Irresistible in a Kilt

by Anna Durand

  "But is it your real name? The one you were born with?"

  For decades, I've tried not to think about the name I was born with or who my parents were. I won't do it today either. Not think it. Not speak it. Not let that part of my past worm its way into my present.

  "I've had enough shopping," I say. "Let's have lunch and go home."

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Catriona

  Despite the grumpy way he said we should eat and go home, Alex relaxes during lunch. He becomes more like the open and carefree man I knew all those years ago, the man I'd fallen in love with. He seems more at ease and alive, not bound by secrets he thinks he shouldn't tell me. When I tease him, he teases me back.

  Progress? I try not to read too much into his behavior.

  On the drive home, his good mood wanes the closer we get to his house. Does he not like it? If not, then I wonder why he built it. I wonder that every day, actually, and decide it's about time I got an answer.

  Assuming Alex will tell me.

  I wait until we walk inside the house, since I don't want us to have a car accident because he's so determined not to open up to me. He's done it more than once already. Why not again? I have to approach this the right way, though, or he'll never answer my question.

  He disappears into his study, and I go upstairs to call Emery for more advice. She's not home. Rory asks if he can help, but there's absolutely no way I am going to discuss my relationship with Alex Thorne with my disapproving brother. When Rory suggests he "might need to borrow Lachlan's jet, or maybe Iain's" to fly across the pond and "deal with the problem," I order him to do no such thing. Will he listen? He'd better, or I will teach him a lesson about interfering in my life.

  My family doesn't understand why I want to be here with Alex. They don't understand him, full stop. I can't blame them, but I don't need meddling MacTaggarts to deal with my problems for me.

  I draft a lesson plan for this coming week as well as a trivia game we can play in class to encourage my students to become fully engaged in topics that can be rather dry. I'm also giving Alex time to recover from our conversation earlier. When evening arrives, I change into something more likely to put him in a good mood for talking. The only thing I know for sure will do that is sex, so I walk into his study wearing only a bra and knickers—both made from sapphire-blue lace.

  Alex is sitting behind his desk, his arms resting on it while he stares down at the big calendar that takes up a large part of the surface. He doesn't even glance up when I stroll into the room.

  "Not in the mood for an inquisition," he says. "Find another way to entertain yourself."

  Disappointment makes me want to blow out a gusty breath and droop my head, but I refuse to let him have that effect on me. It's what he wants. This time I'll get what I want, one way or another.

  I stroll around the desk to him and lean over his shoulder, doing my best to infuse my voice with an irresistible sensuality. "I want to talk to you, Alex."

  He stiffens a wee bit.

  "This will be more fun than staring at your desk calendar." I brush my lips over the shell of his ear. "I promise."

  "Are you teasing me, or do you want me to fuck you on my desk?"

  "We can do that after we talk."

  He groans. "No thank you."

  I swivel his chair toward me, surprised when he doesn't try to stop me. This has to be progress. I perch on his lap with my legs draped across it.

  Alex keeps his arms on the chair and remains stiff.

  "Relax," I say. "I'm not here to demand you tell me your full name."

  "What do you want, then?"

  I snuggle up to him, my head under his chin. "An answer to one simple question."

  "Your questions are never simple."

  "They should be. You make everything so complicated." I stroke his cheek with my fingertips. "Just this once, answer my question honestly without complaining or getting angry."

  "I'll try. That's the best I can offer."

  "Good enough." I lay my hand on his chest, over his heart. "Why did you build this house?"

  "I needed a place to live."

  "You could've lived in faculty housing or an apartment or—"

  "No, I couldn't. I need privacy."

  I slide my hand up to his shoulder. "Moving to the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but trees, is an extreme version of privacy."

  "My needs are extreme."

  "Why?"

  "Because."

  I raise my head to look at him. "Don't act like a bairn, Alex. Answering a question shouldn't be like having a limb amputated."

  "Maybe it is for me."

  Time for a different approach. "All right, if you won't answer that question, answer this one. You're obviously rich, based on what I've seen in this house, but you didn't seem wealthy when we first met. How did you get to have so much money?"

  "I stole it."

  He must be lying. Alex wants to make me angry, so I'll leave him alone. He wouldn't steal anything. Would he? Well, he has borrowed artifacts, like those Babylonian tablets.

  No, he's not a thief.

  "Who did you steal from?" I ask.

  "Maybe I broke into the Smithsonian and nicked the Hope Diamond, then replaced it with a replica."

  "No, you wouldn't do that. You value artifacts as historical treasures, which is why you sometimes borrow them but never pinch anything."

  "Most people would say borrowing without permission is theft."

  "Those people don't know you. I do."

  He harrumphs.

  I think about everything I've seen in this house and the things Logan told me. Alex had servants the first time Logan and Serena visited him here. A few days later, the servants had gone and so had Reginald, his friend and employee. I know from Logan that Reginald had betrayed Alex, but I still have no idea why Alex let his servants go. When I asked him about it several days ago, he said, "They were no longer needed."

  But I don't believe that's the whole story.

  I cuddle up to him again, with my head on his shoulder this time. "Why did you get rid of all your household employees? I know why you fired Reginald, but the others…"

  "Does it matter? I no longer wanted their services. End of story."

