Pippa stared at him as if she hadn’t heard.
He needed to make her listen. “I can help you, and the town, but we have to work together—fast.”
Pippa undid herself from him. “How do I know I can trust you?”
Max gazed into her eyes, trying to convey the truth. “It’s easy. The subsea shutoff valve means the world to me. Everything else is secondary.”
She got a funny look on her face, as if his words hurt.
“That’s not what I mean.” He wasn’t sure what he was getting at. “But I promise to make it a good deal, a deal both parties can live with. Your father’s valve has to be brought to market.”
She glanced in the direction of her cottage. “We’ll work at my house.”
But at that moment, the guys—Ross, Ramsay, and Abraham—came around the corner, carrying the wood they’d picked up yesterday. Max and Ross had said nothing between them on the ride to and from the mill, only a couple of grunts between men.
“Are ye here to help or not?” Ramsay looked at Max and then at Pippa, as if he might have a clue that something was going on between them. He finally walked toward Quilting Central.
Max turned back to Pippa. “It looks like I can’t work on the contract right now.” Dammit. He hated this. “But later.”
She glared at him. “Make up yere mind, Yank. Either the deal is important, or it isn’t.”
“I made a commitment. It won’t take too long.”
“Stop by the house when ye’re done then,” Pippa said begrudgingly. “We’ll get my da to help.”
“So not really the new McDonnell then?”
She shot him a hard look. “Make no mistake, I’m the one ye’re dealing with.”
Max wanted to pull her into his arms and remind her whom she was dealing with, too. He didn’t get the chance.
“Today, McKinley.” Ross came out of Quilting Central on his way to get more wood.
And Ross was the other subject he wanted to revisit with Pippa. But his phone rang.
Miranda. Her timing was terrible. He shifted away to answer.
Pippa must’ve guessed, because he caught her eyes rolling heavenward.
“Yes?” he said into his cell.
“Max, I have to fly to London for a few days. When I get back, I expect progress to have been made. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Perfectly. Have a safe trip.” He hung up.
“Well?” Pippa said.
“It’s a reprieve. She’ll be gone for a couple of days.”
“Do ye need to run and give her a proper send-off?”
Max didn’t think. And he didn’t check to see if anyone watched either. He slipped his hand around Pippa’s neck, pulled her to him and kissed her, hard and thoroughly. It wasn’t friendly, but it should send the message loud and clear. “Give it a rest, Pippa.”
She looked dazed and he wanted to do it again, just to keep that softness and wonder on her face. He started to lean in for another go, but the guys came back with their next load. He’d almost given them a hell of a show.
Max joined the men. But he couldn’t help glancing down the boardwalk while Pippa marched off.
That woman was a handful. And he couldn’t wait to wrestle with her again.
By the time they’d unloaded the truck, framed up the stage, and did another huge list of chores for Deydie, it was late afternoon. So much for telling Pippa he wouldn’t be long.
Outside, the wind had picked up, and the sea had turned angrier in the last few hours. Waves splashed violently against the thin retaining wall that also served as the walkway, making the trek to Pippa’s house slick and dangerous.
She opened the door immediately when he knocked.
He put his hand up. “Don’t lecture. Deydie put us to work. Every time I tried to make a getaway, she threatened me with her broom.”
“Let’s see Da and get down to business.” Pippa grabbed his arm and dragged him to the darkened den.
“Da? Are ye awake?”
“I’m tired, daughter. Let me rest.”
Pippa turned on the light. Max thought the McDonnell looked frail and thoroughly exhausted.
“I’ve brought Max. All three of us are going to work on the contract together.”
“Nay. You two do it.”
“But, Da, I need yere help. Wouldn’t it be better to have two Gandiegowans working on it instead of one?”
Her father waved his hand at her dismissively. “Nay. Max can help ye.” The older man seemed spent. “Do it somewhere else. I need my peace and quiet.”
“But, Da—”
“Leave me.”
Pippa seemed to shrink. “I’ll call Freda and have her come over.”
The McDonnell jerked. “No!” He was definitely struggling with tamping down his emotions, but finally did. “I’m not in the mood for company.”
Pippa leaned down and kissed his head. “I made yere supper. I’ll leave it on the tray here beside ye.”
The McDonnell nodded, defeated.
While Max gathered their coats, Pippa delivered the promised tray. He heard a few more words between them, saw the light go out in the den, and then she appeared, a look of pained confusion on her face.
“Is everything all right?” Max helped her on with her coat.
She shook her head, exactly like her father had.
Max wrapped his arm around her shoulders and for a moment, she laid her head on his chest. But it didn’t last.
“We better get to work.” She grabbed her messenger bag and they headed out.
If he had thought the walkway dangerous before, now it was almost impassable. The sea was brutal, water up to the edge, with waves crashing against the house fronts.
She pulled him behind the cottage. “We’ll have to take the back walk.”
The path hugged the foot of the bluff. As they trudged past Thistle Glen Lodge, he wondered if Miranda had made it out of town before the storm had gotten so bad. He hoped so. He needed her gone so he and Pippa could hash things out.
