My Scottish Summer

by Connie Brockway

  She couldn’t accept his price, but she wouldn’t give up. “For now.”

  He laughed. “For good.”

  He made it sound so final, made it sound as if he had the upper hand, but she’d dealt with ruthless people before. She wouldn’t argue now—but there would come a time when she’d get what she wanted.

  He stopped under the archway just outside the castle walls, looked down at her, and smiled. “Good night, Emily.”

  Good night?

  Good grief! She had no car, only two feet, and they were not about to walk three miles back to the village. In the dark. Even though she didn’t believe in ghosts, just thinking that they might exist could still scare the beejeebers out of her. Oh, no, he’d have to take her.

  “Do you think you might be able to drive me back to the village? As you might recall from your voyeuristic activities earlier, I got off a tour bus today, and I didn’t get back on.”

  All he did was grin.

  “I’d walk, but it’s late, it’s dark, and I have a habit of getting lost.”

  His grin widened. “Shall we attempt to strike up another bargain?”

  She gritted her teeth. “What do you have in mind?”

  He trailed his fingers across her cheek and lips. She wanted to slap them away, but the delicious tingle rippling through her body kept her from doing anything that might stop him. “One single kiss,” he said. “That’s all I want.”

  The ripple turned into great big waves, but she remained in control of her senses. “I don’t conduct business that way.”

  “And I do very few things for free.”

  Budging on her principles irritated her as much as Colin’s refusal to give her a ride out of the goodness of his heart. But it was either concede or walk back to the village alone. In the dark. And that made her shiver.

  “Fine! One kiss, but nothing more, and only when you drop me off at the Devil’s Cup.”

  “Agreed.” He smiled all too easily. “But I’ll decide just how long that one kiss will last.”

  Everything in Dunbar revolved around legend, mystery, secrets, and the devil—the Devil’s Cup pub, the Devil’s Own Whisky, the golden pitchfork trademark that blazed on the side of Colin’s black Land Rover, just as it blazed on the bottles of his whisky. Even though Emily knew it was all a myth, she was almost certain that something of the devil ran in Colin’s veins.

  She was a businesswoman who, until today, had had nothing on her mind but the pursuit of yet another bestseller, one that would top the last. Yet Colin was doing his best to bewitch her, to make her do his bidding. The same thing Black Andrew had reputedly done to all those puir wee lassies.

  She almost laughed out loud as Colin drove along the narrow lane, and even though he couldn’t have heard her, he looked at her out of the corner of his intense sapphire eye, as if he knew what was swimming through her mind. The devil could do that. Read minds, that is. And she was more than sure Colin Dunbar had more than just the ability to read her mind—she was almost positive that he could also make her body ignite.

  She was being silly. Her head felt light from too much whisky, too little food, and a whole lot of nervous tension. One kiss. That’s all it was. One kiss.

  She’d never done business that way. Never wanted to. Till now, that is, and the anticipation was driving her mad.

  He pulled to a stop in front of the Devil’s Cup, stretched his arm across the seat, and tangled his fingers in her hair. “You’re awfully tense. You’ve been that way ever since we got in the car. It’s almost as if you thought I intended to do much more than kiss you.”

  “I’m hoping you’re a man of your word.”

  The fingers of his free hand splayed over her belly and slid around her back, pulling her a little closer, a little closer. “I am. And true to my word, I’m going to exact my reward for driving you home. One kiss, the duration of which will be determined once we begin.”

  “You mean everything has to do with whether you enjoy yourself or not?”

  “I’m going to enjoy myself, Emily. Have no fear about that.”

  How could she possibly fear that when she feared everything else—especially the beginning of the kiss?

  Sapphire eyes bore down on her. Hot. Hot. Hotter!

  His lips moved closer. Closer. Not close enough! And then they touched—his lips and hers. Gentle. So amazingly gentle. So wonderfully tender that he caught her completely off guard. Her lips parted of their own free will, and she gave him access to a part of her that she’d locked away so long ago.

