by Anna Durand
Presley stepped back from the door, nose high, lips tightened into a smirk. "Or what? You'll torture me to death with bagpipe music?"
A muscle in Lachlan's jaw twitched. "I don't take kindly to scunners who try to force their way into a lady's home."
The "scunner" in question flicked his middle finger at Lachlan.
"Okay-okay," I said, and rushed forward to plant myself between the two men. "Let's end this right now. You two walloping each other won't solve anything."
Lachlan arched one eyebrow at me. "Sure you don't want me to give him a right skelping with a caber?"
"A caper?" Presley sniggered. "Ooooh, hitting me with pickled garnish sounds real scary."
My Highlander aimed a deadly smile at my scumbag ex. "A caber's a very large wooden pole. Best know what yer on about before ye start bumping yer gums, laddie."
Presley's forehead wrinkled. He cast me a sidelong glance. "Where'd you find this jerk-wad?"
"He's my new neighbor." A pleasant tingle shivered down my spine. I shook it off and jabbed a finger in the direction of Presley's canary yellow Alfa Romeo, parked at the curb. "You have no place in my life anymore. Go."
The cretin ground his teeth, lips working, his gaze nailed to Lachlan. Then he hunched his shoulders and trudged toward the car. As he jerked open the driver's door, he called to Lachlan, "How ya like my ride, Scotch Tape?"
Lachlan beamed a wide smile at him. "Quite nice, I must say. Shame I had to leave my Aston Martin back at Inverness, but I've got pictures if you'd like to see."
Presley dove into the car and yanked the door shut. The vehicle rocked. The Alfa Romeo's engine roared to life. Tires squealed as he tore off down the street. Across the way, Mrs. Abernathy froze in the middle of watering her geraniums and cast me a befuddled look. I shrugged, waving.
Lachlan sighed. "A right scunner, that one, but a coward at heart."
"He's a lying, cheating asshole too." With the incident over, the adrenaline rushed out of me, ushering in a cold wave. A shudder radiated out into my whole body, rattling my teeth.
Lachlan touched my arm. "You're shaking. Let me help you inside."
"I'm fine." I sank into those blue eyes and suddenly everything seemed less awful. My quivering even subsided. How strange. "Thank you, Lachlan. I'm grateful for your help with Presley."
"That'd be the lying, cheating asshole."
"Yeah." With him standing so close, every time I inhaled I got a dose of his masculine scent. I envisioned him in that kilt, shirtless this time and wielding a massive sword. Oh, and a caber slung over one shoulder while he threatened to skelp an army of people who'd wronged me. I shivered. If only he were my Highlander.
Lachlan slid his hand down my arm to take my hand. He sandwiched it between his big palms. "Is there someone I could call for you? A relative or friend or — someone."
"I'm fine, I swear." I should've pulled my hand away, but it felt too good to have his hands around mine. If he'd tried to hug me, I would've let him. To be wrapped in those arms… I pulled my hand free. I was doing it again, letting a man lull me into trusting him. "I appreciate your concern, but I have to go."
Casey bounded out the open door to hurl his furry body at Lachlan, who wrapped his arms around my dog, muttering things I couldn't make out. When Lachlan rose, Casey trotted to me and sat down like the best-trained dog in the world. I scratched his head. "You're not fooling anybody. Sit and stay, my ass." Though I struggled not to spiral down into Lachlan's eyes, those pale blue irises lured me in again. My voice turned breathy. Rats. "Thank you. Again."
He shrugged. "I cannot abide bullies. Heard a right rammy going on over here and came to offer my assistance. In the name of neighborliness, of course."
I realized I was twirling a lock of my hair and clamped my hand at my nape. He smiled. Might as well have fired a hormone missile straight at my nether regions. Heat erupted in my belly, racing down to places that should not be heating up, not here, not now. Not ever again. I'd been on the verge of escaping into the house, but clearly, I was the same old Erica. Might as well have strapped a flashing neon sign to my chest that said, Gullible hussy, free for the taking, queue forms at left.
"Um…" I floundered for words, my brain addled by the sight of him and by that smile. "I could've handled Presley on my own, but I appreciate the save."
"Anytime, lass, anytime. But you can stop thanking me, three times is plenty."
