The Perfect Bargain

by Jessa McAdams

  Bloody hell if he knew what to make of her.

  He’d thought she wanted to be kissed, but then again he’d been riding a wave of confusion since the first time she’d walked up to the door of his pub in heels, slacks, a smart little cardigan, and that buttoned shirt and shouted at Beattie’s cow. He’d thought she was pretty in the way TV presenters were pretty, but mad as a loon.

  Every warning signal in him had gone off, flagging him away. And he had stayed away from her, with the exception of keeping Ned from leering over her. He hadn’t engaged her in conversation, even while his regulars kept pestering him, wanting to know what the American was doing at the best table in the house every day, bent over a computer.

  Then she’d made her proposal, and he’d allowed a crack in his façade to spread, and the lass had crawled in. Even still, he’d tried to shake her off, but she was sticking to him like a fucking barnacle. He couldn’t believe he’d agreed to any of her hare-brained ideas, and worse, that he’d begun to think of her as less mad and more of a numpty, someone who lived a wee bit off the ground.

  He liked her. How was that possible? He was a practical man, a no-nonsense man. But he liked her grit and good cheer when he made her work on the fence. He liked her determination to live up to her part of the bargain. He liked her smile and her bum and the way her eyes shone with delight at the strangest things. And he’d been attracted to her, very attracted to her, and he’d been thinking of how good she’d looked in tight jodhpurs and then with her hair wet, and her lips so lush, the color of watermelon. Even though he knew it was madness to get involved, utter madness, that no good could come of it…

  Oh God, Galen had tried to keep his hands to himself. He knew she’d wanted him to kiss her when they were standing out by the faucet, and he told himself no, that it would only complicate things when he didn’t need any complications. But then tonight, listening to her haver on about this and that…he’d been surprised that he’d quite liked it. It had felt almost like a proper date, and Galen had begun to imagine that if there was no absurd agreement between them, and they truly enjoyed each other’s company, then didn’t it follow they would enjoy the evening as a man and woman ought?

  Damn it if she hadn’t rejected him. And Galen had been caught completely off guard, and then he’d become right offended. On what grounds could she possibly reject him? If anyone was to do the rejecting, it was most definitely not—

  “Galen!”

  Her voice was so close that Galen came up with a start and collided with Sloane’s chin. She fell back onto her rump and said, “Ouch.” She rubbed her jaw.

  “You startled me. What are you doing?” He touched her face where he’d bumped her. Her hair was a glorious mess around her shoulders, and damn it, Galen felt the stir in him again.

  “Sorry,” she said, lightly pushing his hand away so she could move her jaw. “Were you asleep?”

  “Ach, how could I possibly be? It’s bloody Baltic in here.”

  “Huh?”

  “Damn cold,” he explained. He ran his hands over his hair and looked at the bed. The warm, comfortable bed. All three of the dog’s heads were up and watching them closely, but none were foolish enough to get off the bed and come to investigate.

  “Can you build up the fire?” she asked. “I’m freezing.”

  She was freezing? As much as he hated to do it, he sighed, pushed the thin covers from his body, and got up to tend the fire. When he’d finished, Sloane was back in bed, the covers up around her neck.

  “There you are,” he said, and squatted down, intending to put himself on the pallet once more.

  “Galen, this is ridiculous.” She came up on her elbow. “It’s too cold for you to be down there. It’s too cold everywhere. Seriously, how does your brother live out here? So…just get in the bed, okay?”

  He eyed her helpless smile warily by the light of the fire. “So that we’re perfectly clear…is this an invitation?”

  “No. Well, maybe,” she amended. “Sort of.” She winced. “Listen, I can’t sleep thinking of you down there. It’s too cold and I never meant to kick you out of your bed.” She reached around one of the dogs and threw the covers back.

  Galen thought getting into bed with her was a very bad idea. An awful one, especially after the topsy-turvy day he’d spent with her. But the bed looked so bloody warm. And she looked so adorable surrounded by the dogs taking up the entire bed.

