Cassie shivered, glad she’d taken a minute to shave this morning. She wasn’t proud of the fact she’d freaked out and abruptly abandoned her overnight guest by jumping out of bed and escaping to the shower. Also part of her (and she was not proud of this either) had hoped, maybe a teensy bit, that he’d sneak out while she was in the bathroom. Then she could avoid the awkward conversation they were having now. Though, with his hands stroking her legs, it was oddly not half as awkward as it had been a few minutes ago when they weren’t touching.
“Do you have to go down for breakfast?” he asked, fingers trailing higher up her thighs.
“I should.” She pressed her knees together, blocking his progress. “It’s our last day in Scotland, and I’m sure Bonnie has our final hours planned almost to the minute.”
“Where are you off to next?”
“London.” Cassie pulled her legs off his lap, not missing the impressive bulge that hadn’t been so obvious moments ago. Good. She couldn’t help smiling to herself as she slipped her feet into her sandals. Maybe he had enjoyed last night as much as she had. She hoped so.
But last night was over. Tonight she’d be in England, and by the start of next week, back home in Chicago. Meanwhile, Logan Reid, the guy who smiled like a naughty boy but was all man in bed, would still be here in Scotland.
CHAPTER 5
“I HAVE FOUND heaven,” Ana declared, standing stock-still in the middle of Edinburgh’s bustling farmer’s market, tiny wooden spoon hovering at her lips while people streamed past her, browsing the stands and stalls lining the street in the shadow of Edinburgh Castle.
“It can’t be that good.” Sadie grabbed the spoon and dipped it into the little foil cup Ana held. She licked up a miniscule bit of dessert. Violet eyes going wide, Sadie swallowed the rest of what was on the spoon before shoving the cup back at Ana. “Sweet baby Jesus, take this away from me before I inhale it.” She grabbed Ana’s wrist. “Wait.” She stuck the spoon in the cup again. “Just one more taste.” She leaned her head back in ecstasy as she swallowed another bite. “Okay, now I’m done.”
“That good, huh?” Cassie asked. An actress, Sadie rarely indulged in sweets. Despite already being naturally petite, Sadie was usually on some fad diet—prepping for an audition or a role or a photoshoot—so if she was willing to spend the calories, whatever was in that cup must be damn good indeed.
Having obviously reached the same conclusion, Bonnie was already making a beeline to order one too. Cassie quickened her steps to catch up and scanned the small chalkboard menu of the Crema Caravan, a food truck (more of a food van, really) whose specialty was crème brûlée. Cassie ordered the same as Bonnie, watching with fascination as the guy behind the makeshift counter torched the tops of their cups of creamy custard, scenting the afternoon air with caramelized sugar.
“Who would have thought we’d end up finding the best crème brûlée in Europe on a van in Scotland, rather than at a café in Paris?” Bonnie asked, tapping her wooden spoon against the hard crust to crack it open. Steam drifted up from her cup, and she inhaled in appreciation.
Cassie stared at the golden crystals dotting the rim of her own foil cup. She chipped away at a piece of the crust and took a bite, letting the burnt sugar melt on her tongue. Crème brûlée wasn’t the only thing that turned out to be better in Scotland than what she’d expected to find in France.
As if reading her mind, Bonnie slanted a glance her way. “Better desserts … better men…”
Cassie choked on a spoonful of custard. She’d managed to avoid the Logan discussion all morning. He’d ended up declining her offer to join them for breakfast. The Scot had been a perfect gentleman about it, had even kissed Cassie’s hand in farewell, but still she couldn’t help feeling bereft, thinking, So that’s it then?
It had been a one-night stand. What did she expect? It was right there in the description—one night. She didn’t want any more than that.
Well, maybe another night or two might not be so bad …
No. She’d had her foreign fling. She’d gotten what she’d wanted. Besides, there was still the issue of who Logan was and what he’d wanted from her, other than sex. She was both surprised and impressed he’d not mentioned the media release to her, not even once. He hadn’t tried to get her to sign on the dotted line … hadn’t really even tried to get into her pants. She’d been the one to get into his.
