.” He pointed down the hall.

  “She’s quite lovely, Callum. I know you don’t believe in The Grotto, but a lot around here do. You could do worse, like Heather Cameron who’d be back here in a heartbeat if you asked her.”

  Callum went to open his mouth, but his mum got in first. “She isn’t the one for you.” Her head turned. “But Georgia is.”

  He finished his tea. “She’s not my type, I gave up her lifestyle years ago, and that’s all she wants.”

  “We’ll see.”

  He studied her, noting the strain around her mouth, the slight dullness in her normally brilliant eyes. He engulfed her hand in his. “How are you? Honestly.”

  She stared off into the distance. “Funny old disease, MS.” She perked up. “The pot helps. Who knew I’d be talking spiffs and bongs at my age.”

  Callum chuckled. There was a secret pot club where multiple sclerosis sufferers received weekly shipments that helped with the seizures. The police turned a blind eye. Her doctor approved. Maud, who did for him at the hotel and lived here, took the run driving with his mum riding shotgun. The Thelma and Louise of their time, except no Brad Pitt, much to his mum’s dismay, and no heading toward ravines, which he was relieved about.

  “I’d love to come to the pub, do my hand reading.”

  He knew how much it took out of her. “We’ll see.” He leaned in and kissed his mum’s familiar Nivea-scented cheek. “You’ve got enough money? Everything you need?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Her voice was stiff.

  Pride and Mary MacGregor walked hand in hand, so Callum paid Maud an over-the-top salary with the silent understanding it went to his mum and her needs, including pot.

  He didn’t know how long he’d have her, but if he could slow her disease, he’d do anything. His heart crumpled and it nearly brought him to his knees at the thought of the person he’d loved since he’d taken his first breath not being in his life.

  He’d do anything and everything to protect her.

  He turned and saw Georgia leaning against doorframe, taking in the conversation.

  His mum shuffled in her chair. “Now, you two. That’s a spark of good news. I’ll make it to the wedding in the chapel. Name the date. Maud and I will be out shopping for new frocks.”

  Georgia just shook her head, and Callum had to bite back a grin. There was no getting away from the wedding talk, so she’d better just get used to it.

  She glanced out the window then back to him. “Wow, it’s getting really dark out. Should we go? It looks like I’ve triggered another rain bomb.”

  Callum shook his head, but Georgia held her ground. “It’s true. Every time I walk outside, bam, instant rain. My keratin is about to expire.”

  “I have no idea what that means, but you’re right, we should get going.”

  He kissed and hugged his mum. Georgia went to shake her hand, but was pulled into a hug, too. The sight pleased him more than it should.

  They stepped outside and Callum stopped in his tracks. Jesus, Georgia wasn’t wrong. The heavens had indeed opened. He shrugged off his jacket and handed it to her.

  “Wait here.”

  He ran and opened the passenger and back door. Georgia splashed after him, shivering and drenched and clearly not waiting where he left her, and slid into the front seat. Delilah, having heard the engine start, jumped onto the backseat.

  Halfway across what used to be a dip in the road—that was now a fast-moving river—he turned the car full into the current and cut the engine.

  Georgia gasped. “What are you doing? Won’t we get washed away?”

  “We might, but if we continue, we’ll get water up the exhaust pipe, and we’ll be dead. This way we have a chance of making it out. If we keep going the road dips farther, and the water will be above the doors. We’ll be fucked.”

  Delilah had curled up on his backseat, and her soft snores filtered through the rain hitting the vehicle like missiles.

  “Fucked? How fucked?” she shouted over the rain. “Like up the ass fucked? Or just your regular fucked?”

  Now was not the time to imagine fucking Georgia any which way to Sunday.

  “Are we in imminent danger here?” she asked when he didn’t answer. “Should we climb onto the roof?”

  He reached across and unclipped her seat belt, then his, and hauled her into his lap. He tucked her head into his shoulder, his hand cupping her jaw where her pulse fluttered.

  Despite the thundering rain, she snuggled into him. “What are you doing?”

  “You don’t like my caveman act?”

  “Hmm, jury’s still out.” She snuggled deeper.

  “We’re okay. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

  “Oh.” Her face softened, then her gaze moved to his mouth and damn it if she didn’t lick her soft, puffy lips.

  Fuck it.

  His mouth landed on hers. A sigh of approval vibrated into him. He grazed his mouth over hers in a back and forth motion, stopping to nip her bottom lip, and his tongue touched hers.

  Yes.

  He growled, and she melted into him like butter in a hot pan. He held her tighter, his fingers now buried in her soft hair, pulling her closer. She wriggled, huffed, then changed the position so she straddled him, lining herself up against his throbbing cock that could now crush a rock. He wasn’t embarrassed about how she turned him on. Her nipples were doing a stellar job burying into his chest. Her grinding against him wiped his brain clean.

  He clutched her to him in ownership. The moment—their week—wouldn’t last long, but for now she was his.

  “What are we doing?” she asked against his mouth.

  He pulled back and stared into her stormy eyes. “I think it’s called kissing.”

  “Oh. I’ve heard of it.” She paused. “I like it. A lot.” She regarded him. “You t
aste good. Like an ice cream cone I want to lick forever,” she murmured, then leaned forward and sucked his bottom lip between hers.

  He shifted, his zipper denting tender flesh. “What flavor?” He nuzzled her neck and bumps flew across her skin.

  “All flavors of the rainbow. Sweet, salty, and with a hint of you, and before you ask, I don’t know what that taste is, but I’m calling it delicious.”

  “That’s a lot of flavors.” He cupped her face and stared into her liquid eyes.

  I wish you were mine, Georgia Paxton.

  She snuggled deeper into him, their combined heat misting the windows and possibly the countryside.

  He glanced out the window. The rain had eased to a steady drizzle, and the road appeared manageable. He glanced at his watch and pulled a hand through his hair. They’d been out way later than he’d planned, but Callum had enjoyed every minute of her company. “I think we can get going.”

  “Are you sure? I’m not sure if I’ve got this kissing thing down. I need to practice.” She wiggled in his lap.

  When you put it that way… He glanced at his watch again. Damn, he wanted to spend hours exploring her body with his hands, with his mouth, map it until he knew every quiver, every intake of breath, every moan. Right now, with her hands in his hair, her amazing sunshine scent was making him punch-drunk.

  “If I don’t leave now, I don’t think we’ll be leaving for a while.” He cast a glance in the backseat. “I don’t want an audience.”

  She blinked away the haze. “Absolutely not. Poor Delilah.” She did one last wiggle against him, then crawled over to the passenger seat.

  “Can we practice kissing later, but without company?” She lowered her voice. “I was enjoying that.”

  He pulled a hand through his hair. “I’ve got to get you back to the hotel, and me to the pub.”

  She grinned. “I’m taking the night off, Sofa. I want to understand the way people do things around here. I think I’ll come with you.”

  A warmth not from the pathetic heater swept through him.

  “Corporate, I’d enjoy your company at the pub. Tonight is lager night.”