  The devil didn’t hesitate to move past her lips. His tongue slipped inside and teased the roof of her mouth. He tasted hotter than his private reserve whisky, and she was sure he was far more intoxicating.

  Her heart raced. Her stomach tumbled. She felt all achy and needy and quivery as every single one of her senses were caught up in his kiss, in the taste of whisky on his mouth, and the mesmerizing swirl of his tongue.

  Somewhere outside the car a door slammed, and suddenly she was back in the real world again. It was two in the morning, and she was in a car kissing a man she hardly knew. It was too much, too soon, and she was not about to give in to Colin, even though giving in had been foremost on her mind a moment ago.

  She’d come to Scotland to take sensual photographs of luscious desserts, not to get caught up in a sensual, short-term relationship with a lusty and luscious Highlander.

  “I think we’d better stop.” She shoved away, and he laughed, his fingers still in her hair, his hand still at her back.

  “Have you forgotten that the duration of the kiss was up to me, that stopping was my prerogative, not yours?”

  “That kiss was worth far more than the cost of a short drive home.” She smiled, trying to regain control. “Let me take photographs inside the castle, and I’ll let you kiss me again—but that’s all.”

  He laughed, reached behind her, and opened the door. “Good night, Emily.”

  That’s it? He didn’t want to discuss anything more? Maybe she’d misjudged him.

  Then again, maybe he’d misjudged her. Maybe he thought she’d protest his abrupt dismissal. Well, two could play this game as easily as one.

  She smiled, just as he did, and stepped out of the car. “Good night, Colin.” Shutting the door in her most businesslike manner, she turned, walked up the steps, and disappeared into the pub without looking back, hoping against hope that Colin wouldn’t give up on this crazy game they were playing and that he’d make the next move.

  3

  The redhead was a tease. Her green-eyed smile, her freckled nose, and her soul-offering kiss had made him hard with want. And then she’d walked away when he thought for sure she’d stay, when he assumed she’d suggest they go back to the castle so she could see one of its many bedrooms. He would have made her want more after that. So much more.

  But damn if she hadn’t made him the one who wanted more. Made him want her in a way he’d never wanted another woman. If he got too close to this one, he’d be in danger of losing his heart, and he’d sworn he’d never give it to anyone.

  Too many Dunbars had freely given their hearts, then had them stomped upon. It had happened to his father and his father before him, and Colin was not about to be trampled.

  But as he lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, loneliness crept onto the mattress and kissed him good night. For the first time in his life, he regretted his inability to fall in love.

  Emily bounded down the stairs feeling terribly perky for a woman who’d gone to bed at three A.M. and then lain awake the rest of the night and most of the morning concocting ideas for luscious new desserts, thinking of sensual ways to display them, and then plopping a conjured-up image of Colin Dunbar’s deliciously nude body right down beside the rest of her sexy presentation.

  Naturally, he was the most delectable feature, far more seductive and taste-tempting than any of her dark chocolate creations, and she wanted to taste him again. The hot, smoky whisky on his lips, his tong
ue, his breath, a taste that was intoxicating. Add a little sugar, a little butter and cream, not to mention the darkest, creamiest chocolate, and oh how sweet he’d be.

  When she reached the bottom of the stairs, reality struck. She’d walked away from Colin Dunbar without looking back, and there was a very strong possibility that he hadn’t cared.

  Oddly enough, it wasn’t the imminent loss of the greatest business opportunity in her life that suddenly made her miserable, it was the thought of losing what could have been—maybe, in her wildest dreams—a breathtaking and dizzying relationship.

  Again she knew she was being ridiculous. Colin was no different from any other man. His mind was on sex, and it didn’t go any further than that. And because he was a Dunbar, with a whole history of misery, debauchery, and sin behind him, it was best that she focus on her original intent.

  Get the photographs. After she got a bite to eat, she’d take a walk and think of nothing but work.

  “Good morning, Meg.” She slid onto a stool and smiled at the pudgy-faced lady standing behind the bar polishing glasses.

