“Hello, Gabriel.” She felt her nose lift higher in the air. It might have been misconstrued as snooty, but seriously, the man was six-three if he was an inch. She cranked her head back to inspect his face.
He gave her a one-sided frown and seemed to be inspecting her, too. But not her face.
“You filled out,” he said.
Instinctively, she put a hand over her breasts. Her cheeks burned. She started to give him a piece of her mind, but then she got angry with herself for letting him provoke her.
Defiantly, she put her hand down and stuck out her chest. “Look all you want. They expanded all on their own. Without surgical intervention.”
“No reason to get your panties in a twist. I only meant it as a compliment.” He continued to feast his eyes on her.
She put her hands on her hips and glared back. “Are you done yet?”
“For now.” He gave her an unrepentant grin. Still the rogue.
“Yes, I have more luggage,” she said, answering his earlier question.
“Fine.” Without permission he reached for her carry-on.
She grabbed his arm, stopping him. In the process, her fingers landed on an anvil-hard bicep. She yanked her hand away and snipped at him. “I have it. Thank you.” She tugged her bag back. “Your hands are filthy.”
As he glanced down at the grease under his fingernails, she took the opportunity to head off to the baggage reclaim, all the while giving herself a stern lecture. Getting grease off her Louis Vuitton luggage wasn’t the issue. He was a dog and not the harmless type, either.
I can’t be attracted to Gabriel MacGregor. Not again. I just can’t. What self-respecting woman would want to get involved with a cad like him?
And those hands. His hands didn’t look like doctors’ hands—soft and delicate. He had the hands of an oil rig mechanic.
She also noticed he didn’t wear a wedding band.
Of course, Claire would’ve told her if Gabriel had married, wouldn’t she? She’d told Emma when he’d suddenly gone off to medical school. Emma hadn’t believed it at the time, assuring herself that he would certainly work in a grimy garage for the rest of his life.
Oh dear. Her thoughts did sound priggish, didn’t they? But Gabriel seemed to bring the worst out in her. She’d treated him abominably back then, and she felt herself heading down the same path now. She would never be as serene and proper as her mother would like—all that etiquette training down the drain. Over the years, Emma had tried to be the person her mother wanted her to be, but she’d fallen short. She’d also fallen short of the person she wanted to be. Hell, she was still trying to figure out who that person might be.
With his long legs, Gabriel caught up to her; she automatically glanced over. He was all hard lines and pheromones.
“Why are you frowning?” he asked.
“I’m having a difficult time seeing you as a physician.” She probably should have kept her sentiments to herself, but they’d always spoken their minds to each other, the truth flowing easily between them. Each of us giving the other more candor than Mum’s society friends would approve. “Unless, of course, you use your title primarily as a way to pick up women.”
He frowned at her. “Princess, are we going to get off on the wrong foot again?”
“That depends on you,” she spouted. She did her best to sound assertive and unruffled, even though she felt unraveled and unsure. Seeing him didn’t help. The last thirty-six hours had left her more than a little battered and bruised. She’d been fired and displaced. If he could have seen inside her—see the real Emma Castle—he’d know she wasn’t such a snob. She didn’t have all the answers. In fact, he’d see how she was questioning every aspect of her life and every choice she’d ever made.
She put the focus back on him to take it off herself. It helped her feel less uncomfortable. She raked her eyes over him unabashedly. Doctors were supposed to be old and nerdy. Doctors were supposed to instill a sense of calm and trust. Doctors were not supposed to conjure up all sorts of vivid images of a steamy nature. Yes, she could definitely imagine Dr. Gabriel MacGregor in his lab coat playing doctor. Just the thought sent a warm, nervous tingle zipping through her veins, throwing her limbic system into a tizzy. Gads.
It rankled her that he, a former grease monkey, had made something of himself. Her only claim to fame was that she’d succeeded in becoming a huge failure. But she couldn’t let him see how vulnerable she felt. No doubt he’d take advantage of it. She had to admit that he had every right to fling one of her past sermons back into her face. It’s time to become an actual adult and contribute something to society. The amount of bull she’d dished out regularly to him in their younger days was embarrassing. Especially since, by anyone’s standards, she was the screw- up now.
At the baggage carousel, she intended to corral her own luggage, but she’d packed too heavy. In the end, Gabriel stepped in and hoisted her bag off, acting as if it were nothing more than cotton balls in his surgery. “Saint Gabriel,” she muttered under her breath.
He raised a superior eyebrow at her. “Thank you is the proper response. Has Miss Manners forgotten how to comport herself?”
Him and his bloody burr.
And accuracy.
Yes, she should’ve taken the high road and been grateful. But he made her forget she was supposed to be a lady.
With a huff, she pulled the handle up on her bag.
“What’s in there, by the way?” He pointed to her rolling suitcase. “It weighs at least ten stone.”
“Books.” She would make no apologies. She’d packed as many books as clothes, planning to use reading as her escape from her disastrous life.
“Well, we’d better get a move on. There’s a winter storm blowing outside,” he offered. “I was afraid you might be diverted to London. But you made it just in time.” He looked up at the board as the announcement came over the loud speaker. All flights were canceled.