“A storm’s brewing,” Pippa hollered above the wind and the crashing waves. “A nasty one.”
“I think it’s already here.” Max couldn’t imagine it getting much worse.
“Hold on to me and we’ll get to the pub fine.”
“I assumed we were going to the factory.”
“Nay. I want to stay close in case Da needs me. Besides, ye never know. We don’t want to get iced in or snowed in at the factory.”
“But we won’t be able to get anything done at the pub. It’s too noisy.”
“No one will be there. The Fisherman closes during bad weather.”
“Really? I pictured Scots gathered around the bar during a hurricane, singing bawdy songs.”
“We’re a smart people. We’ve found that rough seas and whisky don’t mix.”
“I see what you mean.” He glanced out at the turbulent water, which looked as if it might devour the village whole. Then Max slipped.
Pippa caught him around the waist. “Och, it’s only wee waves now.”
“Wee?” he said incredulously, still holding on to her.
“The big ones will come. I plan to be tucked safely in at the pub with a cup of cocoa in my hands by then.”
Max thought about the last promise of hot cocoa at the pub—how it had led to kisses and to nearly doing the deed before they were interrupted. Sadly, there was no chance of a repeat this time; they had a contract to negotiate.
Once they made it to The Fisherman, they went to the kitchen to start the kettle. He carried their mugs to a table, expecting they’d work downstairs.
“Nay. We’ll stay warmer upstairs in yere room. Smaller space to heat,” she explained.
She carried the contract while he transported their tray of drinks.
As she spread the contract across the bed, he ran back downstairs and retrieved another chair. The wind howled louder outside as they began to sift through the contract together.
After Max’s first read-through, he stood up and paced. “My God. No wonder Miranda didn’t want me to see this. The potholes set for NSV are everywhere. One misstep on NSV’s part and the patents belong to MTech.”
Pippa gave him a pen and they both started marking up the contract. While the wind, sleet, and waves battered the village outside, the two of them were cozy in his room. They combed through the pages, fixing every problem, arguing half the time about the details, and then finally compromising. Every time he looked at her, she was smiling back, both of them reveling in the challenge of making a good deal. He really enjoyed working with her. In the wee hours of the morning, they sat back. They had done all they could do.
Max stacked the pages on the little side table. “Well?”
Pippa stood and hugged him. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done this without yere help. NSV can live with this revised contract, and MTech would be bluidy fools not to accept it.”
She let go of him, but he pulled her back in for a kiss. The kiss should’ve been innocent, a small peck for a job well done. But once his lips met hers, hormones flooded his system, and Boy Scout Max had left the building. To hell with keeping a professional distance. The Max who wanted Pippa more than life itself was present and accounted for. He took a quick inventory—or the best he could with no blood left in his brain as it had gone south—and he felt confident that they could fool around as long as he didn’t take it too far. Everything felt right about this moment. Especially the woman in his arms.
By the way she slipped her hands under his shirt, running them up and down, he knew without a doubt that she wanted him, too.
“God, Pippa,” he groaned.
“It is heavenly,” she said breathlessly between kisses on his neck.
He wanted her so much. He wrapped his hands in her hair, tugged gently, and maneuvered her lips back to his. He slipped his hands under her sweater and up her back, lingering on her bra clasp. Pippa broke the kiss and surprised him by pulling his shirt over his head.
She leaned back for a moment, examining him. “Ah, Yank, ye are a pretty one.” She put a hand on his chest and then kissed it as if his pecs were to be cherished. “I could look at you all day and night except I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off of ye.”
“Me neither.” He wrapped his arms around her and indulged himself further.
As they kissed, their clothes got in the way—blouse, bra, pants, panties and boxers became scattered casualties at their feet. She was so beautiful. All the while, he convinced himself he would stop before things got out of hand.
She pulled him down on the bed, and all seemed right as he lay on top of her. He kissed her tenderly, lovingly . . . and stretched out like this, he suddenly felt unclear what his resolve had been all about. As she kissed him back, she wrapped her hand around him intimately and guided him in.
It felt so freaking good! At that moment he could’ve died a happy man. Then he remembered one important detail. He started to pull out. “Condom.”
She gripped his hips and yanked him closer. “If ye stop now, I’ll . . . I’ll run ye through with my grandda’s claymore.”
Oh, to hell with it. Just this once . . . and like that, his common sense was history. They made love without reservation on his twin-size bed with the lights on, not worrying about being heard above the storm outside. The way she gazed into his eyes before kissing him, the way they fit perfectly together . . . it was more than he’d ever bargained for in sex. But it was more than sex. It was a coupling and he knew it. The way she loved him back, he was sure that she knew it, too. With all these crazy emotions swirling through him, when he came, it was powerful. And to have her under him, calling out his name when she came undone, made everything perfect in the world.
When it was over, he shifted so she lay in his arms, sprawled across his chest. They were completely content, enjoying the hazy wonderfulness produced by magical sex. He kissed her hair.