  “Hurry up, it’s freezing!” she urged him.

  He grabbed his blanket and climbed into the bed before she rescinded the offer. The dogs had done their job of keeping the bed warm, and he almost groaned with relief. It was a tight fit with the three dogs, and one of them—Barry, he thought—circled around then settled down with his butt in Galen’s face. “This is a good argument for cats,” Galen groused. “Off,” he commanded the dogs. The three of them reluctantly stood and stretched, then meandered to the foot of the bed, and flopped down.

  Not exactly off the bed, but good enough.

  As far as Galen could tell, Sloane was on her side, as far from him as she could be in that space. He settled in, hoping for sleep. He was denied that however, because he was suddenly shocked awake by the touch of a frigid foot against his leg, and he yelped like a little girl. “Get it off!” he cried. “Christ, your foot is like a block of ice.”

  “Sorry! My feet are freezing and that stupid dog won’t let me slide my foot under him. Honest to God, I’m from Chicago and I have never been so cold in my life. Why doesn’t your brother have a heater? Do you seriously call this summer?”

  Galen sighed. He rolled onto his side and spooned her, sinking his arm around her middle.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Aye, all right,” he said, and started to move away.

  She grabbed onto his lounge pants to stop him. “No, please stay right here,” she said. “You’re like a damn furnace. I need you.”

  He rolled into her back once more and settled his face into her hair, which, remarkably, smelled of lavender. He touched her arm. Caressed it. “This is a very bad idea,” he said.

  “Shut up,” Sloane murmured, and shifted backward, into him. He pressed his unavoidable erection against her hips and slowly moved his hand around to her breast.

  “Ooh, your hands are warm.”

  He kissed her shoulder.

  “So are your lips. For the record, we didn’t agree on heating. So this…whatever is going on with us, is a freebie.”

  He smiled into her skin. “I’m offended. You’ve been begging for this since you walked into my pub. I suspect you manufactured the whole friend situation just so you could get me into bed with you.”

  “You are delusional,” Sloane said, and rolled over, so she was facing him. “I hardly even spoke to you when I came into your pub. If you hadn’t tried to serve me a wee dram,” she said, mimicking his voice, “I probably never would have even noticed you.”

  He slid his hand down around her waist and pulled her to his erection. “Interesting. It seemed as if every time I looked up, you were ogling me. You wanted me, lass. Admit it.”

  She smiled. “I have a question for you. Have you ever had an idea about yourself that turned out to be so wrong? Like, it surprises you how wrong you are?”

  Galen slid his hand over her hip. “For example, thinking one can run a pub,” he suggested.

  Sloane laughed softly. “More basic than that. I mean, have you ever discovered something about yourself and really wanted to let it go?”

  Galen had no idea what she meant, but it seemed important to her. “Maybe.” He touched his lips to hers, lingering there a moment, then lifted his head.

  Sloane sighed. She pressed two fingers against his mouth. “You know, I’m taking a big chance here. What if you’re not any good at this? I’ll have wasted valuable sleep time.”

  He chuckled, caught her hand, and kissed her palm. “And what if you’re no’?”

  A tiny flicker of emotion shadowed her face. “I’m
not.”

  Galen snorted. He moved his hand down her hip. “I donna believe it,” he muttered as he trailed kisses down her arm.

  Sloane slipped her hand under his shirt and moved up his chest. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she whispered and kissed him long and hard.

  An electric current was sizzling through Galen, lighting him up. When he slid his hand up under her shirt and filled it with her breast, his body took over all his conscious thinking. He was moving by compulsion, his body humming with desire. He was removing clothing, hers and his, casting off pieces. Somehow, he managed to put his mouth on her breast. Somehow, he managed to knock the dogs off the bed.

  Sloane’s breathing deepened. He could feel her breath on his neck and chest, and it enflamed him. She took his cock in her hand and Galen groaned with pleasure. Each touch was a spark that flared into fire. He grabbed her hips and pulled her into his body, pressing his tongue into her mouth, not wanting to wait, wanting to be inside her. He slipped his hand between her legs, into damp heat that awakened every last male instinct in him.

