Dangerous in a Kilt (Hot Scots Book 1)

by Anna Durand

  Now I understood why he'd told me he despised bullies who bend others to their will just for the sake of control. I yearned to touch him, but it felt wrong somehow. He was confiding in me at last and I would do nothing to break this moment. But I would've given both my kidneys for a chance to skelp the tar out of his wife.

  He leaned into the island, head down, his lips achingly close to mine. "One day, Aisley announced she'd had enough and was leaving. I asked why. She told me I was a right bastard because I'd failed to give her the excitement she needed, in bed and in life in general. She wanted to travel to exotic places, make love in public, drink and smoke and experiment with shamans' drugs." He gave a harsh laugh. "I'd no clue she craved such things. For pity's sake, I thought we had a good life together. And now she tells me she wants a hedonistic life of traipsing around the world. We didn't have the money for that, not yet, and besides — " He shut his eyes and shook his head, then tipped his head forward. "I like my simple life in the Highlands."

  My heart swelled, aching for him, for what he'd endured. A simple life. Children. Turkey sandwiches with Havarti cheese. Chocolate chip pancakes. He cherished all the same things I did, shared my taste in food, and I fit so nicely on his lap and in his arms.

  No. I could not afford to entertain the thought.

  "Aisley changed her mind about leaving when she realized my financial consulting business was becoming successful. She seduced me into taking her back for another three years." His nose bumped mine. "It was hell. I will never go down that road again."

  "Oh Lachlan." I looped my arms around his neck, caressing his skin with my fingertips. "I'm so sorry for what you went through."

  His breaths grew heavier, blowing over my skin. Awareness of him shimmered through me, liquid and delicious. His left hand sneaked onto my back to pull me closer to him. "Erica, don't ye see." His lips grazed mine. "I cannae be with ye in the way ye want. I told ye no relationships."

  "I don't — "

  He crushed his mouth to mine in a bruising kiss. His tongue lashed against mine, demanding a response that my body gave without reservation. He's going to say it. My head swam. He deepened the kiss with a fervor I'd never known from him before, a desperation so intense he ravaged me with it. When he pulled away, I couldn't breathe. "Ye know the rules, Erica."

  Something inside me snapped. The force of it propelled me to shove him away. "The rules? Are you kidding me? Screw your rules, just tell me what you feel."

  "I told you."

  The sadness and certainty in his eyes triggered a slow, cold understanding in me. "You think I'm like her. Your bitch ex-wife."

  "She's not my ex-wife. We're still married."

  I went numb, slack-jawed. "You said you were divorced."

  "You assumed I was. I never said it."

  "But… you let me go on believing it. It's the same as lying."

  "No, Erica. It was the rules. Nothing personal, remember? You agreed to it."

  I clapped my gaping mouth shut. Who was this man standing before me? I didn't recognize him at all. "I'm surprised you didn't make me sign a contract. A formal tryst agreement. Then again, you would've included all your loopholes in that too. You're a liar."

  "I didn't lie." He took a shuffling step toward me. I raised a warning hand and he halted. "I thought we were divorced but there was a clerical error. Aisley's taking advantage of it to renegotiate our divorce settlement. She wants everything."

  To fund her worldwide slut tour, no doubt. "If she's taking you to the cleaners, how did you plan on paying for top-notch investigators to clear my name?"

  "I said Aisley wanted everything. She's not getting it."

  "Congratulations. You screwed over another woman." I moved toward the doorway, but he latched onto my arm. I did not glance at him. "If you think I'm like her, why are you helping me?"

  "You are nothing like her. I know it."

  I couldn't keep the pain out of my voice. "You talked me into a fling. You said all those sweet things to me. And the first night at the bed & breakfast, you made love to me." I cast him a sidelong look. "It wasn't just hot sex. You made love to me."

  His fingers tightened on my arm ever so slightly.

  I searched his face for some sign he wanted to work this out between us. All I found was fear. "You led me on, Lachlan. You used my body and broke my heart."