Her own forwardness had shocked her, and couldn’t be blamed entirely on alcohol. Cassie had flirted while tipsy plenty of times in her life, but she’d never had the urge to go for broke in an elevator. There was something about Logan that shoved her inhibitions aside and put her libido in the driver’s seat—replaced logic with lust.
Obviously, Bonnie had caught on to this development and wasn’t going to let Cassie off the hook so easily. Cassie took another bite of custard and looked back to where Ana, Sadie, and Delaney stood huddled around a cart selling handmade soaps and candles. That should keep them busy for a while.
She turned to Bonnie and gestured toward a park bench a few stalls down. They settled back and after a few more bites of custard, Bonnie gave her the side-eye and Cassie knew she’d better start talking. “Gabe is pretty lucky. A bar full of hot Scottish guys in kilts and you ditch them to come back to the hotel with me.”
Bonnie blew out a breath, fluttering the red curls framing her face. “Somebody had to keep an eye on you.” She tilted her left hand and gazed down at the gold band on her finger. “Hopefully when we get home, Gabe will be ready to set a date. I’m thinking next summer. June. I’ll be done teaching for the year, and he’ll finally be finished with his thesis…”
“And you’ve always dreamt of a Midsummer Night’s Dream theme wedding.” Cassie nodded. “See? I remembered.”
“You don’t think having the bridesmaids dress up like fairies will be too much, do you?”
“Not at all,” Cassie assured her, impressively maintaining a straight face. “What about the groomsmen, though?”
“I was thinking…” Bonnie halted, rosebud mouth pinching with suspicion. “Hold on, you’re not getting me sidetracked. We were talking about you. And Logan.” Bonnie scraped the bottom of her cup and licked her spoon. “Do you think he’ll call you?”
Cassie stirred the remains of her custard. “Why would he call me? He doesn’t even have my number.”
Bonnie stared fixedly into her now-empty cup.
“Bonnie?” Hope and dread flickered through Cassie, sending the crème brûlée in her belly churning. “You didn’t.”
Her best friend met her gaze, eyes wide with feigned innocence. After twenty years of friendship, Cassie thought Bonnie would have known better than to try to fool her. From the time Bonnie had drawn a mustache on Cassie’s favorite Barbie doll when they were six (she claimed Barbie wanted to be an undercover detective), to the surprise party for Cassie’s twenty-first birthday (Cassie was still proud of how well she’d acted surprised, even former soap star Sadie couldn’t have performed better), Bonnie had never been able to hide anything from Cassie.
After another moment, Bonnie lost the staring contest. “Okay, fine. I gave him your number.”
“When did you do that?”
“At the bar last night.” Bonnie shrugged. “I could tell you really liked him, and it was clear he liked you. So I figured…” She trailed off, waving her hand in front of her as if rolling a ball forward.
Cassie groaned and set her cup down on the bench next to her. “What have I said about playing matchmaker?”
Bonnie set her own cup down and bristled. “You weren’t complaining last night when I left you two alone and stayed out of our room.” She pouted. “I had to share a bed with Sadie, and you know how she likes to kick.”
Cassie grinned. Sadie slept like she was competing in a tae kwon do tournament. Even in her dreams, that girl was exercising. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” She patted Bonnie’s knee. “You’re not bruised, are you?”
“Nah, I th
ink she was too tired for her usual horizontal jab-kick-uppercut routine. The three of them didn’t get back until almost two in the morning. And then Delaney spent an hour hypothesizing about what you were doing with your ‘sexy Scot.’” Bonnie blushed, though given her fair coloring, it might have only been the afternoon sun.
Cassie passed a baleful eye over the trio still clustered around the candle cart. “I can imagine.” She shook her head, wondering how someone whose regular vocabulary included the word “tushy” and who had a habit of exchanging curse words with the names of desserts—only yesterday Delaney had smashed her toe in a door and shouted, “Snickerdoodle!”—could be so graphically descriptive when it came to sex. Repression combined with a healthy imagination, Cassie supposed.
“What are you going to do?” Bonnie looped her arms over the back of the wrought-iron bench.
“About what?”
“About your sexy Scot, you bampot.”
