How To Steal A Highlander

by Olivia Norem

  “What? No!” Kat’s eyes went wide. That’s what he thought? The mythical Mr. Goldman beat her was the reason she didn’t want to talk about him? Kat stifled a laugh and chose her words carefully, assuring him she wasn’t in need of any rescue.

  “I assure you, Simeon. I’m perfectly happy with my marital state.”

  It wasn’t a lie. Exactly. Kat unfastened her seat belt and leaned over toward him. Simeon stiffened abruptly against the back of the seat as the exotic scent of her wafted toward him. Kat raised up on one knee in her own seat and moved toward him bracing her hand on the armrest between.

  “I just need to find something…. even a good thief… needs her tools.” As she bent to search beneath his seat, her hand skidded from the arm rest and landed on his thigh. The touch elicited a deep, male groan, and Kat marveled at how solid his muscle felt beneath her palm. Undeterred, she rummaged along the floor between his feet.

  Simeon held his breath as her ebony curls brushed along his bare skin. Unable to maintain his restraint any longer, he pulled her roughly upright by her shoulders just as her hand closed around the edge of the black bag.

  They were practically nose to nose.

  “Och, lass.” His eyes gleamed with raw lust and his nostrils flared slightly. He had been so long without touching a woman, smelling a woman, that her nearness made every tendon in his body clench.

  “Wh-what?” Kat faltered, trying to ignore her flaring pulse.

  The Highlander oozed raw sexuality, provoked dark fantasies that made her shiver to her spine. It wasn’t the frigid night air coming through the window making her tremble. She was drawn by a force of some ancestral memory — frightening and seductive. Kat felt tiny beads of sweat break out on her upper lip as she moved closer. She couldn’t fight the magnetic pull of his eyes or the hovering curve of his lips. The scent of him shot rippling electricity through her, starting with the grip he had on her arms, twinging painfully between her legs and sparking all the way to her toes.

  “Ye speak tae me o’ restraint? I’m nae a bloody eunuch, lass.” Simeon’s thick brogue rumbled through her.

  Kat snapped back from the perilous proximity. “I-I’m sorry. You’re… confusing,” she managed, and swallowed hard.

  “Aye, confusing. Well said,” he growled softly. His eyes filled with unnerving intensity as he released his grip. He finally looked away and ran a hand over his bristled jaw.

  Och, if only this lass dinnae hae a husband.

  Kat couldn’t count the heartbeats it took to steady her shaking hands and unroll the bag. By sheer will, she focused on the small case of leather. The tools in her palm served as a tangible reminder of why they were stopped in a dark alley in the first place. She deftly refastened the bag and handed it to him to return to its hiding place.

  “We’re not here to outfit you completely, just something to wear tonight. Then we’ll get some food. I promise you this won’t be hard. Just stay here until I signal you. And stay quiet. Got it?”

  “Aye.”

  Kat slipped from the seat. Before she closed the door, she leaned forward as an afterthought.

  “Don’t punch anything either, okay?”

  That earned her a deep scowl.

  “Are ye plannin’ on stealin’ our supper as well?” he muttered dryly.

  Kat gave a nervous giggle. “Noo. I’ll pay for our food like honest people. I just can’t take you into a pub like… like…”

  “I ken, lass. I’ll try tae blend.” Simeon opened the door and hopped out.

  “Hey, wait a minute. I said to wait until…” Before she could finish, Simeon disappeared into the shadows.

  Kat’s brow furrowed at his unexpected stealth.

  “Simeon!” she whispered harshly.

  No answer.

  He couldn’t just vanish. After almost a full minute of squinting into the darkness, Simeon emerged from the shadows next to the door she was about to breach. He flashed her a wicked grin.

  “Really?” She cocked her head impatiently.

  “Ye said tae blend.”

  “Where did you learn that?” Kat asked as she propped her pen light between her teeth to illuminate the lock. She slid her picks into the holes, a twist, a slide, and the door popped opened.

  “Reivin’ cattle, lass. A time-honored tradition.” Simeon gave her another disarming grin, and then looked at the door she opened so quickly. “Och! Now I’m impressed.”

  Kat jabbed a finger in his chest. “Wait here until I come to get you. I just need to disable the alarm, if there is one.”