  She thrust her hands into his hair and pressed against him like a woman starved for sex. Her response to him felt desperate, but Galen didn’t judge—he felt it in himself. They had given into the tension that had crackled between them all day.

  Her hands moved wildly on him, caressing his chest and hips, his cock, cupping his testicles. What little clothing that remained was tossed wildly into the room, landing on dogs. A condom was found and frantically donned. Galen sank his fingers deep in the soft folds of her flesh, stroking her, then shifting so that he could slide into her.

  Sloane gasped when he entered her, but her body relaxed and she closed her eyes, her body sinking into the bed as he sank into her. Something shifted inside him.

  She wrapped her legs around his waist, and Galen took her breast in his mouth and began to move, his tongue playing with the tip of her breast in time to his body moving in hers, tantalizingly slow. “Oh God,” she whispered as he moved.

  He felt wild; the sounds of pleasure she was making, the way she gripped him, all of it, pushed him to the edge. He slipped his hand under her back and lifted her up so that he could move deeper in her. As he began to quicken his pace, Sloane opened her eyes and looked directly at him. Like she needed him, and needed this from him. Miss Prim had left, and in her place was a lustful, beautiful woman. Her green eyes gone dark, her lips wet from kissing, her skin flush where he’d had his hands and his mouth—she was the most arousing thing he’d seen in a very long time.

  She flung her arms to either side, wrapped her legs tightly around his waist and said, “I take it back—you’re very good at this.” She touched her fingers to his mouth. “Let’s do this, Braveheart.”

  That was it, all that Galen needed. She had hit that nerve of desire, and he did as she wanted—he fucked her. He fucked her with everything he had, and it was the best sex he’d had in years. It was a complete abandon of personality, just two people seeking pleasure in each other. Her release was explosive; she cried out loud enough that a dog whimpered. He could feel the spasm of her body around his, the damp, hot heat of it. And with her explosion came his.

  A minute or two passed before Sloane took his head in her hands and lifted it from her breast so that she could look at him. There it was again, only softer now—that look of utter desire, of a deep connection with another person that could only come from this sort of intimacy. It stirred something deep and rusty in Galen. It touched him. It burrowed in and sank roots into him. He could all but feel it.

  She grinned and her smile illuminated the space between them. “Did that really just happen?” she asked.

  He pulled damp hair from her face, and a strand of it that had somehow stuck to his. “Yeah,” he said. He gazed down at her, tracing a lazy line with his fingers down her body.

  Sloane sighed, tossed her arms overhead and stretched like a cat. “You know what? I’m not freezing anymore. And I’m hungry.”

  “If you think I’m going to stick as much as a toe out of the covers to fetch you a snack, you’re mistaken.” He lay down beside her and roughly pulled her into his body, lightly biting her shoulder. “If you’re still hungry, I’ve a suggestion for you.”

  She laughed, her breath warm on his chest.

  They lay together, huddled for warmth, neither of them searching for their clothing. One by one, the dogs hopped back on the bed, burrowing close to them.

  “I wanted to be a dancer,” Sloane sighed.

  Galen laughed. “You realize that is apropos of nothing?”

  She smiled. “I just thought you ought to know that I wanted to be a dancer. What did you want to be?”

  Galen thought about it as he stroked her arm. “A soldier,” he said.

  And there they lay, talking about things.

  Just things.

  …

  Galen didn’t know when the talk drifted away and sleep overtook them; one moment Sloane was talking about organic gardening—whatever that meant in her world—and the next, he was waking. Sloane was pressed into his side, and a dog or two—it was hard to see in the murky gray light filtering into the cottage—was curled around her.

  He had work to do and eased out of bed and tiptoed into the bathroom. When he emerged, dressed and ready for the day, he walked back to the bed. Molly had claimed his place and Sloane was surrounded. He leaned over Molly and kissed Sloane’s shoulder.