His words rolled over me, warm and sweet and full of promise. No, you moron, he is not hitting on you. Right. I had to get it straight. He rushed over here out of common courtesy and chivalry toward a woman he perceived to be in danger. Nothing more.
Lachlan moved toward Gil's house. After a couple steps, he paused to glance back at me. "If you want me —"
"I know where you live." I scratched my neck. "Didn't mean that in a creepy way, like I'm planning a home invasion."
His gaze flickered down to my breasts, his expression darkening, and then he looked straight into my eyes. "Invade anytime. I'm certain I can take you."
In seconds, he was gone. The front door of Gil's house clicked shut behind him. I wandered back into my house, reclaiming my coffee mug. Why had Presley wanted into the house so badly? He'd been a jackass of the first order when all hell broke loose in my life, and when I realized he was responsible for the melee, I chucked him with the garbage, where he belonged. Now he expected I'd admit him into my home? His actions baffled me, but I knew one thing for certain. He did not want to get back together with me. His motives struck me as far from amorous.
Scuffling into the kitchen, I climbed onto a stool at the oak-wood island. Casey laid down at the stool's base, chin on the floor. I folded my hands around the mug and rubbed my thumbs on the warm, smooth surface. Lachlan had galloped to my rescue, a knight without a steed, ready to defend my honor and my life. Would he have "skelped" Presley with a big wooden pole? Or his fists?
Guilt trickled through me at the warm rush I got from imagining just such a scenario. Presley Cichon deserved a beating. I'd fantasized about running him down with my car or hiring a hitman to take him out, but the spectacle of Lachlan MacTaggart issuing quiet threats pleased me even more. Every woman wanted a knight in shining armor, whether she admitted it or not. Maybe it was in our DNA to wish for a savior.
Lachlan. Strong, sexy Lachlan. I itched to turn my head, or even just my eyes, to peek out the window. From the kitchen, I could look across the breakfast nook, out the bay window and straight into the side window of Gil's living room. Lachlan might be there now, stripping off his shirt and donning his kilt, about to practice his swordsmanship. My gaze flitted in that direction. No, no, no. I commanded my eyes to face straight ahead, with nothing more enticing to look at than the refrigerator. Lachlan. His name whispered to me like a siren's song.
Helpless to resist, I spun on my stool to face Gil's house.
The living room was empty. Darn. No salacious spying for me today. But thanks to his tantalizing offer, I could see him if I wanted. His voice rumbled in my mind. If you want me…
It was rude of me not to welcome him to the neighborhood. I'd take Gil's advice, bake my signature brownies, and present them to my new neighbor as a housewarming gift. Nothing more.
Before heading into the kitchen, I checked my e-mail. Two messages awaited, one from my mom, the other from my erstwhile sex date, Cliff. My finger on the mouse button, I prepared to click to open his message. Did I want to know what he had to say? I clicked twice. The message, forwarded from the dating site, opened onscreen. It read, "Sorry. Resched?"
No explanation. No groveling for my forgiveness. He couldn't even be bothered to type out whole sentences. Like I'd reschedule with this guy. I punched the keys to spell out, "Thanks, but I met someone else. I'm sure you will too."
Since I had met Lachlan, my blow-off was technically true. I sent the message and switched to my mom's e-mail.
"Greetings from Florida," it began. "
Hot and sticky here, as usual. Dad forgot to charge the cell phone again, so I'm getting in touch the old-fashioned way. Ha-ha." My parents, like me and a lot of other people these days, relied on a cell phone as their sole telephone. Landlines were so passé. Of course, you had to remember to charge your phone. Her message continued, "Are you okay? We haven't heard from you in over a week. If you're sad about Presley, don't be. I never liked him, and you deserve so much better, honey. Call us soon. We miss you. Don't let your bosses work you too hard. Love, Mom."
My vision blurred as tears threatened to flow. I inhaled a shaky breath and willed the tears away. I was lying to my parents. They thought I still worked at Cichon, D'Addio & Rothenberg, the premier accounting firm in Chicago, owned by the richest family in the city — Presley's family. How could I tell them the truth? Hi Mom, how's it going? I'm charged with felony theft because my ex-lover planted evidence on my work computer implicating me in the embezzlement of $250,000 from the firm's clients. I'm looking at four to fifteen years in prison. Say hi to Dad for me.