“What the hell is a bampot?”
“It’s Scottish. Means stupid person, an idiot.” Bonnie dropped her head back and groaned. “Which is what I should call myself every time I let you distract me.” She frowned at Cassie. “Come on now, I’m serious. Would you like to see him again?”
Cassie shrugged. “Sure, I’d like to see him again.” At the thought, the custard in her stomach started auditioning for Cirque du Soleil. Served her right for eating something off a truck—correction, van—though she knew full well her rumbling insides had nothing to do with food. “But it doesn’t matter because by tonight, we’ll be hundreds of miles away.”
* * *
Logan turned off the footpath running along the Leith River and headed up the street toward the tricked-out warehouse complex housing Shenanigans’ workspace. Converted from an old whisky storage facility, most of the units in the complex had been remodeled, equipped with state-of-the-art acoustics and soundproofing. Even so, the muffled thump of a heavy bass line kept time with his footsteps as he made his way across the “square,” a central brick courtyard facing the river and lined on three sides with freight doors.
The Mermaids, an all-girl band who favored hard rock covers from the late 80s, also favored rehearsing with their freight door cranked open, guitar riffs pounding through the square. Thick bass notes rumbled in the midmorning air, and Logan recognized the opening to an old glam rock ballad. As he passed their door, Logan gave the girls a thumbs-up. Clara waved her drumsticks in greeting.
Lynne, the guitarist and lead vocalist, eyed his rumpled clothing with a saucy grin. She dipped her head toward the mic. “Someone had a fun night.”
“Aye, well.” Logan shrugged. “I had a wash this morning.” He smoothed back his nearly dry hair and rubbed a hand over the rough stubble on his chin.
“Stash your knickers in your handbag, did you?” Clara teased.
“What knickers?” he deadpanned, catching the drumstick Clara chucked at him.
“Cheeky bastard,” the drummer growled.
The bass player, Erica, looked him over as she plucked out the bow-chicka-wow-wow of a low-budget skin flick. “Honestly, mate, you look like you’ve had a hell of a time.”
“I have, and my sister is likely going to give me hell for it. If you’ll excuse me, ladies…” Logan waved the drumstick in farewell and turned away.
“Oy!” Clara sputtered. “Give that back!”
With a chuckle, he tossed the stick to the drummer, who snatched it out of the air and twirled it in her fingers. “Say hi to your sister for me.” She lifted the drumstick to her lips and blew a kiss. “And tell her I’m still waiting to hear when we’ll be featured on your show.”
The pounding beat resumed, growing fainter as Logan passed through the door of his unit. The sound wouldn’t penetrate the studio at the far end of the hall. Most of the first floor was taken up by the tech booth, as well as storage space for Shenanigans’ growing collection of costumes and props and video equipment. Even with all that, there was still room for a cozy sitting area with sofas and footstools and a telly, adjoined by a serviceable kitchenette.
The sharp tang of licorice and mint lingered in the room. Janet must have made a pot of tea recently. Logan added more water to the still-warm kettle and flicked it back on before rummaging in the pantry, pulling out a box of biscuits along with the tea tin. While his sister liked drinking exotic stuff with names he couldn’t pronounce, Logan preferred a simple cup of black tea, with a scoop of sugar, poured over a generous splash of milk. Milk first—the proper way. No matter what his best friend, Theo, had to say about it, the British prat.
The kettle shrilled a whistle, and Logan munched a handful of biscuits while the tea steeped. Best not face Janet on an empty stomach. He’d have much preferred joining Cassie for breakfast rather than rushing home, but knowing his sister, he’d pushed her patience to the limit as it was. Stuffing a few more biscuits in his mouth, Logan grabbed his mug of tea and headed for the studio at the far end of the hall.
“Oh good, you’re here. I’ll cancel the search-and-rescue party then, shall I?” Janet didn’t look up from the computer screen.
“Ha-ha,” Logan grumbled and tried to swallow the rest of the biscuit that had turned thick and sticky on his tongue. He took a gulp of tea.
“Did you get it?” Janet glanced up expectantly.
