Joanna's Highlander

by Greyson, Maeve

  “By all means, lass. Have a go under there…if ye like.” Grant’s smile was bold and the glint in his eyes just dared her to take him up on the offer.

  As much as she’d have liked to dive right in—or under, so to speak—Joanna controlled the urge to make the most of the opportunity. You are so off-limits.

  “That won’t be necessary, thank you.” Joanna fixed Grant with one of her most professional I could handle you any day looks. He fired back with the same come-hither grin that had geared up the ache in her nether regions on more than one occasion. This situation called for serious damage control. “I’m sure Violet’s case isn’t under your table,” she added.

  “No. It’s right there. See it?” Annamae said, bending slightly and motioning at the shadows.

  I freakin’ give up. Joanna bent and made a quick sweeping glance under the table, struggling against the wicked urge to give Grant’s spread-eagled position a closer look. Big hands. Big feet. What could one little glance hurt to see if the rest of the package sized up? Oh my…

  A hot ripple of appreciative dammit made Joanna swallow hard. She stood bolt upright and quickly shook her head. “Uhm…nope. All I saw was a napkin. I’ll tell the cashier and they can watch for it. If it’s here, I’m sure they’ll find it tonight while cleaning up and we can stop by tomorrow and pick it up.” We so need to get out of here.

  “No.” Georgetta shook her head emphatically. “Violet won’t rest if she doesn’t have it. It’s right over there. Here—I’ll point it out to you.”

  Too late, Joanna discovered she was no match for Georgetta Millsap’s well-aimed hip. A solid bump to the back of her legs and a firm shove to the small of her back sent her diving forward—not under the table but straight into Grant’s lap.

  Her C-cup girls thumped hard against Grant’s muscular chest, then her forehead popped his with a stinging smack. Nose to nose, her elbows on either side of his head, Joanna struggled to catch her breath and blink away the stars muddling her vision. Straddling one of his legs, Joanna floundered to get away. Son of a bitch, this is so not going well! I’ll lose that damn contract for sure.

  Grant clamped both hands around her waist and lifted her into the air with a jerk that immediately halted her struggling. “Have a care, lass. Yer about to unman me with yer knees.”

  “S-sorry,” Joanna said just as her hands slipped off the slick vinyl back of his chair and she buried his face almost ear-deep into the V-neck of her shirt, which was currently stretched so low from its pinned state under Grant’s hands that the lace of her red bra framed his cheeks nicely.

  “Sh-h-it!” Joanna panic-rolled to the right, tangled both feet around Grant’s booted foot, then hit the floor. Hard. Inside, she was screaming, I’m going to kill those old ladies! Out loud, amazing even herself with her calm, authoritative tone, she pointed toward the front of the café. “Hazel! Get everyone on the bus. Now.”

  Strong hands gripped her shoulders, lifted her up from the floor, and steadied her to her feet. “Are ye all right then? Ye landed with quite the jar.”

  Damn him. He would act like a gentleman. And that get-me-naked Scottish burr is gonna be the end of my self-control yet. She pulled in a deep, calming breath, praying that she was the only one who could hear her heart pounding. Double damn him. He smells so good—as usual. I’ve gotta get the hell out of here.

  Joanna swallowed hard, forced a smile, and took a step back as she jerked her clothes back in place. “I’m fine. Thank you. Just fine.”

  Grant gallantly dipped his chin with the hint of a smile that said he knew acknowledging her answer any other way might befuddle her even further. Glancing down, his brows suddenly drew together and he pointed to the floor. “Is this what yer seeking, lass?” Grant bent and retrieved a bright purple, rhinestone-studded glasses case from under his chair.

  When in the ever-loving hell had those conniving old women planted that under the MacDaras’ table? Joanna knew damn good and well that Violet couldn’t have tossed her case that far from where she was sitting on the other side of their table. No way could she have managed a move like that without being noticed.

  Joanna took the case from Grant and snapped open the lid. Sure enough, embroidered in the silk lining were the letters V. W. Violet Woodard. Joanna snapped the lid shut and glared through the wall of café windows at the sleek black tour bus waiting outside. The bus’s windows were tinted, so she couldn’t see its interior, but it was a safe bet that there were seven old noses pressed to the panes trying to see how their little plan was playing out. If Lucia ever takes on another group of geriatric gangsters, I’ll kill her.

