She lifted a skillet off the overhead rack and set it on the stove, tossing a glance at him over her shoulder. “You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”
“I was just foraging for something when you arrived.”
“Good. I’m making you BLTs. I even ran by Dr. Jameson’s and begged tomatoes from his garden.” Her movements were economical yet graceful.
Iain slipped onto one of the chairs at the island to watch. The smell of the crackling bacon made his mouth water. While the bacon cooked, she sliced the tomatoes.
“I thought you couldn’t cook,” Iain said.
Her laugh was infectious enough to bring a smile to his face. “Frying bacon is not cooking.”
“I appreciate the meal. I’m famished.”
“You’ve been working hard and deserve more than a measly sandwich. I’ll admit I was resistant at first, but your help has been invaluable. Poor Ozzie and Harriet would have been in trouble with me as their caretaker.”
“I can do more than feed and water two beasties, you know. If you need me to make calls or run down deposits and whatnot, I’m available.”
“Okay.” Her back was to him as she tended the bacon.
Iain cocked his head. “Did you say, ‘okay’?”
“Aye, Highlander. I said, ‘okay.’” The Scottish burr she adopted was still inflected with her Southern accent. It was equal parts terrible and adorable.
“One sandwich or two?” she asked him.
“Is three an option?”
“Good thinking. You’ll need the energy for tonight.”
A zing of awareness had him sitting up straighter. “What’s happening tonight?”
“Our second dance lesson, of course.” Her voice was brisk and teacher-like.
Of course. He slumped on his seat, fighting off disappointment he had no right to. After all, she had been the one to label their kiss as a mistake. He’d thoroughly enjoyed the blistering kiss, but had worried he was being too aggressive. Basically, he’d attempted to act like a gentleman, and it had backfired.
She slid a stack of sandwiches in front of him. His first bite was a revelation. He made a noise of appreciation and took another bite and another until all three sandwiches were gone in the time it had taken Anna to eat one.
Her smile was bemused but pleased. “I’m going to assume that means you enjoyed them.”
“Aye.” He patted his belly, then folded his arms on the counter to wait for her to finish.
“What do you think of our goddaughter?” She raised her eyebrows.
“Our goddaughter?”
“Izzy asked me to be godmother.” She pulled her phone out. “She also sent pictures. Do you want to see?”
“I do. Alasdair didn’t think to send me any.”
She huffed. “Boys. Here.”
The baby was exactly how his da had described, except for less squally looking. He scrolled through the pictures. Alasdair looked happier and more content than Iain had ever seen him. He stared into the babe’s clear gray eyes. His heart beat through the warm gooeyness filling his chest. A sense of protectiveness washed over him. “She’s a bonny little thing, isn’t she?”
Anna wiped her fingers on a napkin and came to look over his shoulder. “She really is. Although, I don’t have much experience with babies. I don’t take them on until they can dance, and I prefer them out of diapers.”
“Do you want kids?” As soon as the question exited his mouth, he wanted to stuff it back in.
“I haven’t thought about it much, to be honest. It’s a mind warp to realize I’m teaching kids of girls I graduated high school with.” She shrugged. “Back then, I was focused on making it in New York, not making babies. You can see how well that worked out for me. What about you? Thought about kids someday?”
“I’ve never settled down long enough to consider it. Plus, I don’t know that I want to bring a child into this world.” He closed his eyes to attempt to blank out his memories.
“That’s depressingly pessimistic.” Her tone shifted into an unusually serious gear, and he could sense her hesitation. “Is that because of your time in the service?”
“Aye. It was the worst time of my life.” He chuffed a laugh devoid of humor. “Also the best.”
“So far,” Anna added with raised eyebrows. “Who’s to say what’s just around the corner?”
“That’s shockingly optimistic.”
She merely gave him a slight smile before turning serious once more. “What made it the best time?”
“I joined up expecting the army would be my career. I was good at it, and it was like a huge, dysfunctional family.”
“Ah-ha. You weren’t lonely anymore.”
It was such a simple statement but resonated like a call in a deep fissure. “I suppose I wasn’t.”
“What made it the worst?” When he didn’t answer right away, she asked softly, “Did you have to … you know?”
“I mostly only fired to let the enemy know we were there. Our mission was peacekeeping, after all. My company supported humanitarian work across Afghanistan. Aid organizations needed protection as they traveled distributing books or water pumps or supplies. I was a sniper who was tasked to keep them safe.”
“Was it dangerous?”
He shook his head to clear the images scrolling in his head as vivid as the pictures of the baby earlier. “Not usually. Delivering supplies to schools were my favorite assignments.”
“That sounds fulfilling.”
He didn’t answer.
“This is the point in the story something really bad happened, isn’t it?” Her light as a feather touch on his scar brought his gaze to hers. “Is that how you got…”
“Ah, nay. My scar is from an accident I had on the cliffs when I was a lad. Short story is that I fell onto a ledge, broke my leg, and cut my face.” The physical pain he’d experienced had faded from his memories. While the hours spent alone on the ledge still haunted his nightmares on occasion, they were nothing compared to what’d he’d experienced in the army.