  "But it's not the end. I'm starting to think it's only the beginning."

  He growls, like a cornered beast. "I suppose if I want to shag you, I'll be required to answer your questions."

  "No, I'll have sex with you either way." And it's true. I will. The one time he told me the truth was after the oral sex candy incident. But I won't sleep with him to get answers. Not only for that reason, at least. I want him, and I need to feel close to him.

  If that makes me an eejit, I can live with it.

  "You're giving up your leverage?" he says. "That's not the way to seduce me into giving you answers."

  "But it's the way to show you I'm here because I want to be, not for the sole purpose of wheedling answers out of you."

  He says nothing, but he slides a hand into my hair and combs it with his fingers, over and over, the movements gentle and soothing.

  I let my body go soft, and my eyes drift shut. This feels so good, to be close to him, to have this intimacy again, like we used to have years ago.

  "The servants are gone," he says, "because I couldn't trust them anymore, after Reginald Hewitt turned on me. But I hired those people only as temporary servants, anyway, so Logan and Serena wouldn't realize the truth."

  "And what is the truth?"

  "I can't let anyone get too close to me. It's dangerous."

  My eyes pop open, but I can't move to lift my head. Though the honesty of his words surprises me, I still feel relaxed. "Dangerous for them or for you?"

  He lowers his face into my hair, fluttering it with his breaths. "Both."

  "I don't understand."

  "And I hope you never do. That's all I'm going to say about it."


  The more he tells me, the less I understand about him. I want to ask him why he's so afraid, but he won't answer tonight. I know that, so I move on to a subject that seems less painful. "You built this enormous house and furnished it with lavish things like East Indian rosewood. Why? It must've cost a fortune."

  He lifts his head away from mine and goes back to brushing his hand through my hair. "I sank the bulk of my disposable income into this house, to make it ostentatious. I held on to enough to keep me afloat in case things go wrong and I find myself in need of cash."

  "Logan said you have family money."

  "I do. In a way." He moves his arms around my waist, linking his hands at my hip. "I'd rather not discuss that tonight. It's a long and not very pleasant story."

  "Why did you spend so much on this house that you don't even like?"

  "Because I—You can't understand unless you know everything, and I have no intention of revealing my life history to you."

  I lift my head again. "One day, you will tell me. I believe that."

  "Believe whatever you like. I can't give you what you want or what you deserve." When I open my mouth to ask another question, he shakes his head. "That's enough, Cat. No more plumbing the depths of my soul tonight."

  "All right."

  He has told me more than he's ever told me before, so I let it go. Tomorrow, maybe he'll share even more. I'll hold fast to that hope because it's all I have.

  I straddle his lap. "Do you want me on the desk? Or here in the chair?"

  "Neither." He stands up, forcing me to dismount his lap. "I'm knackered, Cat. Afraid you'll have to wait until another time to seduce me."

  He shuffles to the doorway and stops.

  "What is it?" I ask.

  Alex doesn't glance back when he says, "I forgot to tell you. The faculty housing units have been repaired. You should pack your things and move there."

  "I don't want to."

  "Go, Cat. You'll be better off away from me."

  Though I can see his profile, I can't decipher his expression. "Stop telling me that, Alex. I am not leaving you."

  He doesn't really want me to, I'm sure of it. Out in that little meadow in the forest, when I'd talked about the day we went swimming naked, he had repeated the words he said to me so long ago. Never leave me, Cat. I know he meant it. I heard the truth of it in his voice, and he will never convince me that he genuinely wants me gone.

  "If you don't go," he says, "I will."

  "No, you won't. And I will not walk away from you again. Twice I've promised I'll never leave you, and I meant it. I let my fear drive me away from you once. I'm stronger now, and I won't give up on you."

  "You stupid little girl," he snarls, "get the fuck out of my house."

  "I cannae do that."

  He clenches his fists so hard his shoulders bunch up.

  Then he storms out of the room and upstairs. I hear his footfalls pounding on the steps, the sound echoing through the hall.

  Have I pushed him too far? Or not quite far enough?

  Fear fuels his anger. I know this, and I cannot let him get to me.

  Emery's advice replays in my mind. Get ready for an emotional beating, she said. He'll fight you every step of the way. I told Emery that Alex is worth the pain. His anger a moment ago stemmed from fear, and I know he will never hurt me physically. But he will try to break my heart. Rory did that to Emery, but she stuck with him anyway. They have one of the best marriages I've ever seen, and they're very happy in their life with their twin bairns.

  Her last bit of advice reverberates in my mind. You need patience, tenderness, and a thick skin.

  I can do this. I have to do this. MacTaggarts never give up on anyone they love. We charge through the fire and keep going even when we get burned, because love is stronger than pain. I've learned that lesson from my brothers, from my sister Jamie, and from Logan and Evan and Iain.

  Strangely, remembering their mistakes makes me feel better, stronger, more ready for the battle ahead. If they could find their happy endings despite the struggles and the pain, so can I.

  But maybe I should give Alex the rest of tonight to recover from the revelations he shared with me. Patience is the key.