  Joanna gave Grant her politest smile and a most apologetic shrug. They didn’t need this crap getting reported to the MacDaras’ lawyer or Alec. Grant had always been the friendliest of flirts and had never acted like he’d get his kilt in a wad over the tour groups as quickly as his older brother did—but they couldn’t afford to take any chances. The MacDaras stuck together on all things business. The entire town of Brady knew that. She bobbed her head and seriously considered attempting an old-fashioned curtsy to complement the weird archaic way Grant always talked. “Thank you—for all your help,” she finally said, abandoning the curtsy idea. She’d probably end up on her ass again anyway.

  She scooped her shoulder bag off the chair and shoved the case into it. “Again, sorry we interrupted your evening.” She blew out a weary sigh. “I swear I’ll do my best to make them behave during the rest of their stay here.” I think shock collars are the only thing that might work, and Georgetta will probably rewire those and trash them in minutes.

  “Dinna fash yerself, lass. I’m sure ye didna—” Grant shifted a step forward as he spoke, effectively snagging her and setting the hook with those damn blue eyes of his.

  “Ye didna ruin his evenin’,” interrupted Ramsay with a sly wink and a raised glass.

  “Aye,” Ross chimed in, raising his half-full mug too and clinking it to his brother’s. “We all ken how the two a ye have been a-sparkin’ after one another for o’er a year now. ’Tis about time ye both quit fannin’ such wee troublesome flames and set to tendin’ a full-blown fire.”

  Ramsay cleared his throat and lifted his glass higher. “Here’s to the sly battle-plannin’ of old hens! May our brother be thankful for the flock of cailleachs helpin’ him secure his match and settin’ him on the path to a proper wooin’.”

  I’ve gotta get out of here. With her pride and her ass still stinging, Joanna ignored Ramsay and Ross’s toast and started backing toward the door. “Well…again…I’m sorry we disrupted your evening. I’ll be off now to get those hens tucked into the coop. Have a good night.”

  Then she turned and ran.

  Chapter 2

  Grant stood there, clenching his fists so tightly his knuckles popped one by one. What the hell should I ha’ said t’put the lass at ease? The café door banged shut, the jingling wad of tiny bells wired to the top of the door announcing Joanna’s departure as if he couldna see it with his own eyes. Hell’s hounds and damnation! The woman had nearly leaped over the tables to get away from him.

  “Are ye no’ goin’ after her, then, brother?”

  Grant slowly turned, his frustration ratcheting up another notch closer to full-blown rage. He glared at Ramsay. “Are ye completely daft?” He jabbed a finger toward the wide picture window facing the parking lot. The tour bus roared past, leaving a cloud of dust and slinging gravel in its wake. “Did ye no’ just see the woman run scairt as though we were about to attack her?”

  “I’ve heard tell that some women like t’be chased,” Ross observed in a smug tone, then finished off the last of the beer pooled in his mug.

  “I’ve a good mind t’kill ye both, ye little bastards.” Why the hell had he been fool enough to bring along Ramsay and Ross? Those two bampots couldna understand why—why after a feckin’ year and a
half—he’d no’ taken the proper action to make Joanna Martin his own. The wee fools had obviously forgotten all that had happened so long ago. But Grant hadna forgotten. His painful memories were fresh as yesterday.

  He shook away the urge to grab his brothers up by the scruffs of their necks and thunk their heads together. He shouldha kent they’d be nothin’ but trouble tonight. That’s all this century was good for, the one certainty of this time: trouble. Complicated ways that did nothin’ but confuse the hell out of a man. Damn them both. His two brothers would ne’er understand and Grant knew why. The young ones had adapted to this goddess-forsaken time a far sight better than he or Alec had because they didna have as much of their manhood invested in the past.