I covered my face with my hands. I had to forget about all this or I'd crack. Dropping my hands, I let my gaze wander back to Lachlan's window. What better way to wash away my sorrows than baking for my sexy neighbor?
After typing out a quick reply to my mom, assuring her I was not dead and I'd call soon, I set to work whipping up the brownies. I kept envisioning Lachlan's hard body and his killer smile. I relived our kiss in my mind and my lips tingled from the memory. Lachlan, the siren crooned — and I succumbed.
Chapter Five
Baskets of pink petunias hung at either side of the door, a touch added by Gil's girlfriend — now wife — Jayne. Beside me, Casey whimpered, swished his tail, and panted. I patted his head and murmured, "Yeah, we're both excited. But we need to play it cool, okay?"
The pooch hopped on his front feet.
I rolled my eyes. "You're a hopeless case."
Maybe I was too. My belly fluttered, and for some weird reason, I kept licking my lips. Suck it up and do this, woman. Neighborliness, remember? I smoothed my T-shirt, wiped the sweat from my palms on my jeans, and rapped on the door. I'd spent twenty minutes applying makeup and curling my hair, for reasons I couldn't fathom. War paint, that's what it was. If I looked impressive enough, then maybe Lachlan would think twice about messing with me.
I rolled my eyes at myself. Sure, that was the reason.
The door swung inward. He looked as mouth-wateringly good this time as when he'd confronted Presley. With one hand on the door, he cocked his hip. Just like he'd done last night. It had a similar effect too, straining his jeans across his groin instead of a kilt. I gulped, but the lump stayed lodged in my throat.
To his credit, he stared at my eyes instead of my breasts. "You want me, then?"
No sarcasm or innuendo. Just an honest question.
Shoulders back, I slanted my head back to look at him. "I talked to Gil. He sent me a photo of you and him together, so I know you're who you say you are." I pointed at the bag hooked over my shoulder. The rectangular baking dish pooched out the bag's sides. "Besides, I brought you a housewarming slash thanks-for-scaring-the-bejesus-out-of-my-ex gift."
He ducked his head just enough to peek at me through thick, dark lashes. His laughter crinkled the skin around his eyes and dimpled his cheeks. "You checked me out, eh? Suppose after last night, I can't blame you for being suspicious. And I must admit, it's rather endearing." His gaze darted to the bag before settling on my eyes again. "You owe me no gifts for lending a hand, but I'll accept it as a housewarming present."
"Deal." I bit my lip. "May I come in?"
"Of course."
Casey, unable to contain his glee any longer, jumped up to plant his paws on Lachlan's stomach. The Highlander knelt to scratch the dog's ears. My canine companion chuffed with joy. If Lachlan whispered into my ears while petting me with those powerful, deft hands, I'd make plenty of noise too. Cut that out this instant. I couldn't start anything anyway, with incarceration looming ahead of me.
Lachlan rose and rolled back his muscular shoulders. "Your dog seems to like me."
"His name is Casey, and he's easier than a drunk hooker. He gets just as excited about the mailman and the squirrel in the backyard."
"Careful, with words like those I might get to thinking you fancy me."
"Then you're easier than Casey. Unfortunately, I'm no longer in the market for romance."
"You did kiss me last night."
"I — well —" My cheeks flamed hot enough to fry eggs. I fixated on the door jamb and rocked back on my heels. "Do you want the damn brownies or what?"
"You are a difficult one, aren't you?" I couldn't help glancing at him, and my stomach did a stupid little flip-flop. He winked. "I love a challenge."
"Oh please." I shook my head. "I'd have you fleeing back to Scotland in a week, tops."
He swung the door wide, sweeping an arm in a come-in gesture. Casey tumbled over the threshold first. As I shuffled past Lachlan, he slipped the bag from my shoulder. "A gentleman never permits a lady to carry a heavy load."
"It's brownies, not iron ore."
He shut the door. "Indulge me."
Another ridiculous flip-flop in my stomach. "Fine. But if you try to carry me, I'll bite you."