  Kat slipped inside without a sound. She scanned around the doorframe then up and into the corners of the back room with the beam of her penlight. No sensors, detectors, no anything. Either this store had nothing of value, or folks around here were incredibly trusting.

  She tiptoed from the narrow hallway, stepped into the darkened store, and froze. The sound of a low, menacing growl greeted her.

  Damn! Damn! Double damn!

  A watchdog was not what she was expecting. The dim illumination coming from the street lights through the windows, was enough to show her the dog. It was a big one — fierce and incredibly ugly. It looked like some breeder’s mistaken cross between a Wolfhound and Mastiff.

  “Suidh!” Simeon commanded harshly over her shoulder.

  The dog immediately sat and emitted a pitiful, yawning whine. Big, soft eyes stole a cautious look up to the towering Scot, and a bushy tail thumped enthusiastically on the carpet.

  “How did you do that?” Kat whispered, astonished as the dog panted eagerly in a wide, doggie smile.

  “He’s a Scottish pup, lass,” Simeon stated matter-of-factly, as he shouldered past her. “E’en a simple beastie kens a laird when he sees one.” Simeon snapped his fingers and the dog shot forward to his side, enjoying a rewarding scratch on his ear.

  “Unbelievable. But you said ‘he.’ What if this dog is a female?”

  “He’s nae bitch, lass,” Simeon said confidently, as he patted the dog’s side.

  “How could you possibly know that?”

  “If this pup were a bitch, she’d hae rolled tae her back at the sound o’ me voice.” Simeon smiled lazily and winked at her.

  “Hazard of being a laird, I guess,” Kat muttered. Confused by the twinge of jealousy, imagining women flocking around him in shameless abandon, she realized he was teasing.

  Kat couldn’t suppress a groan. “Hey, you were supposed to wait.”

  “I hunger, lass. The quicker we select this costume, the quicker we fill our bellies.”

  The dog pressed close as Kat beckoned Simeon deeper into the store. She headed straight for the workout wear. Thumbing quickly through the racks, she tossed him a pair of black sweatpants and two black T-shirts, and then hurried on to socks and shoes. As Kat bent on one knee to place a shoe next to his boot to gauge his size, the dog swiped her face with a gargantuan lick of affection.

  “Argh! Stop that.” She wiped her cheek with her upper arm and came face-to-face with the front folds of Simeon’s kilt. He smelled of wool and leather, all warm and male. Her gaze leisurely mesmerized by his rock-hard thighs, and once they removed that sporran... Kat knew putting Simeon in sweats would probably shamelessly reveal his manhood, which she was certain was in flawless proportion — just like the rest of him. As the dog’s tail whipped her coat with resounding thuds, a singular question interrupted her musings.

  Boxers or briefs?

  Simeon arched a brow at her from his towering position.

  Kat swallowed hard and stumbled gracelessly to her feet. She backed straight into a rack of dri-fit Lycra, sending the display to teeter precariously. Simeon’s quick reflexes steadied both her and the rack. His strong arm supported her as he looked down with a smirk.

  “I’m no’ so certs aboot yer thievin’ skills, lass.”

  Kat frowned and snatched a few pairs of the shorts from the rack. At least that problem was solved.

  “I…uh, let me get the shoes.�
�� Kat kept her head buried as she ran down the stack of boxes searching for his size. What was wrong with her? She was a sophisticated, world-class thief. This four-hundred-year-old Highlander, a drop dead gorgeous four-hundred-year-old Highlander, was turning her into a stumbling bundle of nerves.

  “Try these on.” Kat distracted herself by pulling the tissue stuffing out of the running shoes. Anything to keep her gaze from coming eye-level with Simeon’s groin as he sat on a low bench and unlaced his boots.

  Kat tossed him a pair of socks without looking up and saw he nodded approvingly from her peripheral. When his slipped his feet into the shoes and stood up, Kat smothered a smile. The sight of him clad in his kilt paired with the white Air Jordans was hilarious. Simeon rocked back and forth, marveling at the feel.

  “Whot do ye call this footwear, Katherine?”

  “Nike.” She couldn’t suppress a grin as she watched him take bouncing steps.

  “Och, these Nike are grand tae be sure.” Simeon preened back and forth, unable to tear his eyes away from his feet.