  Grant blew out a groaning huff as he watched the bus careen down to the town’s only stoplight and come to a screeching halt as the light turned red. His time of stolen peace was over, the bit of peace he’d managed to find by spending as much time as he could with Joanna as she worked with the herds of annoying tourists she brought to the park each week. The woman’s patience amazed him. Would that he possessed such. If he had a bit more patience, Máthair wouldna constantly be chanting at him, “Use yer words, son. Dinna greet and growl like a wounded bear.”

  Just thinking about Joanna soothed him. Even now, when all seemed doomed t’go straight t’hell in a handbasket, the thought of her made the tightness in his chest seem…less. The lovely scarlet-haired lass eased the ache from the raw, gaping hole where his heart had been afore the cruel goddesses had ripped it from him. None of the lasses he’d met in this time had come close to making him feel whole again or as though he remotely belonged in this century. But Joanna Martin…aye, now that lass was different indeed.

  In his defense, he had planned on fully wooing her at some point—but when he was ready, not when a gaggle of old women decided to toss her in his lap. He rubbed his cheek. The lass’s fine bosoms felt even better than I ever imagined, that’s for certain. When she’d buried his face betwixt her breasts, he’d hardened to an alarming level. Then she’d nearly snapped his cock off at the root in her struggle to stand. Grant rubbed his crotch at the painful memory.

  “Instead of yammerin’ at us with empty threats, ye should be haulin’ yer arse over to Mistress Martha’s B&B. Ye ken that’s where she’s takin’ them. Ye must strike whilst the iron is hot, man.” Ramsay leaned sideways, shoved a hand deep in the pocket of his jeans, then pulled out a set of keys. He tossed them to Grant. “Here. Take the Jeep. Ross and I’ll take the truck back to the keep. ’Tis high time ye did something about this woman, brother. High time, indeed.”

  “Go after them?” Grant closed his hand around the keys and squeezed hard. He wished it were Ramsay’s neck crackling in his grasp instead of the bits of metal. “And pray tell, what do ye advise I do once I meet them at Mistress Martha’s? The woman’s had her fill of me this evenin’, or have ye gone blind?”

  “Yer a fool, Grant. Just pull yer head outta yer arse and apologize for shamin’ her here in the restaurant,” Ramsay said with a thud of his mug to the table. “Beg forgiveness for yer…awkward social clumsiness,” he added with a proud bob of his head. “Aye…awkward social clumsiness. That’s what our dear little sister Esme would call it.”

  “Aye,” Ross chimed in with a grin that set Grant’s blood to boiling even hotter. “Ye sat there and let that beauty slip right out of yer arms and hit the floor. Máthair and Esme both wouldha boxed yer ears for such.”

  Grant turned without another word and stormed out of the restaurant before he forcibly shut his brothers’ mouths with his fist. Damn them both straight to hell. He wouldna go so far as t’say that his nettlin’ brothers were right, but he would admit that if he didna go and attempt to leave sweet Joanna with a better impression of himself than she currently held, his days of spending time with the beauty until he was ready to make her his own would be over. The air betwixt them would be too strained, thanks to the foolhardiness of this evenin’.

  He steered the Jeep through the back alleyways to Mistress Martha’s bed-and-breakfast. The much shorter route still might not get him there before the tour bus, especially as fast as the lass usually drove, but he should at least arrive before Joanna and the herd of old women disappeared into their rooms. From what he’d observed of Joanna’s previous tours, it took the poor wee lamb a good hour or so to get her charges off the bus, their luggage unloaded, and everyone checked in for the night.

  As he braked and slowed the Jeep up even with the stop sign at the corner, the tour bus passed in front of him. Good. He’d get there nearly the same time she did. If he offered to unload the luggage whilst she settled the old hens into their rooms, perhaps she’d forgive him for acting so poorly in the restaurant. Grant dipped his head in a decisive nod. Aye. That’s what I’ll do. Surely, then all would be settled between them and back to the way they used to be.

  Grant shifted in the seat and rubbed his thumbs against the worn leather of the steering wheel. Is that what I really wish? He slowly shook his head, fighting the possible repercussions of such thinking. She was such a tempting lass. Fiery hair. Flashing eyes. Curves that made a man ache to sink into her. And from the conversations they’d shared over the months—quick-witted, kind, and a genuine pleasure t’be around. But what would happen if he showed her his heart? What would happen if he showed her the Heartstone?