  He let go of my arm to brush the backs of his fingers over my cheek. "These weeks with you were the best of my life. But you're better off without me." His hand dropped to his side. "I've nothing left to give, except money."

  "You are a bastard."

  "Aye."

  Lachlan brushed past me, walking out of the kitchen. Seconds later, I heard the front door shut. I didn't cry. What was the point? His wife screwed him up so bad he couldn't shake off her influence. No other woman had a chance in hell with Lachlan.

  I retrieved Casey from Mrs. Abernathy's house and curled up in bed with the one male who never let me down.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Two days. They elapsed second by second, each tick of the clock piercing me like a nail driven straight into my heart. Every time the phone rang or a car drove by, my idiotic heart sped up with the futile hope it was Lachlan. By the second morning after his departure, I'd given up. I was slouched in a chair at the kitchen table, staring out the bay window at the house next door without really seeing anything, when the doorbell chimed.

  Casey woofed.

  I jumped up so fast my chair toppled over backward. Tripping over the legs, I bolted out of the kitchen and down the hallway. Excitement rushed through me on a dizzying wave. My heart pounded harder than my physical exertion warranted. I flung the door open, breathing too hard to speak. My entire body wilted.

  Not Lachlan.

  My parents stood on the stoop, suitcases at their feet, smiles beaming at me. Their smiles faltered when their gazes landed on my face.

  "Oh honey." My mom grasped my upper arms and hauled me in for a hug. "It's not that bad, is it?"

  "Course it is," Dad said, his familiar gruff voice breaking the dam. My tears flowed then, uncontrolled, and sobs shook me from head to toe. Dad coughed. "Maybe we should get her inside, Deb."

  My mother tsked. "When she's ready, Frank."

  I extricated myself from Mom's hug and swiped at my tear-stained face. Sniffling, I assured them, "I'm okay."

  She shook her head, her expression full of motherly knowing and compassion. "We got here just in time."

  "In time for what?" That's when it hit me. I blinked slowly at the pair of them. "Why aren't you in Florida?"

  "Lachlan called."

  My chest throbbed at the mere mention of him. What the hell was he doing calling my parents? A chill raised goose bumps on my arms. With exquisite care, because the words pained me with near-physical effect, I asked, "What did he tell you?"

  "Not much," Dad said, shrugging. "Just that you're in some kinda trouble."

  Mom dug a tissue out of her cavernous purse and stuffed it in my hand. "Lachlan said he wished he could be here to see you through your troubles, but you two had a falling out and he was sure you wouldn't want him around right now. We should come, that's what he said."

  "But — he — " I can't stay with you. Didn't matter what I wanted, he'd made the decision for me. I blew my nose, backing into the house to let my parents come inside. Casey attacked them with paws on their stomachs and tongue lashing out at any exposed skin. His tail wagged fast enough to power a tornado. Two years had gone by year since my parents moved to Florida, more than a year elapsed since their last visit, and in the meantime everything rocketed down into hell on a high-speed train. I wiped at my eyes as the tears slowed to a trickle and pushed the door shut. "I'm not with Lachlan anymore. Why would he call you?"

  "He's got it bad," my father pronounced.

  I couldn't help the faint smile that tugged at my lips. My dad using modern slang always made me laugh. Well, not always. I didn't laugh now, and my weak smile faded wi
thin seconds. "I think you're mistaken, Dad."

  "Nope." He shoved his thumbs under his waistband and rocked back on his heels. "That boy's got it bad for our little girl."

  Mom nodded. "He sure does. Lachlan wouldn't hang up the phone until we agreed to come back to Chicago. He even paid for our plane tickets."

  "He — what?" The man who'd abandoned me paid for my parents to come home and take care of me. He made love to me then kicked me to the curb. He called me gràidh but implied I was like his wife. The contradictions piled up higher and higher, until I couldn't see the sky. On top of everything else I didn't understand about him, I still had no clue what mo leannan meant, which somehow hurt worse than anything else. He called me something in Gaelic but wouldn't tell me what it meant. It was either an insult or…

  Mom hooked an arm around my shoulders, tugging me close. "Now, sweetie, I think it's time you tell us what in heaven's name is going on around here."