Instead of looking away from him, she squared her body to his. With him sitting and her standing, their faces were level. She touched his cheek more firmly now, smoothing her palm over his scar and beard. “You don’t have to—”
“It was a bloody drone. The Americans eventually took the blame. They thought it was a terrorist training camp, when it was actually a school with a playground.”
“That’s terrible. You were there?”
“Close enough. We lost three aid workers and two soldiers and so many kids. So many.” Kids who had been playing chase or swinging on a rickety metal swing set one moment were lifeless the next. “My re-up came around, and I took my discharge.”
“Do you miss it?”
The whys and wherefores of his decision to leave the army weren’t entirely clear, even to him. All he knew was once he’d stepped off the base in Scotland in his civilian clothes, the bands around his chest dropped away.
Yet. There was always a yet. “Sometimes, I miss it terribly. Afghanistan was hot as hades. Beautiful and harsh. The inverse of the Highlands in many ways. I think more than anything, I miss feeling useful.”
“You’re useful here, and Izzy said she doesn’t know what they would do without you at Cairndow.”
The thought settled like a stone’s weight on his chest. How could he tell his da and Gareth and Alasdair how trapped he felt at home? He didn’t want to think about what happened after the festival at the moment.
He raised an eyebrow. “You think I’m useful? I was under the impression I am merely a pooper scooper.”
“When we first met, I was being a…” She let out a huff and looked to the ceiling before refocusing on him. “What would you call me?”
“A prat,” he said with twitching lips.
“Is that like a brat?”
“The grown-up, less cuddly version.”
Instead of turning defensive, her eyes sparkled with humor. “I’ll accept that. Are yo
u ready for dance lesson number two?”
A nervous excitement squatted in his stomach like a horny little gnome. The last time they’d attempted a lesson, things had gone awry in the most surprising but best possible way. Was it too much to hope for a repeat performance? “I’m hopeless.”
“No one is hopeless. We just need to tap into your natural rhythm.” She grabbed his hands, pulled him to standing, and examined him in a clinical way. “You already sing and play. It’s merely a matter of scale. What you need is confidence.”
“Do you have some to spare?” he asked dryly.
“When it comes to dancing? Plenty.” She rubbed her hands together and transferred her attention. “Come on and help me make room.”
Together, they shifted the couch and rolled up a rug, leaving a squarish expanse of hardwood floor.
She picked up her phone and synced it with a portable speaker on a side table. Would she pick the same sexy, honeyed song as last time? A tin whistle heralded the start of the music. It was in the count of a slow waltz.
Anna’s hips swayed in time, and the motion traveled up her body in an undulation that left him standing like a lump, his mouth slightly agape. She raised her arms over her head and tossed her hair over her shoulders, closing her eyes. No one was as lovely and graceful as Anna in that moment. How could she make such a traditional song so bloody sexy?
“I can’t do this,” he finally croaked out. “I’ll tell the doc to find someone else.”
“Of course you can do this.” She grabbed his hips, forcing him to match her movements. “Let’s count together. One-two-three.”
Although, it was a toddler-level skill, he stumbled over the numbers. His arms hung useless at his sides. She maneuvered his hands like he was a doll, one on her side, the other she took in her hand.
“First, we sidestep and stamp.” She took a step and he followed half a beat behind. “Now, the other way.”
He performed the simple sidestep adequately, but then she said, “Now, the classic waltz.”
He shuffled his feet to keep up with her without even trying to remain on the beat.
“And, a twirl.” She stepped away and performed a flawless spin under his arm, her hair flashing around her shoulders. He stepped forward at the same time she returned to her original position, leaving them in a pseudo embrace. Or was it an actual embrace?
Her arms snaked around his neck, her fingers playing in the hair at his nape. He slipped his arm around her waist and drew her onto her toes and into him. His other hand landed between her shoulder blades.
She tilted her head back and their gazes clashed, hers emitting an unmistakable challenge he was afraid to accept. What he had to offer was simple and solid and … boring. A woman like Anna would tire of him. But what if…? What if he fed the spark between them? What if he took her to bed? The end of the festival offered an expiration date. She wouldn’t have time to tire of him.
He felt unsteady and insecure like the seemingly solid cliff rocks that had crumbled under his grasp and left him alone and in pain so long ago. The last year had left him reeling in confusion. His vision for his future destroyed as surely as the school in Afghanistan had been.
Things were changing. His tether to Cairndow had weakened, and he scrambled for purchase. But, ever so slowly, he was finding his footing in Highland. He was becoming more comfortable in his own skin, and the feeling became even stronger in her arms.
As if it were the most natural thing in his world, his hand migrated south and smoothed over Anna’s bum. Her intake of breath was halfway between a gasp and a sigh.
“Too much?” He squeezed slightly.
“In the middle of our dance in front of all of Highland? Yes.” Her whisper was an invitation. “But here and now? Nope.”
Casting off his reservations, he accepted. Dipping his head, he brushed his lips across hers, once and then twice. On the third pass, his mouth stayed to sup on hers, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth. She tightened her arms around his neck and pressed herself tight against him. She was lean and muscular from her job, but her breasts were soft and her curves inviting. Her tongue touched his then retreated as if coaxing him out to play, and he tightened his grip on her arse as he deepened the kiss.