  Meg harrumphed, shaking her head as if she were completely frustrated with the person who’d done nothing more than say good morning.

  Emily took a quick glance around the semi-dark pub, and couldn’t help but notice that every patron—the same ones who’d been here yesterday, at the exact same table, too—had fixed their eyes on her.

  “Have I done something wrong?”

  Meg harrumphed again, put the polished glass on the shelf behind her, then picked up another glass to dry. “I didn’t expect ye to come walking doon those stairs till sometime tomorrow.”

  The odd, annoyed statement brought a frown to Emily’s face. “You expected me to stay in my room for two days?”

  Meg plopped her forearms—and consequently her ample breasts—atop the bar. The green of her eyes could barely be seen through her glower. “I expected ye to spend the night with Colin.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Did ye not look at him?”

  “Of course I did. He’s… gorgeous.” She whispered that last word so the attentive ears in the room couldn’t hear her. “But I don’t make a habit of spending the night with strangers.” Emily rested her arms on the bar just as Meg was doing, and looked straight into the woman’s eyes. “Is there some reason I should have stayed, something I know nothing about?”

  “Aye,” came a voice from behind. Emily spun around on her stool and looked at Billy MacGregor, Iain MacGregor, and Seamus MacGregor, triplets well into old age, who kept the Devil’s Cup in business by drinking a minimum of three stouts every afternoon and every evening. They all stared at her now in deep silence.

  “Someone seems to know what’s going on. Mind telling me?”

  “Meg wagered five pounds that ye’d not be back until tomorrow afternoon.” Iain popped out of his chair and went behind the bar to pour another stout. “Show her how, Seamus.”

  Seamus, the quiet one, pulled a paper out of the pocket of his rumpled tweed coat and flattened the folded and wrinkled sheet on the table. Billy leaned over his brother and pointed to the chart. “It’s all right here. Time. Date. Ye get to mark one square for every pound ye wager. The one who comes the closest wins the pot. Seamus won today.”

  It was a blasted football-type pool, and in their own way, they were betting on whether or not she’d score. Of all the—

  “Meg had a different wager going with Gillian,” Iain said, elbowing the older woman in her fleshy side, his grin wide. “Dinna know why she’s all in a huff, since she won two week’s worth of cleaning and scrubbing in that wager.”

  “Do you do this all the time?” Emily asked, appalled, yet slightly amused. She only wished she weren’t the source of their entertainment.

  “Aye,” Meg said. “We bet on rugby, who’s gonna catch the biggest fish in the loch on Saturday, and Colin’s love life.” She poured herself half a tumbler of Dunbar whisky and took a big swig. “It’s all in fun, lass. Of course, no one likes to lose, especially me.”

  Emily didn’t like to lose, either. “I’m going to be here for a few days, since I still have a mission to accomplish. Do you have any pools going that I can get in on?”

  Seamus pulled a second sheet of lined white paper from his pocket and once again smoothed out the wrinkles after he placed it on the table.

  “And what’s this one?” Emily asked, pulling some pound notes out of her jeans pocket.

  “Not too much thinking to do on this one,” Billy said, lounging back in his chair with stout in hand. “It has to do with whether or not Colin will invite ye back.”

  Her eyes widened in shock. Of course she’d go back, but as her gaze drifted toward the paper, she saw that not many people felt the same way. A long string of names had been written under the nay column, and not a one had voted aye.

  “Is there some reason every single one of you in here voted against my chances?”

  “Aye,” Billy said, drinking his stout without commenting further.

  “I’m waiting,” Emily said, glaring at the sly gentleman.

  “Colin never invites a woman back a second time. They either stay, or they leave.”

  Well, that was a bit of news she didn’t want to swallow.

  Emily slapped her pound note on the table. “Put me under the aye column.”

  “Ye sure you wanna do that?”

  She smiled, not the least bit sure she had any chance of winning, but she had to think positive. She wanted her photographs. She wanted to see Colin. “Aye.”