  I leaned into her, grateful for the support, since I had the disconcerting sensation of plummeting through the floor. My chin quivered when I said, "Can we sit down first? This is gonna take awhile."

  * * * * *

  The trouble with retired people is they have no jobs to call them back to where they belong, so they can stick around to pester you forever. Okay, that's not fair. The elder Teagues hung around mostly because of my legal problems. But sheesh, they kept staring at me like I'd dyed my hair purple and gotten six piercings in each ear, with a nice big tattoo on my forehead for good measure. Maybe I just looked that messed up.

  A few days after they arrived via Lachlan Airways, the doorbell rang. Mom and Dad had insisted on going to the grocery store without me — ordering me to "take it easy," though the very idea made me itch all over — and I was sprawled on the sofa flipping channels on the TV, punching buttons on the remote so fast I glimpsed nothing more than flashes of each show. When the doorbell sounded, I sprang upright. My pulse slammed into overdrive. That stupid little voice in the back of my mind asked, Is it him?

  Casey barked, but not with the unabashed enthusiasm he reserved for people he loved — like a certain foreign national. Despite knowing it wasn't him, I hurried to the door and swung it open, breathless with anticipation.

  A FedEx delivery man aimed a polite smile at me, proffering a digital thingy for signing for packages, along with a blue-and-white letter size envelope emblazoned with the FedEx logo. "Erica Teague?"

  I nodded.

  The delivery man pushed the envelope and digital tablet a few inches closer to me. "Gotta sign for this."

  After scribbling my signature, I took the envelope. The FedEx guy trotted back to his truck, parked at the curb. I eased the door shut, holding the envelope with my thumb and forefinger, as if it might latch onto me and suck the life from my body. Anticipation had mutated into a stomach-churning mix of anxiety and curiosity. I stared at the address label, at my name in big letters and, above that in smaller lettering, a name in the return address that made my chest tighten.

  Lachlan MacTaggart.

  I dangled the envelope by my thumb and forefinger, letting it swing back and forth like the pendulum on a grandfather clock. Tick-tock, tick-tock.

  "Oh get a grip," I chastised myself, groaning with exasperation. Jeez, I could be such a coward sometimes. I ripped open the envelope and snagged the single sheet of paper inside it. The floor seemed to drop out from under me. The empty envelope slipped from my fingers and rustled as it hit the floor. The sheet of paper contained two words, written in a familiar hand: I'm sorry.

  My jaw clenched and trembling, I squinted at the letters scrawled on the off-white paper, which looked and felt expensive. After a week, all he could manage was two frigging words? He hadn't even bothered to sign the note. Three syllables, that was all I rated.

  Casey whimpered, pawing at the empty envelope on the floor. He snuffled, his nose pressed to the torn edge of the envelope.

  "What is it?" I bent beside him to pluck up the envelope and spread it open with two fingers. There, at the bottom, lay a crushed sprig adorned with small, bell-shaped purple flowers. I picked it up, holding it gingerly at eye level. The blossoms were squished flat, but still recognizable as bell heather — Erica cinerea.

  I sank back on my heels, clasping the sprig to my breast, and closed my eyes as I inhaled a shaky breath. He sent me my flower. Ye are a bonnie wee flower in yer own right, he'd told me, right before he made love to me, awakening uninhibited passions I never knew I possessed.

  Casey slathered my cheek with his slimy tongue. I scratched his head and, brushing tears from my eyes, pushed up onto my feet to head for the bedroom. The stuffed dinosaur Lachlan had given me sat on the dresser. I tucked the heather sprig between its stubby little arms. The letter I slipped into a drawer, on top of a pile of bras and panties. It seemed appropriate somehow, to have Lachlan inside my underwear drawer, since he'd always enjoyed stripping my undergarments off me.