The hot liquid caught in his throat, and Logan grimaced. “Good morning to you too, dear sister.” He sat next to her.
“You didn’t get it.” She frowned, opening a folder and shuffling the contents. “Did you find out anything useful about Miss Sugar Lips?”
Logan stared down at his mug, suddenly fascinated with the tiny speckles of color embedded in the clay.
“Oh my God, tell me you didn’t.”
“Didn’t get her to sign the form?” He ventured a glance up. “You’re right, I didn’t.”
She took in his scruffy face and rumpled clothes and rolled her eyes heavenward. “Men. Always thinking with their knob.”
“And here I was betting you were going to say willy.”
Janet snorted. “If we’re making wagers, I should have bet you were going to fanny about. Though I don’t blame you, she is a hot piece of ass.”
“Nettie.”
“Don’t worry, you know I prefer blondes.” His sister tossed him a grin, the cocky arch of her brow as familiar as his own.
“That reminds me, Clara says hello.”
“The drummer?”
“Aye.” Logan eyed his sister through the steam rising from his mug. “She wants to know when we’re going to feature the Mermaids. Did you promise we’d put them on ‘Live in a Lift’?”
Janet ignored his pointed look and shifted the conversation back to the waiver. “I can’t believe you got in the girl’s pants but couldn’t get her signature.”
“What’s the big deal? We’ll make another video. I have loads of ideas.”
“We don’t have time. If Shenanigans doesn’t rack up higher numbers in the female demo soon, the producers are going to pass, and the host of that new show is going to be a chit who wears horrid lippy and sings about her cat.”
“Not going to happen.”
“Wanna bet?”
Logan’s jaw tightened. “The telly deal is going to be ours. I didn’t get the lass to sign the waiver, so what?” He gestured toward the pile of papers in Janet’s folder. “We filmed a bunch of other takes with other girls who were all perfectly happy to sign the waiver. Why is this one so important?”
Janet exhaled and turned her attention back to the screen. “Watch the video and then we’ll talk.” She rolled the trackball of her mouse, rapidly sliding through a series of screenshots.
Logan recognized clips from the castle and frowned at his sister. “You edited this? I asked you to wait.”
“And I asked you to get that release form signed.”
He ignored the dig and scooted closer, taking control of the trackball. Janet had set up three files from yesterday’s footage. Logan clicke
d on the first. In moments, Cassie’s head appeared around the door of the castle bedroom. The camera they’d rigged on the fireplace mantle was directly opposite the door and set to catch a panoramic sweep of the room.
“The overhead camera works best for this next scene, I think.” She swiped the last biscuit off the desk and hit play, tapping the screen with the corner of the biscuit. “You want to talk about close ones, your girl almost blew everything when she stuck her head in the passageway. What happened? You were supposed to maneuver her over to the fireplace.”
What happened was, he’d completely forgotten what he was doing. “The important thing is I managed to pull her out of there and distract her.” On screen, Logan watched as Cassie lifted her hands and trailed her fingers through his hair. His scalp tingled at the memory. He recalled the feel of her as he brushed his palms down her back and whispered something about devils and angels. Then she had kissed him, and his brain had misfired.
“Remind me again who’s distracting whom?” Janet’s smug voice knocked Logan out of his thoughts. He stared at the monitor, not even able to blink as he relived the most amazing kiss of his life. That wasn’t an exaggeration; it was a simple fact. She had taken him completely off guard. He couldn’t blame a bit of what happened next on “getting into character,” and his sister well knew it.
As he watched the kiss play out, he saw the moment he’d stepped out of his role. Nobody else might catch the shift, but Logan did. He could pinpoint the exact second he had stopped playing the part, stopped running the gag, stopped doing anything beyond kissing the girl who had boldly taken him by surprise and kissed him first.
Logan had seen himself on-screen countless times, in all kinds of potentially—and often purposefully—embarrassing situations. But watching himself now, seeing his hands grasp Cassie’s waist and pull her closer, the whole thing was making him uncomfortable. The moment was intensely private, something between him and Cassie. Something he didn’t want to share with his sister or anyone else.
Getting Hot with the Scot--A Sometimes in Love Novel Page 7
