My Tempting Highlander (Highland Hearts #3)

by Maeve Greyson

  Mairi tore a crust from the loaf of bread sitting beside the stove and dipped it into the pot. “And where exactly is he sleeping, anyway?” Surely, Eliza hadn’t really taken him to the privacy of the forbidden fourth floor.

  Eliza pinched a good helping of salt from the crock sitting on the shelf above the stove. She sprinkled it freely over the vegetable stew then stirred it in with the ladle. “There now. Dip yer bit of bread in that and see if it’s no’ better than before.”

  As far as Mairi was concerned, the stew had already tasted perfect, but who was she to argue? She tore off another small chunk of bread, dipped it in the stew, and popped it in her mouth. The belly-warming flavors of onion, peppers, fennel, and roasted eggplant triggered a delicious shiver. “Perfect. Now, where did you say you’d put Ronan?”

  Eliza glanced up from the pot, amusement sparkling in her eyes. “Have ye gone daft, then? I already told ye he’d be on the fourth floor. He should be finishing with his bath right about now.”

  “The fourth floor?” Mairi repeated. She waved a sauce-covered chunk of bread in Eliza’s direction. “Really? Your fourth floor?”

  Eliza rolled her eyes and went back to stirring the stew. “The last I checked, this house had but one fourth floor, Mairi.”

  “But it’s your level. Forbidden to all.” Mairi dusted her fingers free of crumbs as she leaned back against the counter. “Lilia and I haven’t even been to the fourth floor and we’ve lived here over a year.”

  “Aye, well, all that’s about to change.” Eliza pulled a bowl down from the upper cabinet and proceeded to fill it with a heaping ladle full of the ratatouille. “Yer going to take dinner to our guest.”

  Mairi didn’t say a word, just shifted her gaze to Lilia, who had grown suspiciously over-interested in how the fur on the little dog could be tufted in different directions. When she finally glanced up from the little animal, damning color had spread across her cheeks. That cinched it. Lilia and Eliza had been plotting.

  “What are you two up to?”

  Eliza placed the bowl of stew on the table in front of Lilia. “There’s no time for chatter. Lilia needs to eat so she can walk the wee dog, and your guest is waiting upstairs. I’m sure a man that size is starvin’ by now.” She pointed to a wide cloth-covered tray balanced on the counter. “There’s your dinner as well as Ronan’s. Hie now and get it to him so ye’ll both be able to enjoy it whilst it’s pipin’ hot.”

  “Why can’t he eat down here with us?” If Eliza expected her to happily skip into whatever trap she’d carefully set, then she’d better think again. Mairi leaned more comfortably back against the counter. Eliza had better realize she was an amateur compared to Granny when it came to setting traps.

  Eliza didn’t answer, just walked to the tray and made the odd clucking noise that always meant she was thoroughly displeased. “I canna believe ye’d deny a weary man a simple meal. A man who was so concerned for yer welfare, he risked his own health by traipsing out in the foul weather to help ye find a dog ye’d only had but a few hours.” She jerked her head from side to side, her brightly painted lips pulled down into a disapproving frown. “Shameful, I tell ye. Just shameful.”

  Oh Lord. “Give me the damn tray.” Mairi nudged her way between Eliza and the tray and hefted it to her chest. Eliza was such a drama queen when things didn’t go her way. “I asked a simple question. All you had to say was that he didn’t feel like coming down. You know I’d never begrudge helping someone who’s ailing.”

  Her face wreathed in smiles, Eliza looped a cloth bag about Mairi’s neck then happily patted her shoulder. “There’s a fine bottle of Rhenish, a loaf of bread, some cheese, and a pair of tart apples for dessert. Mind the steps and dinna stumble and send all me hard work a flyin’.”

  “Good gosh. There’s enough food here to feed an army.” Mairi peered around the tray and gingerly started up the steps.

  “No’ an army. Just a fine-size man awaitin’ to be fed. Mind the turn in the stair and dinna tip the tray.” Eliza’s instructions echoed up the stairwell as Mairi climbed ever higher.

  It didn’t matter what Eliza said about Ronan feeling too ill to come downstairs for supper. Instinct told her she was walking into a trap. The closer Mairi drew to the fourth level of the house, the more nervous she became. She had to admit, she’d secretly looked forward to seeing Ronan again. The fact that a room seemed empty without him disturbed her more than a little. How could she feel that way about a guy she’d just met?