  Seamus pulled a pencil from his shirt pocket and scribbled her name on the paper. What do you know—she was betting on her own love life or lack thereof.

  Climbing back on the bar stool, she ordered a ploughman’s lunch, and just as Meg slid the heaping plate of ham, cheese, apple and a roll onto the bar, the door opened to let in a stream of light and a stranger, a short, thin man with a balding head that Emily hadn’t seen before.

  “Good morning, Meg.” The stranger took the stool next to Emily and immediately slugged down a quarter of the stout Meg had poured for him before he sat.

  “Good morn, Hugh. Yer in early today.”

  “Colin sent me, or I wouldn’t have been in till dinner.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an expensive-looking cream-colored envelope with the distinctive Dunbar whisky pitchfork insignia embossed on the back flap. Slowly he cocked his head to his right. “Are you Emily Sinclair?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Hugh MacTavish, secretary to Colin Dunbar. He asked me to give you this.”

  Meg leaned against the bar as Emily’s trembling fingers reached for the envelope. For the longest time she stared at her name scripted on the front in bold black ink; then, taking a deep breath, she peeled open the envelope and took the embossed card from inside.

  Behind her she heard the scraping of chairs and the clomping of shoes as Billy, Seamus, and Iain raced to look over her shoulder.

  Reading privately was impossible, so she held the note up for all to see.

  Emily,

  I have another proposition. If you’re interested, come for dinner at eight.

  Colin

  Relief, not to mention sheer, maddening excitement, rushed through her, but it was a self-satisfied smile that touched Emily’s face when she held her palm out to the characters in the pub.

  “It appears I’ve won this morning’s wager.” Oh, the joy of victory. “So, what are we going to bet on now?”

  Butterflies had taken up residence in Emily’s stomach by the time eight o’clock rolled around, and they were furiously batting their wings as she stood in front of the great entrance to the castle. All day she’d wondered about Colin’s proposition. All day she’d wondered if she was just another puir wee lassie being lured to the devil’s lair.

  The door opened slowly, and the stunning Highlander smiled down on her.

  “Good evening.”

  Said the spider
to the fly.

  An off-white cashmere sweater hugged his chest and hard, flat stomach. A lock of ebony hair tumbled over his brow. Gorgeous! Just gorgeous. She quickly thanked the fates for putting him in a charcoal suit; she’d half expected him to be in a kilt, and then she would have spent the rest of the evening wondering what was under it rather than leading Colin toward a business deal.

  Of course, the way his own gaze lingered over her attire gave her the distinct impression that he had no interest at all in talking business. She had, however, taken away his ability to study her anatomy too closely. Meg had told her to wear as little as possible—more than likely the woman and the gents in her pub had placed bets on how fast Colin could get her out of her clothes—but Emily hadn’t dressed scantily. She’d dressed elegantly. Tastefully. In layers. She’d had to make a mad dash to Inverness to find something appropriate to wear out to dinner in a castle with a handsome laird, and in a petite shop she’d found a beautiful sapphire silk bolero, black silk tank top, and baggy black silk pants. She’d capped the outfit off with new silver jewelry and strappy, four-inch spiked sandals. She’d even found a manicurist to do her nails and splurged on a pedicure.

  This was business, of course, but there was no rule that said she couldn’t look her best. Considering the way Colin had looked at her, she felt she’d done a darn good job getting ready for their little tête-à-tête.

  At last Colin tucked her hand around his aim, where she could feel big, strong muscles that made her all giddy inside, and led her through the great hall.

  “So, Emily Sinclair, tell me what you did today.”

  What a great opening. “I spent a lot of time thinking about your proposition.” There was no need telling him about the massage she’d gotten to ease her nerves. “Could we discuss it before dinner?”

  He stopped in front of a blazing fireplace, curled his index finger under her chin, and tilted her face to meet his intense but smiling eyes. “Could we pretend for an hour or so that you came here for reasons other than business?”