“Wow,” she said. “I didn’t know it could be like that.”
“I feel the same,” he admitted. He’d had his fair share of good times in the sack, but nothing like Pippa had ever happened to him. She was exquisite. Everything a guy could ever want.
She ran her hand down his chest. “But I think we need another data point to see if that was an anomaly.”
He laughed, stroking her hair out of her face. “So what you’re saying is that together, we make a fine-tuned machine?”
She lifted her head and batted her eyelashes. “Is that hot or what?”
He nuzzled her neck, getting hard again. “You’re such an engineer. And the biggest turn-on.” He started to roll on top of her but she stopped him.
“Sorry, mister. I’m driving this time.”
She took charge of his body, and he was so consumed that when he came, he didn’t care if her kinsmen were downstairs or not.
Afterward, as they lay quietly, he became aware of how the storm had kicked up, the wind’s wailing intensifying.
He couldn’t stop caressing her, running his hands up and down her arms. “Do you hear that?”
“Aye,” she said. “I guess ye’re stuck with me until it’s over.”
“I can think of worse ways to while away the rest of the night.” Then a thought hit him. “What about your father? Will he worry?”
“No. I’m sure he’s sleeping, and he knows we’re working,” she added. “Why don’t you get yere pretty arse up and warm the shower water for us.”
“Oh?” Max said. “This night just keeps getting better and better.”
“Aye. Grab some candles from the bedside table while you’re at it. In case the lights go out.” She smiled impishly. “I want to inspect that gorgeous body of yours from top to bottom.” She gave him a wicked grin. “Starting on my knees.”
Chapter Thirteen
Pippa woke in the morning with Max wrapped around her, a woman thoroughly spooned, a couple of cozy sardines in the little bed. She was sore in places she’d never been sore before. But in a good way. She’d been well loved last night and in the end, he’d been the one on his knees in the shower, making her see stars. It was the most delicious night of her life.
She should feel guilty about it but there was nothing wrong with indulging herself. Especially since she’d gone into it with her eyes wide-open. She was no longer the naive college freshman. And it’d been forever since she’d gone to bed with someone.
The only thing that did trouble her was the fact that they hadn’t gotten around to using protection. During the heat of the moment, it hadn’t seemed important. But, now . . .
She put it out of her mind. People had sex all the time and didn’t get pregnant. She’d never been careless before and would never be again. No matter how tempting Max was, she would make sure that he was suited up properly whenever they made love for the short time he was here. A pang hit her chest—something to do with him leaving—but she refused to acknowledge it.
Max kissed the top of her head. “Morning,” he said huskily.
“Morning.” She stretched, accidentally hitting him in the chin. “As wonderful as this is, I can’t laze around all day. I’ve got to get to the factory.”
He nibbled at her neck and pulled her back to him. “Play hooky.”
“I can’t.” She could feel him getting hard and it thrilled her. Longing jolted through her veins, as if her nerve endings had downed a shot of espresso. Maybe she couldn’t skip work, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t make him suffer a little. She rocked her bum against his groin just for fun.
He moaned and rolled on top of her, his arms outstretched so he wouldn’t crush her. “You shouldn’t mess with the bull unless you want the horn,” he teased.
&nbs
p; “Sir Bull, I’m sore. And late.” She wanted to bask in the playfulness they’d enjoyed all night, but it was the light of day. And she was starting to see things more clearly. “I’m sorry. I have to get out of here.”
“I’m sorry, too.” He lifted a hand so she could scoot out from underneath him.
When she rolled from the bed and stood, she looked back. A blanket of coolness came over her and she shivered—was it from the lack of his body heat . . . or could it be regret?
A worried frown crossed his face as if he was feeling the same thing. “We both better get ready for work. We should probably take one more look at the contract in the light of day, before it gets faxed off to MTech.” He sat up, looking perplexed. He pointed to the space between them. “Are you all right?”
But it seemed that he was really asking if they were all right. She couldn’t address that right now. Relationships were tricky things, even casual ones like theirs. And her track record for taking up with two-timing scoundrels was uncanny.
“Grand,” she finally answered, sounding as enthusiastic as if she was signing off on a new sidewalk for the factory.
He put his feet over the side of the bed and pulled the sheet over his midsection as he reached for his boxers.
Awkwardness like a thick fog rolled in and filled the room. What they’d done for the past six hours was irresponsible. Her emotions were turning rawer by the moment, her feelings too new and close to the surface to be comfortable. She wanted to crawl back into his arms to make it go away.
“I better contact Miranda and let her know what’s going on,” he said as if to himself.
It was the wrong thing to say. Pippa’s anger flared. “Feeling guilty for stepping out on her?”
“Pippa, dammit, you have it all wrong.” He pulled on his boxers and reached for her. Maybe to shake her.
She scooted back toward the opposite wall.
“You’re being irrational.”
Maybe. And she hated that he could think straight at a time like this. She was nothing but crazy emotions. But she found some harsh words to bolster herself up.
The Accidental Scot Page 18