  She paused on the landing to the fourth floor, staring at the entrance to Eliza’s private suite. This was definitely a trap. Had to be. Why had this man suddenly shown up in her life? She bit her lip. The only way she was going to find out was by getting to know him better. Mairi took a deep breath, put her back to the door, and pushed down the latch with her elbow.

  A stifling cloud of rose-scented air filled the room. Holy crap. No wonder the man was ill. Eliza’s love for the cloyingly sweet smell of roses made breathing in here a chore. Mairi blinked against the fragrance stinging her eyes, glancing about the room as she made her way to the opposite door. Damn. I hope the air in the next room is better. He may have suffocated by now if it’s as bad as this one.

  Mairi breathed in short, labored huffs through her mouth as she backed up to the next door and pushed that latch down with her elbow. The last words Eliza had shouted up the stair were not to bother knocking at the first two doors because they were just sitting areas and Ronan wouldn’t be able to hear her if he was still in the bath. The bedroom and the bathroom were the farthest rooms on the floor—discretely offset from the sitting rooms and guaranteed to be private. Mairi turned into the room as she pushed open the door then nearly dropped the tray at the wondrous view that greeted her.

  Unabashedly naked, Ronan stood with feet spread and back to the fire, drying his hair with one end of the towel he hugged against his massive chest. Teasing droplets of water snaked down the gleaming planes of his hard, muscular body. The gleaming moisture snared Mairi’s focus, luring her gaze down the laddered ridges of his taut stomach then much lower to the defined pattern of dark hair starting right below his navel and marking the path to the impressive prize at the end of the trail.

  The corded muscles of his thighs flexed as Ronan shifted in place. Son of a bitch. The man needed USDA Prime tattooed up his flank. Dammit. Her sexual thermostat shot to a hell yes hot and ready from the naked Highlander tour. Catching her breath, Mairi jerked her gaze upward to his face and steadied herself back against the door.

  Ronan’s gaze locked with Mairi’s as he slowly lowered the towel to his waist, allowing it to drape across the tempting package that Mairi had already registered into the oh-my-God corner of her mind—reserved for only the most impressive sights she’d seen in her lifetime. Amusement and something akin to seduction gleamed in Ronan’s liquid silver gaze. “Mistress?”

  “Uhm.” Mairi swallowed hard, tightened her grip on the tray, and did her damnedest not to let her gaze dip below his waist again in the hopes the towel had shifted to one side. “I brought…” Mairi lifted the tray. “…supper. I brought supper.”

  Lordy, can I sound any more stupid? She forced her attention to the wide round table in the corner of the room. “I’ll set it up over there. I bet you’re starving.” Mairi lowered the heavy tray to the table then pulled the tote from around her neck, extricating the contents of the bag and setting two places. “Eliza didn’t want you to eat alone so I brought mine up here too.” Okay. Enough babbling. It wasn’t like Ronan was the first man she’d ever seen without his clothes. An involuntary shudder shook through her. Who was she kidding? She’d never seen a man built like Ronan…not naked…and not this close with enough privacy to lead to any number of delightful possibilities.

  “Be sure to thank Mistress Eliza, and I appreciate your willingness to dine with me.”

  Was he making fun of her? Mairi glanced up from the small cast-iron pot holding the stew and focused on Ronan’s aura.
The deep indigo shade vibrating around him immediately pulled at Mairi’s heart. Indigo. The color of the third-eye chakra. Intelligence. Psychic power. The color of still waters running deep and mysterious. Indigo. My favorite color. No. Ronan was not making fun of her.

  She placed the lid back on the pot and motioned toward the bathroom. “Why don’t you go and get dressed while I fix our plates. Eliza insists the stew is best when it’s piping hot.”

  With one hand fisted in the towel at his waist, Ronan nodded. “Aye. Mistress Eliza said she left a change of clothes in the wardrobe. I’ll at least slip on a pair of trews.” He paused beside Mairi, reached across the table, and tore a bit of cheese from the wedge.

  The heat of him, the warm clean scent of him, stroked her senses, making her ache to turn and smooth her hands across those burnished planes of muscle. Mairi fisted her hands, rubbing her knuckles against the tabletop while easing in deep, controlling breaths.