  “Surely, she’d accept the stone and the truth of the MacDara legacy.” He knew as soon as he’d said the words aloud that they were a lie. What woman of this century would understand? Aye…Sadie, Alec’s wife, had finally understood, but it had been no small task for Alec to make her see. But Joanna? Doubtful. Maybe even impossible. His Joanna was different. And that truly bothered him no small amount. He’d survived the loss of one great love. He couldna bear such pain again and he feared the risk, especially if the higher powers had noticed his interest in the girl and decided to withhold their blessings yet again.

  Surely, the damn goddesses and the dreaded stone’s attentions were busy elsewhere by now, nettling other lives with heartache and ruin. Besides—’twas high time they left him the hell alone. They’d murdered his betrothed and taken his unborn child. Torn him away from all he’d ever known. They’d taken enough from him. “Cruel and heartless demons, they are,” he muttered under his breath.

  But surely now they ken I meant what I said. Surely, I’m finally free of them. Grant sat taller behind the wheel, his earlier tension shifting to a determined knowing.

  He pulled the Jeep around the corner, spirits lifting when he spotted an empty parking spot right behind the tour bus. Perfect.

  Grant’s pleasant realization was short-lived as Joanna rounded the side of the bus and saw him. The woman froze in her tracks as though she’d just walked up on a wild animal. Her wide-eyed look of surprise quickly shifted to a scowl in the glaring headlights of the Jeep. The woman was clearly anything but pleased to see him.

  Hell’s hounds and damnation. Grant hurried to shut off the engine and exit the vehicle before Joanna could bolt. This century didna seem t’take to a man chasing a woman down and holding her fast o’er his shoulder until she’d heard all he had to say, so he’d have t’keep his wits about him. I best get me arse in gear afore she escapes. He jogged around the Jeep, placing himself between Joanna and the bright headlight currently turning her a pasty white. Surely, the infernal things would flicker off shortly.

  He dipped his head and held out his hand. “I thought it only right that I stop by here and help ye get yer ladies settled in after the kerfuffle at the diner. ’Twas a sorry incident, indeed.”

  The headlights finally clicked off, but there was still enough light coming from the bed-and-breakfast’s security light that he could tell Joanna had a fair-sized case of the red arse. Whether her ire was directed at him or the ladies from her group, he didna ken. All he knew for certain was she looked sorely displeased and h
er fair cheeks were stained a rosy red.

  Joanna glanced down at his hand, then shifted in place as though she’d rather be anywhere but standing in front of him. She finally looked him in the eye and forced a smile that looked like she was clenching her teeth. “It wasn’t your fault, Grant. Thanks anyway, but I’m sure you’ve got much better things to do on a Friday night than play bellhop.”

  Embarrassment…or ire…Grant wasna certain which colored her features an even deeper shade. Joanna slowly backed away, one hand barely touching the side of the bus while her feet gingerly searched for the broken curb behind her. “I’m sure we’ll bump into you tomorrow at the park. Thanks again, but I’ve got this bunch handled.”

  “Nay…” For every inch Joanna shifted back, Grant edged forward. Lore, she’s even lovelier when her color runs high. He gently tapped on the rear hatch of the bus. “I insist. Ye must allow me t’help ye. I canna go home and no’ be able to truthfully defend m’self against whatever scurrilous tales Ramsay and Ross have already told Esme and Máthair about me.”

  “Scurrilous?” Joanna repeated. Her frustrated look shifted to a lopsided grin of amusement.

  Good. She’s calmin’ herself. “Aye,” Grant said with an exaggerated nod. Now what the hell do I say? ’Twas one thing t’tease and flirt with a lovely lass and easy enough t’talk about everyday matters. But when it came to tryin’ to draw her closer—a woman of this wretched century—what exactly did a man say?

  He nodded again and started over. “Aye and for certain, those two brothers of mine will have my entire family believin’ I didna give a whit about yer arse hittin’ the floor so hard that it made yer teeth rattle.” He clamped his mouth shut. Sons a bitches. I canna believe I said that.

  Joanna huffed out a giggle and a bit of the tension seemed to melt from her stance.