  After that morning, the days blurred into each other. Meetings with investigators and forensic accountants, all hired by Lachlan and overseen by Doretta Harper. At my final hearing about Doretta's motion to dismiss the charges, she gave a command performance worthy of Perry Mason, laying out all the evidence Lachlan's team had uncovered, all of which proved Presley had set me up. After the judge had announced his decision to dismiss all the charges against me, I'd stood motionless, unable to breathe or think, just gaping at the Illinois state seal on the front of the judge's dais. All charges dismissed. No more felon Erica. A sense of unreality swirled around me, as if I'd tripped into a rabbit hole and, like Alice, stumbled into a strange fantasy land.

  Doretta had grabbed my shoulders to turn me toward her and give me a quick shake. "Snap out of it, girl. It's over. You're free."

  She dragged me into a bear hug and we both burst out laughing. Tears streamed down my cheeks — tears of joy this time — while I grinned at Doretta. She grinned right back. My life was mine again.

  Movement at the back of the courtroom drew my attention. I caught sight of a figure exiting the courtroom. Tall. Broad shoulders. Short, dark hair. My heart jumped into my throat, my stomach fluttered.

  Doretta hauled me in for another hug. When I glanced at the doorway again, the figure was gone. I must've imagined it. I wished Lachlan were here, to share in the victory he'd facilitated, so I hallucinated seeing him. Man, I had to get a grip.

  A few hours later, after a boisterous party at a nice — but not super-expensive — restaurant, I arrived home to find a glass vase seated on my front stoop, inches from the door. Pink roses nestled among a splash of bell heather that overflowed the vase, and though no note had been attached, I knew who'd sent them. No one but Lachlan gifted me with heather.

  The next day, the FedEx guy returned with a box from Scotland. It held a bottle of Talisker single-malt Scotch whisky and a brief note. It read simply, "To celebrate your freedom. Congratulations, gràidh."

  I set the bottle on the dresser, next to the dinosaur and her armful of wilting heather. The bottle remained unopened.

  Weeks drifted by, and Lachlan took to calling my parents to ask how I was. My parents, of course, told me every time he called. He must've known they would. Meanwhile I, apparently, became a bit obsessed with talking about a certain Scotsman. I learned this one morning at breakfast with my parents. Dad was reading the sports pages while munching on Fruit Loops — yeah, a senior citizen really eats those — and Mom had paused in eating her oatmeal to ask me if I wanted to go to the beach that afternoon.

  Of course, the beach made me think of… stuff. I poked at the bowl of Cheerios in front of me, my appetite dwindling. "Maybe. I don't know. Kinda tired today."

  "Fresh air'll do ya good," Dad said, without looking up from the sports pages.

  I swirled the little O's in my milk with my spoon. That's when it happened. I blurted out, "Does Lachlan always call at the same time every day?"

  Dad slapped his newspaper on the table, dug his money clip out of
his hip pocket, plucked out a five-dollar bill, and handed it to Mom. Smirking, she accepted the money. Dad sighed. "I should know better than to second-guess you, Deb."

  I glanced from one parent to the other, flummoxed. "What's going on?"

  Dad stuffed the money clip back in his pocket. "We had a little bet going. Your mother said you couldn't make it five minutes after sitting down to breakfast before you started talking about Lachlan. I told her it'd be ten, at least." He glanced at his watch, then shook his head, eying me with a rueful smile. "Four minutes."

  Head bowed, I rubbed a hand over my cheek, which was hot from the blush rising under my skin. "Am I that bad?"

  "No, honey," Mom said, though amusement sparkled in her eyes. She leaned toward me across the table and whispered in a conspiratorial tone. "Why don't you call him?"

  "Yeah," Dad chimed in, "we're getting sick of hearing you moon over him."

  "I don't — it's not — " Aw hell. I gave up arguing the point, but I couldn't bring myself to dial his number. More days blurred by, until one Monday morning I got a call from a big accounting firm, one of the top competitors of Cichon, D'Addio & Rothenberg. They offered me a job interview. The next day, I had the best interview of my life — no hard questions, lots of compliments from the bosses, and a job offer at the end. A knot coiled tight in my stomach when someone mentioned in passing that "Mr. MacTaggart was right about her, she is smart as a whip."