  “They’re called running shoes. The shoe maker is Nike,” Kat clarified.

  “I ken well imagine running in these, lass. And the braw Mr. Nike makes a bonny shoe.”

  “Well I’m glad you think so.” Now that he was standing, Kat thrust the clothing in his arms. “Go put those on. I’ll get a bag for your… kilt… and stuff.”

  The dog padded after Simeon to the dressing room, and Kat grabbed a bag from behind the counter. When he emerged, Kat was unprepared for her reaction. If seeing him in a kilt was bad enough to make every female nerve ending in her body cry out for release — the fitted clothes were worse.

  Infinitely worse.

  The tall, sculpted Highlander dripped erotic promise, and Kat’s knees turned buttery-soft. Even in the dim light of the darkened store, there was no mistaking the broad cut of his shoulders or the well-defined biceps, now bare in the short sleeves. Kat’s mouth watered involuntarily as he stretched and tested the waistband of his pants in wonder, and then smoothed the front of his T-shirt.

  “I admit these garments are plain, but the fabrics are most comfortable.”

  Plain. Could anything draped over this Adonis’ perfect form be called plain?

  Then it dawned on her. Keeping a low, forgettable profile was going to be difficult at best with a man who looked like Simeon. If she was so affected by his appearance, she had no doubt others would be too. He needed coverage. Lots and lots of coverage.

  “Put this on. And this too.” Kat pawed through racks of sweaters and jackets and tossed him the bulkiest ones she could find. She gathered up his clothes from the dressing room and stuffed them into the shopping bag.

  Kat surveyed him quickly. The layers helped but hardly took away from his overall sex appeal.

  “Damn! I forgot about the tags.” She stepped close and snapped the plastic strings from his sleeves. Her breath caught when she reached beneath the jacket to pull the one from his waist.

  “I dinnae want to ask why these strange papers would be worn with the clothing.”

  “They’re price tags. So people know how much to pay for them.”

  “Ah, that keeps a merchant fair then. Give me the papers, lass.” Simeon extended his hand.

  “No. I’m taking them with us. And the hangers too. They’ll never miss them.”

  “Dinnae argue with me, Katherine. I’ll no’ leave ‘til ye hand me the papers.” Simeon stiffened into stubborn laird pose and frowned down at her.

  Kat reluctantly slapped the tags into his palm.

  “Can we go now? I thought you were hungry?”

  Simeon flipped through the tags quickly and looked up at her. “Aye, we can take our leave.”

  “May I ask what you want those for?” Kat gave him a sidelong look.

  “I wanted tae ken how much I owe these people for the clothing.”

  “Simeon, they’ll never miss them. There’s no evidence…”

  “Thievin’ may be yer profession, Katherine, but ‘tis nae mine. I’ll pay this shopkeeper whence I figure a way tae obtain some coin. Then my conscience will be clear.” He moved to take her arm and guide her out, but Kat shrugged away from his grasp.

  “You can’t come back here. Are you planning to walk in and plunk some cash down on the counter and say, ‘Hey, I broke into your place the other night. Here’s what I owe you.’ Don’t be foolish, Simeon. There will be too many questions, and that’s a loose end I don’t need.” Kat’s eyes flashed in the dim light as her anger was starting to spiral. Hell, right now he was a loose end she didn’t need.

  “Then leave the money for them, lass. I’d do it myself, but I’m without a purse at the moment.”

  “I will not.”

  “Ye will, or I’ll leave them one o’ yer precious coins instead. It should be fair compensation for these hard workin’ people.” He stared her down and crossed his arms, looking every inch the Highland Laird who expected his word to be obeyed.

  Kat was hungry, tired, her thigh throbbed in pain with every heartbeat, and she still had a long night ahead. The last thing she needed was to waste time arguing with Simeon over less than a hundred and twenty pounds.

  The stubborn Scot would leave one of the Viking coins behind too, just to prove his point. Besides, every time she and her brothers had raided Aldo’s Bakery, hadn’t they always left a crisp hundred on the vacant space in the display case?

  They stared at each other, refusing to blink in the impasse. The dog looked between them, first at Kat, and then back at Simeon, before his eyes settled on Kat. He whined softly. Bloody hell, even the dog was trying to guilt her into surrender.