  She blinked, looked around, then smiled so deeply that dimples appeared in cheeks made rosy by sleep. “What’s up? Is it time to go?”

  “No. I have to tend to the animals. Sleep as long as you’d like.” He braced himself on the wall and leaned down to kiss her mouth. “I owe you, lass,” he said.

  “Oh yeah? For what?”

  “For last night.”

  Her eyes fluttered. She smiled like a cat. “Really?”

  Galen chuckled. “Really. Donna be too proud of yourself, you’ll float right out of the cottage.”

  She grinned, caught his collar, and pulled him down for another kiss. “I ought to give you a bonus.”

  The reminder that he was being paid for being her pretend boyfriend extinguished the glow of Galen’s morning. He could feel his smile begin to fade and a flare of shame that he’d allowed himself to forget the agreement rifle through him. He caught her hand and gently dislodged her grip on his shirt. “Sleep,” he said and forced himself to smile. He went out the door, chagrinned for feeling something in what was basically a business deal.

  Chapter Eight

  Sloane was abruptly awakened by a dog with an itch that shook the bed like a carnival ride. A sliver of sunlight filtered through the tiny window above her head and she stretched, wincing a little at the stiffness in her arms and legs. But then she recalled the delicious, fantastic sex of last night and a fat smile of satisfaction curved her lips.

  Wow. Just wow.

  She’d done it. She’d let herself go and had let that happen. She hadn’t worried about anything. She hadn’t once thought what she was doing, or if he was into her. There hadn’t been any need to worry, because she and Galen had been in perfect unison. Perfect. Unison. Sloane had ridden that sensation, the intense, explosive pleasure.

  Explosive pleasure. Ha! She’d always believed that sort of description to be a big dose of hyperbole. But now she knew it was real, and she shivered with delight at the memory.

  She sat up, petted the only dog still left inside, and wrapped up in the plaid blanket that smelled like Galen. She padded into the bathroom and stepped over his bag. It was open, a T-shirt hanging out of it. She imagined what it would be like to live every day with a man like Galen, who definitely had the Jamie Fraser vibe. She imagined a lifetime of stepping over his clothing, of wrapping herself in his plaid blanket. Of waking up in a cottage in the Highlands where there were no sounds of traffic or horns or sirens. Just songbirds and a breeze and the occasional moo or baa of a sheep.

  Sloane liked this fantasy. It was
cozy and sexy—

  Wait, what? Sloane snorted and shook her head to dislodge those thoughts. What, she was going to abandon everything in Chicago and move to the Scottish Highlands to mend fences? Hardly. So stop thinking that way.

  Easier said than done.

  She brushed her teeth and washed her face, then pulled the summer dress from her bag and put it on. She had also brought a pair of super cute sandals with kitten heels to go with the dress, but they would never work up there. She donned her Uggs instead.

  She started to put her hair up, but the image of Galen pulling her hair free flit through her mind, and another delightful shiver of memory ran down her spine. Sloane brushed her hair out. It was getting long, the length of it disguised by the hair clip she usually wore.

  When she’d dressed, Sloane walked outside and turned her face up to the sun. Oh, but the sky was a brilliant blue, the sun warm on her skin. It was a little cool, and she kept the blanket around her bare shoulders. This was a different day, a vastly different day than the hundreds that had come before it.

  She sat in one of two chairs in the garden that faced the mountains across the glen. Her belly rumbled with hunger. She hadn’t thought about it until now and suddenly felt so hungry she could eat the cow grazing in the meadow below the cottage. She glanced down at the three dogs, who had appeared to lie by her feet like they were old chums, their eyes focused on her, patiently waiting.

  “Even you,” she said to them, and three tails began to wag. “Okay, not really. I’m not that desperate. Yet.” Funny how hard work and Highland air and fabulous sex made a person so ravenous.

  A low whistle caught the dog’s attention, and almost as one, they hopped up and trotted toward the barn. Galen came striding out in mud boots, looking dirty and tousled and sexy as hell.

  He stopped in the middle of the fenced area with some sort of farm implement in hand.