  “Uhm…” Mairi slid a pace away, shaking herself free of the erotic spell. “Eliza sent her favorite Rhenish too.” She glanced about the room, spying the crystal decanters and wineglasses neatly arranged on top of the buffet in the corner. “There’re some glasses. I’ll finish setting up.” She swallowed hard and weakly waved him toward the bathroom. “Hurry and get dressed. Supper is getting cold.”

  Ronan slowly lowered his chin in a polite nod while a warm smile tickled at the corners of his mouth. “Aye, lass. Rest easy. I’ll hurry back to ye.” As Ronan turned and padded from the room, he allowed the towel to slip from his waist just as he walked out the doorway.

  Mairi swallowed hard, leaning back to keep Ronan’s finely sculpted posterior in view until he passed through the bedroom door on the other side of the bathroom. Dammit. I need a drink. She propped the food tray against the bookcase and retrieved a pair of wineglasses from the rack built into the top of the buffet.

  She eyed the assortment of crystal decanters lined up on the shelf. She’d never cared for whisky. She always associated that with head colds because Granny’s home remedy for coughing was a healthy shot of whisky mixed with honey then cut with a tablespoon of lemon juice. Mairi nodded. She’d stick with the port. She preferred its flavor to the Rhenish. Mairi filled her glass with the heady liquid, downed half of it, then topped it off again. She tucked the decanter to her side, looped hold of another stemmed glass with her pinky, and took everything over to the table.

  “This looks to be a fine feast. I thank ye.” Ronan towered just past the bathroom doorway. The man probably had to duck when he passed between the rooms. Snug black jeans hugged his body as though he’d been melted and poured into them. He smiled and nodded as he finished buttoning the soft gray shirt stretched taut across his chest.

  “Uhm…Eliza’s a fantastic cook.” Mairi mentally shook herself and busied her trembling hands with filling the bowls from the small cast-iron pot nestled tight in the quilted cozy. As long as she had something to focus on, maybe she wouldn’t babble like a fool. “This is her own special twist on ratatouille.” She paused with the grater and a hard rind of Parmesan held above a bowl. “Parmesan?”

  Ronan slid into the seat beside her and dipped his head in agreement. “Aye.” He reached across the table, selected the Rhenish, and filled his glass. He held the bottle so that it hovered close to Mairi’s nearly empty glass. “Rhenish?” He motioned toward the other decanter she’d placed on the table. “Or do ye wish another glass of port?”

  Mairi downed the last bit of port and held out her glass. “Rhenish, please.” The port had done its job. She felt relaxed enough now to avoid acting the fool and to maybe even be downright sociable. Eliza would be proud. Mairi patted the cloth sack piled atop the table. “There doesn’t seem to be a knife for the bread. I promise my hands are clean. Would it offend you if I served it up in torn-off chunks?”

  “Somehow I doubt I would ever find anythin’ ye do offensive.” Ronan took a slow sip of his wine, all the while watching her above the rim of his glass.

  Mairi pulled free a hunk of bread and propped it next to his bowl. “Eat your soup. It’s getting cold.” A strange sense of déjà vu washed over her. Sitting with Ronan, sharing the evening meal, seemed the most natural thing in the world. She felt as though they’d shared this moment a hundred times before.

  Ronan helped himself to a heaping spoonful of the stew. A confused expression registered on his face as his chewing slowed.

  “You don’t like it.” Mairi lowered her spoon to her bowl. She stole a quick glance around the table. If Ronan didn’t like the ratatouille, she could always hop downstairs and get more cheese and fruit.

  Ronan held up a hand as though to stave off her words. “Nay. ’Tis quite good.” He chewed a bit longer then swallowed. “But I do have a question.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Did Mistress Eliza use any of the soy birds in the makin’ of this soup?”

  “Soy birds?” Mairi took her spoon and stirred it through the vegetables, looking for anything resembling bird parts. What the hell was he talking about?

  “Aye.” Ronan took a crust of the bread, sopped it in the bowl, then popped it in his mouth. “This doesna smell like the wretched soy balls from earlier, but I wondered if perhaps some fresher birds had been found for the making of this stew.”

  “Soy balls?” Mairi stared at the earnest expression on Ronan’s face. The man was dead serious, but what the hell was he talking about? Surely he couldn’t have gotten a whiff of the rancid leftovers she’d thrown out earlier while trying to find something to feed the dog. She’d resealed the container and tossed the whole thing in the bin. And what did soy balls have to do with birds? “Earlier when? Did you see some on sale in the market and they smelled like they’d gone bad or something?”