  Traitor.

  With a heavy sigh, Kat reached inside her bra and extracted several crisp bills. A steady tirade trailed behind her as she placed the money near the register.

  “Don’t think I’m doing this just because you said so. I’ll not be ordered around by you, Simeon, and if we had more time, I’d never give in. You think you’re stubborn, well let me tell you, you haven’t met stubborn until you go up against me. Once I make a decision—”

  “I ken. Whence ye make a decision, there is no’ tae change yer mind,” Simeon interrupted. “I’ll nae argue with ye, lass. Let us be off tae find a meal then.”

  Simeon scratched the ‘pup’ a fond farewell as a wry smile of triumph played about his lips. By God, his Katherine was even more beautiful when her temper was up.

  Chapter 8

  Despite Simeon’s protests, pointing out what appeared to be several comfortable pubs along the road, Kat insisted they drive at least another half an hour before stopping for food.

  By the time she parked the car and warned him, for the hundredth time by his estimate, not to draw attention to himself, his mood had gone from dark to downright menacing. When Kat demanded he repeat, again, the rehearsed excuses to use if he was confused by something, he had become unequivocally hostile.

  “I’m nae bairn, lass, and I cannae imagine conduct in a pub hae changed,” he seethed.

  “Just keep your head down and don’t say any more than you have to,” Kat bristled. She stiffened when he placed an arm protectively on the small of her back and held the door open for her.

  “What are you doing?” Kat whirled around and tilted her head to look up at him.

  “Trust me, lass. ‘Tis better ye hae me protection than nae,” he frowned in a clipped tone.

  “Protection from what?” Kat sidestepped his arm.

  “I cannae imagine men hae changed all that much, especially when they get a glimpse o’ the length o’ yer skirt.”

  “Oh my God. Tomorrow we’re going to have a long discussion on you getting a grip,” Kat snapped.

  “I will oblige ye.” Simeon grabbed her waist and pulled her tighter.

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Simeon loosened his hold and raised a handsome brow, “Perhaps more hae changed than I ken.”

  “Gah! Just be polite.” />
  Simeon flashed her a devilish grin.

  “Halò,” Simeon announced boldly as they stepped inside.

  “What are you doing?” Kat whispered from the side of her mouth.

  “Being polite. It is Scotland.”

  Kat groaned as several heads turned from the bar and answered him in kind. With a reassuring squeeze on her elbow, Simeon guided them inward with complete confidence, nodding to the few men at the bar who bent together exchanging whispers and elbow nudges.

  People sitting at tables and booths craned their heads, following their trek. Mouths dropped, eyebrows raised, and forks paused mid-air as they strode deeper into the pub. A ripple effect coursed through the patrons as the pub grew eerily quiet.

  So much for keeping a low profile.

  Kat spied a secluded corner booth and nudged Simeon, who was busy exchanging silent nods to the stunned patrons. The bartender, who was bent behind the bar, snapped upward and gaped at Simeon. He leaned forward, spreading his fingers on the polished wood and cried out.

  “I cannae believe me own eyes! If ‘tis nae Seamus Campbell, here in me pub in the flesh.”

  As he scurried around the bar, Kat discreetly nudged his ribs and whispered, “Just go with it. Seamus.”

  The man pumped Simeon’s hand vigorously, staring up at him in wide-eyed wonder. You’d think the man was a god or something. Without giving Simeon a chance to protest, the bartender clapped him loudly on the shoulder. “If ye aren’t e’en more braw in person. It’s an honor Mr. Campbell, a true honor ‘tis. MacGuire’s me name. Hamish MacGuire.”

  “The honor is ours, MacGuire,” Simeon answered smoothly. Hamish fluttered around them and called out to everyone in the room, “Here lads! A round on me tae welcome the finest rugby player in all o’ Scotland.”

  Cheers of welcome echoed around the room, and several people rushed forward to shake the hand of “Scotland’s finest rugby player.”

  Kat silently prayed a big hole would open up so she could sink right through the polished planks of the floor. When a few patrons pulled out their iPhones to snap his photo, Kat covered her face with her hand and stepped in to protest gently. The last thing she needed was their faces blasted all over social media. And if the real Seamus Campbell was this popular, no doubt people would start digging into the mysterious woman at his side.