  I go to the kitchen to have a piece, sitting alone at the island while I eat my sandwich and potato crisps. Aye, I'm eating ham and cheese while wearing nothing but my lingerie. So what? Alex and I are the only ones in this dreary, lonely house.

  When I finish my meal, I slog upstairs and halt at the landing.

  The door to Alex's room is open. He stands on the threshold, hands fisted, his expression blank.

  "Good night, Alex," I say. "I'm going to bed."

  I walk to my door, turning around to look at him again.

  Before I can speak, he rushes toward me, slapping his palms on either side of the jamb, penning me between his body and the door. "Why are you still here?"

  There's no anger in his voice, only anguish and confusion.

  "I told you, Alex, I'm not leaving."

  "But I keep telling you to go. I snarl at you, and still you refuse to walk out the door." He shakes his head, his features contorting. "Why the fuck won't you go away?"

  Since I want honesty from him, I realize I must give him the same thing. Until this moment, I haven't allowed myself to acknowledge what I suddenly know is true. I have no idea how he'll react when I speak the words, but the time has come to tell him. "Because I love you."

  His jaw quivers, and the starkness in his gaze stabs pain into my heart. "You can't."

  "I do." Laying my palm on his cheek, I say it again with even more conviction. "I love you, Alex."

  Though his mouth opens, he can't seem to find any words. He drops his head onto my shoulder.

  I stroke his hair, whispering into his ear. "I will never leave you."

  He makes a sound, something like a sob but not really that. The noise conveys a depth of emotion I've never known from him, but I don't dare ask him what he's feeling. Not yet.

  Maybe tomorrow.

  Alex lifts his head, his face a stoic mask. "You're a fool, Catriona."

  He stalks into his room and slams the door.

  If I am a fool, so be it. Patience, tenderness, and a thick skin are the tools I need to break through Alex's shell and free the man trapped inside it.

  I glance at his door, then go into my room. I won't sleep tonight.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Alex

  For all of Sunday, Cat leaves me alone. Her only explanation for this stay of execution is that she thinks I need "time to adjust." I don't ask what I need to adjust to, since I'm certain I don't want to know. She seems to be drafting lesson plans and having video chats with her army of relatives. I spend the day trying to figure out what to do—about Cat, about Reginald, about all the things I've deliberately ignored for too long.

  Monday morning, I wake up feeling like I've slept inside a filthy trash bin and fed on the leftovers rotting in its depths. Why do I keep letting Cat trick me into confessing things to her? Not only do I have no desire whatsoever to share my past with her, but the more she knows the more danger she might be in. Dear old Reggie seems to have broken out of prison for the sole purpose of driving me barking mad with idiotic phone calls and text messages. You will pay, he said Saturday in his text. That wanker has no idea how much I've paid already, or to what lengths I'll go to keep him as far away from Cat as possible.

  Maybe I should ring one of her brothers and suggest the lot of them shanghai her back to Scotland. Rory and Lachlan own a private jet. They could come and get her.

  But I can't make myself pick up the phone.

  I avoid the Scots siren by getting up before she does—I peek inside her room to make sure she's still asleep—and arrange for a taxi to take me to campus. It costs a ruddy fortune to get a taxi service to send a driver all the way out here, but I need to escape from the woman in the blue lingerie who seems determi
ned to wreck me in every way imaginable. I might enjoy the way she'll wreck me, but it will lead to disaster. I'm toxic, after all. Everything I touch will be poisoned, eventually.

  Never let that happen to Cat. It's my new mantra.

  Like a coward, I slip a note under her bedroom door and sneak out of the house. The ride to campus gives me too much time to think. Last night Catriona said she loves me. Twice. How am I meant to react to that? She shouldn't feel that way, not after what I did to her twelve years ago. But women always think they can save a man, even when the bloke growls and declares he does not need or want to be saved.

  I love you, Alex.

  Cat's voice echoes in my mind. The look on her face… She meant those words, though I wish to hell she didn't.

  The campus is deserted this early in the morning. It's half seven when I step out of the taxi and trudge to the humanities building. The janitorial staff unlock the doors at seven o'clock, so I have no trouble getting inside the building. The lights are on in the halls, but the rooms remain dark, though the doors are open.

  I feel like I'm walking into the Minotaur's labyrinth to be sacrificed, unless I can find my way out of the impossible maze I've built around myself. I have no bloody clue how to escape or if I deserve to be set free. I haven't considered that idea in years, because pretending I don't give a fuck about anything has become my best survival strategy.

  As I sit down at my desk, a single thought torments me. Do I want to go on surviving? Only surviving?

  Fate doesn't give me more than a moment to think about the answer. My desk phone rings, and I see it's the extension for Gus Hooper's office. I'm surprised he's on campus this early, but then, I have no idea when he normally shows up to work.

  "Good morning," I say when I pick up the call.

  "Alex, we need to talk."

  I slump in my chair, because his tone assures me he's not about to award me the medal for most loved professor. "When?"

  "My office. Ten o'clock."

  "Fine. I'll see you then."

  I hang up the phone, knowing full well what Gus will say to me when I see him in a few hours. This was inevitable.