The beat of the music had him swaying, and the back of his knees hit the arm of the couch, halting him. Before he could maneuver them into open space, she skimmed her hand to the middle of his chest and pushed. It didn’t take much to upset his balance. He toppled backward onto the couch, his kilt flipping high on his thighs. He didn’t have time to take a breath or repair his kilt before she straddled his hips.
She wrapped her hands around his wrists and pushed his arms above his head. He could take control with ease—he knew it and she knew it—but he didn’t.
“Too much?” She boomeranged his question back at him.
He smiled. “Not nearly enough, lass.”
She didn’t return his smile. Lowering herself slowly, she kissed him, shimmying her hips against him. It was wild and reckless and left his breathing ragged. Finally, he couldn’t take any more. She wasn’t positioned where he needed her to be. He grabbed her hips and scooted her down. She gasped against his mouth.
The song ended, and the ensuing silence left them in a strange stasis. The pulse of his heart was its own primitive sort of music, and he bucked his hips against her. Like it was the jumpstart she needed, she moved against him. He tightened his grip on her hips, forcing her into a rhythm that drove his desire higher.
With the fingernails of one of her hands finding purchase in his shoulder, she arched and pulled his kilt up with her other. He cursed the practical streak that’d had him pull on a pair of boxer briefs after his shower. If her pout was any indication, she was cursing him too.
“Underwear?”
“I don’t want to shock the residents of Highland.”
She sat up and traced the hard ridge outlined by the thin layer of cotton. Desperation had his hips pressing against her hand. “Shock and awe. Yep, that’s the truth of it. I swear it’s even bigger.”
“You weren’t grinding on me when you stole a peek under my kilt earlier, love. Do I need to explain how this works?”
A blush raced up her neck and into her cheeks. “I meant, bigger than I imagined.”
He’d never been a practiced flirt, but he rather liked teasing her and making her blush. “Ach, so you’ve imagined me in this state for you?”
Her blush intensified, but her voice was coy and a smile quivered on her lips. “Perhaps.”
He wanted to know if the pink extended to her chest. Nay, he needed to know. He went to work on the buttons of her shirt, but his big hands weren’t made for such delicate work. The delay was excruciating in the best possible way. The release of each button revealed a few more inches of her pinkened skin.
“I’ve dreamed of you every night since I arrived, lass. Every. Night.” Finally, he was able to push her shirt over her shoulders. Her bra was made of thin lace. It took both his hands and all his dexterity to release the clasp at her back. She held the bra to her chest, the straps falling down her shoulders.
Her eyes were wide and seeking encouragement. “Iain?”
He sat up with her still straddling him and brushed his lips along the top curve of her right breast. “You’re lovely. Lovely,” he rumbled.
She dropped her hands and he swept the bra aside. Her breasts weren’t large, but they were perfect. He covered one with his hand, her budded nipple pressing against his palm. He repositioned them, so he was sitting and she was on his lap.
“Is it weird that we’re both wearing skirts?” She peppered kisses down his scar until she reached his mouth.
He pulled away to give her a stern look. “A curse on you for even thinking of my kilt as a skirt. That sort of insult would merit punishment in the olden days.”
She waggled her eyebrows. “Yeah? What kind of punishment?”
“It would be up to the Highlander insulted.” Thei
r banter was playful but intensely sexual. “I’m thinking something along the lines of…” He scooped his arms along her back and brought her breast to his mouth.
She speared her fingers through his hair and held on tight. The tingles traveled at warp speed from his scalp to escalate the desperate situation brewing between his legs. He alternated flicks with his tongue and gentle sucks.
“Is this torture by pleasure?” she asked in a hoarse voice.
“A torture that will end with a little death, I hope.”
She startled. “Death? I think I’ll pass.”
His laughter came easy and natural. “It’s an old-fashioned way of referring to an orgasm. La petite mort.”
She relaxed back into his touch, and he resumed his attentions, this time on her other breast. “How do you know that?”
“I read a lot as a lad. Not much else to do during the long winters.” With her arms firmly around his neck, he transferred his hands to her knees and smoothed them up her thighs, taking her skirt along for the ride. Once he reached her arse, he scooted her closer, until his erection pressed against her belly.
“What’s your favorite book?” She was breathless. Her body was aroused, of that he had no doubt, but her questions signaled an uncertainty that gave him pause. He raised his head to look in her eyes.
“Do you want this, Anna?”
“I’m the one that climbed on top of you.”
“Answer the question.” He stroked her hair and wrapped his hand around her nape.
“Yes. I want this. I want you.” Her mouth parted, and he could hear the word she left unsaid.
“But?”
Her throat worked on a hard swallow. “I’m scared.”
“Why?” He didn’t think anything could scare her. She seemed indomitable. “Is it my size?”
One corner of her mouth quirked up. “Aren’t you full of yourself all of a sudden?”
Now it was his turn to blush. “Not the size of my … Other women have found me rather intimidating, but I would never hurt you.”
A Highlander in a Pickup Page 18