"An intriguing offer."
His lips split in a bright, heart-melting smile. My whole body relaxed and warmed as if I'd slipped into a hot tub — or taken a Xanax. I skimmed my fingers over my lips, recalling our kiss.
What on earth was I doing? This man eviscerated my self-control, like Presley had done to me before. Reasserting that control was the only sensible strategy here. I straightened, cleared my throat, and shoved my hands in my jeans pockets. "It wasn't an offer."
"I know." His lips sealed together, still curved at the corners. He dipped his head to mine. "Thank you for the sweets, Erica."
Oh, the way he said my name, with that brogue and a hint of sensuality, made me visualize all sorts of outrageously carnal acts. What was it with me and this man? I'd snapped. Like a space shuttle cut loose from its tether to the space station, with all thrusters malfunctioning, I was cast adrift in outer space with dwindling oxygen. But when Lachlan MacTaggart spoke my name, I drew in a deep draft of fresh air. This was ridiculous. I dealt in tabulations, not inexplicable lust. Numbers never lied. Except when Presley Cichon got his greedy little fingers on them.
Casey and I trailed Lachlan into Gil's living room, stepping down three stairs into the sunken space. The L-shaped sofa featured overstuffed cushions, as did the pair of armchairs positioned across from the sofa, separated from it by a glass coffee table. Sunshine streamed through the glass doors that overlooked the backyard. The light glittered in Lachlan's eyes and kissed his skin with a golden hue.
I plopped down on the sofa. Casey pounced onto the cushion beside me.
"Casey!" I tried to push him off, but the dog simply cuddled in deeper. I flashed Lachlan a sheepish look. "I am so sorry. I let him lie on my sofa and I don't usually take him to other people's houses."
"Let the pup have his fun." Lachlan, seated in an armchair, gave me a wicked smirk. "Besides, it's not my sofa."
"Gil didn't demand a security deposit?"
"We're friends. He trusts me." Lachlan settled back into his chair and braced one ankle atop the opposite knee. "Glad as I am to see you, I had the impression you wanted nothing to do with me."
I could do nothing except gaze into the crystal-clear blue eyes locked on me. The intensity of his focus fired a charge through my body. "I thought we should clear the air."
"You mean talk about last night."
I nodded. My stomach churned, and electricity buzzed over my skin, but I could do this. I had to. Living next to this man for a month without clearing the air would suffocate me. "I've never done anything like that in my life. I didn't intend for it to happen, and it most definitely will not happen again."
"So, you won'
t be molesting me here in the den." He waggled his eyebrows.
The fire flared in my cheeks again. I dipped my head to count the threads in the woven rug under my feet.
"That was a stupid joke," Lachlan said. "I apologize, never meant to embarrass you."
"I humiliated myself quite well." I dared to look up at him. "You must think I'm a total slut."
He canted his head and studied me. "May I ask what you were doing in the club?"
"I had a date. He stood me up."
"The infamous Cliff."
"Yes." I clasped my hands on my lap. "When you showed up and knew my name, I assumed you were him."
"That does explain your obsession with the time." One corner of his mouth angled downward as his eyes narrowed. "Did you have any idea what sort of club it was?"
"Yes. I've heard the rumors." Staring at the rug, I gripped the sofa's edge. "People go there to find casual sex partners."
"Aye." He rumbled out a noise, half sigh and half growl. "You don't belong in that place, Erica."
I rolled my eyes up to study him. "Why were you there?"
He squirmed, his features crimping. "I wanted what the club has to offer."
An altogether different image flashed in my mind this time, of Lachlan picking up a blonde in a slinky tube dress, taking her into one of the private booths and —
I flopped back against the sofa and hugged myself.
Wincing, Lachlan scratched his own ear the way he'd scratched Casey's. "It was a mistake. After you left, and I couldn't catch up to you, I went back into the club. Couldn't do it, though."
"Why not?" I don't care, I don't care, I don't care. Aw hell, who was I kidding? I was dying to hear the answer.
"It's simple." He bent forward to trace a fingertip over the coffee table in slow figure-eights, his attention riveted to the movements. "None of those women measured up to you."
Time seemed to stop. The world went quiet and still, shrinking down to the size of this room.