  Ronan’s eyes suddenly flared wider. Something akin to panic flickered in their depths. He bobbed his head up and down as he reached for the wine and quickly refilled his glass. “Aye. That was it. ’Twas a foul-smelling package indeed that I’ll no’ soon forget.”

  Mairi made a mental note to ask Eliza about soy balls or some kind of soy product marketed as birds. From the look on Ronan’s face, they must’ve been pretty dreadful. “Where are ye from, Mairi?” Ronan ripped a chunk of bread free and offered it to her. “Ye dinna speak as though ye come from Scotland.”

  Mairi waived the proffered bread away and held up her own chunk from beside her plate. “No, thanks. I’ve got plenty.” She thoughtfully pinched at the crust and dropped the pieces into her bowl. How much should I tell him? They’d only just met. Better play it safe—at least for now. “My sisters and I were born here in Scotland, but we grew up in the United States—in Kentucky.”

  “Kentucky,” Ronan repeated the word slowly as though savoring the feel of it on his tongue. “Are ye glad to be back in yer homeland? Do ye feel as though this place is where ye belong?” He leaned toward her with rapt interest.

  What was it in his eyes that made Mairi feel as though her answer was of the utmost importance to him? It wasn’t polite interest reflected in Ronan’s face. It was a wistful look…one filled with something akin to intense longing. Mairi took a long slow sip of her wine then lowered her glass to the table. The subtle warmth of the Rhenish surged through her like a soothing caress. “I was just telling Eliza the other day how I felt more at home in Edinburgh than I ever had in Kentucky.”

  It seemed like Ronan’s entire body relaxed, even his smile seemed more natural. “Aye. The soul of a Scot is ne’er at rest unless his feet are well settled upon his homeland.”

  “Aye,” Mairi giggled as she raised her glass in a toast. “Here’s to keepin’ our wee feet firmly planted on the soil of our blood.” Perhaps she’d had a bit too much alcohol. Lilia always told her she butchered a brogue worse than a Glaswegian whenever she’d had too much to drink.

  “And our hearts anchored where they’re meant to be.” All hilarity left Ronan’s face as he solemnly touched the side of his wineglass to hers. Still ke
eping his glass clicked snugly to hers, Ronan leaned forward and barely brushed his lips across hers.

  Mairi eased in a shaking breath. How easy would it be to just lean in and lose herself to him, drown herself in all he offered, give herself over to all he hinted they could become? “Who are you?” she whispered, searching his gaze as she savored the taste of the wine flavoring Ronan’s mouth.

  “The one who’s been seekin’ ye since the moment I first drew breath.” Ronan set his glass on the table and gently scooped her into his lap. His hand trembled as he brushed the back of his fingers along her jawline with a touch as tender as a whisper. “I never thought to find ye. I’d nearly lost hope.”

  Mairi carefully set her glass on the table, curled her arms about Ronan’s neck, and nibbled urgent kisses along his bottom lip. Ronan groaned as he pulled her tighter against him, laced his fingers into her hair, and hungrily opened her mouth with his.

  Mairi’s senses whirled; an ever-increasing ache arced through her body. Damn. I need him. Somewhere deep inside, her practical side struggled forward. I barely know him. I can’t do this. Mairi grudgingly broke the connection and eased her way out of his lap, trembling as she slid back into her own chair. “Whew.” She fanned herself. “You’ll have to forgive me. I think the alcohol has loosened the laces of my morals.” She inwardly cringed. Damnation. Can I possibly sound cornier?

  Ronan straightened in his chair, his face darkening as he refilled his glass with wine then just as quickly downed a deep draw from it. “Forgive me.” He scowled down at the table as he rolled the stem of the glass between his fingers. “I would never have ye think I sought to take advantage in any situation.”

  Mairi’s heart hitched. She leaned forward and covered his hand with hers. “I wasn’t accusing you. I just…” She just what? Wanted to know him a little bit better before she stripped him naked and rode him like a Highland warhorse? Mairi emptied her glass and crossed her legs, bobbing one foot up and down. Maybe the heat of the alcohol would somehow override the other heat Ronan had kindled in her core. Doubtful. She clamped her thighs tighter together and squirmed in the chair.