As they hurried through the terminal, she couldn’t stop peering over at him. He was so damned good-looking. A proper English deb did not swear, not even in her own thoughts, but once again, Gabriel had her behaving quite horrendously.
“Emma,” he said impatiently, “why are you staring?”
“I . . . uhhh.” She sounded like an imbecile. Had his hair always looked this enticing? Enough so that she wanted to run her hands through it? She wondered if Gabriel was in a relationship.
“Well?” he said impatiently.
“Well, what?” She felt stupid for zoning out.
He frowned at her as if disappointed she couldn’t keep up.
“Listen,” she countered back, “I’ve been traveling for the last twenty-four hours. Cut me some slack.” She’d been in America for far too long, adopting some of its terrible language habits.
“Fine. Slack cut,” he said.
Emma felt like they’d been trekking for miles through the terminal. Maybe she’d been rash by not allowing Gabriel to help. Her arms felt like deadweight, tired from maneuvering both her carry-on and the checked bag behind her.
Before they stepped outside, Emma stopped to button her suit jacket. But when she left the terminal, she found her effort was in vain. It was bloody miserable—cold as freezer frost. Wind blew up her long pencil skirt and froze both her legs and her nether regions. Her lined suit jacket couldn’t keep out the cold either as the snow whirled all around them. “This is quite an adjustment,” she hollered above the wind.
“Which? The cold weather or the darkness?”
“Both,” she answered.
“The Highlands are extreme, princess. If you think the short days are something, wait until the endless summer nights.”
“I don’t plan to be here that long.” She pulled her scarf more tightly around her neck, clung to her cases, and hurried along.
He led her to his ancient Land R
over.
“The same auto you had ten years ago?” She wondered if he still had his motorcycle, too.
“Aye. I recently restored the interior.” He unlocked her side of the car. “Get in.”
Even though she was colder than permafrost, she waited at the back with her bags.
He opened her door, waiting. “I said get in. It’s freezing.”
“Just open the back.” She was stubborn. She intended to prove to Gabriel she wasn’t the pampered princess he thought she was.
He came around to the back and unlocked it. She started to lift her bag.
“Here, I’ve got it.” He reached for her luggage as well.
A small tug-of-war ensued. Determined to win the battle, she yanked as hard as she could, but the handle broke, sending her backward into the snow. If she’d thought it was cold before, she was mistaken. Immediately, she was crushed-ice cold from head to toe.
He offered her his hand to help her up, but she swatted him away.
“I’ve got it.” She stood and shook the snow out of her hair. When she bent over to get her carry-on, Gabriel started brushing snow off her bottom.
“What are you doing?” She scooted away from him. “Stop!”
“I’m just trying to help.” He gave her a grin and one more brush.
“Don’t,” she cried and slid into the car.
He got in as well and cranked up the heat. He glanced over at her. “You should probably take your gloves off and blow on your hands.”
“Great medical advice,” she said.
“Hey, I’m here to help.”
When he got back in, he rubbed his hands together. “Brrr.”
Emma’s teeth chattered a little, but she needed reassurances. “Are you sure we’re going to make it to Gandiegow?”
“Aye. We’ll do fine.” He patted the steering wheel. “Her engine is newly rebuilt, and she’s purring like a kitten.”
“So the car’s female?” She expected him to make a lewd comment, something about All sweet rides are.
He gazed through the windshield up at the sky, which was white with blizzard-like snow. “It is damnable weather. How’s your body temperature?”
“I’m fine.” But sitting next to him made her nervous. “How long does it take to get there?”
“I don’t know. We’ll have to take it slow. Just sit back and relax.”
Not even possible.
“Don’t worry, Emma,” Gabriel said, misreading her uneasiness and shocking her by using her name. “I promise to get you to Claire safely.”
Then he did the weirdest thing; he reached out and dusted the last of the snow from her shoulder.
She sat there, stunned. He looked a little embarrassed himself. He jerked his head forward and put the car in gear. Without a word, they made their way out of the airport. The streets beyond were relatively empty and even the highway had little traffic.
After a time, she felt safe to secretly peek over at him. Mr. Perfect handled the auto with ease, his large hands resting on the steering wheel, his uneasiness from a while ago gone. Maybe she’d imagined it. When they slid a bit on the curvy roads, he stayed calm, even then exuding confidence. His medium-length coffee dark hair was perfectly styled to fit his perfect head. When he was younger, his hair had been long and wild and out of control. He’d tamed it, and it seemed to suit him now. The only part that spoke of rebellion was the beard stubble. But it wasn’t a full rebellion, like he hadn’t shaved in days. No, he must have trimmed it carefully this morning. Emma ached to run her hand over it to see if it felt prickly or soft or maybe a little of both. She turned away and shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
“Are you all right?” Concern pinched his eyebrows together.
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” The look he gave her made her feel vulnerable. “Did they teach that compassionate look in medical school?”
The doctor shot her a scowl.
Much better. That she could deal with. They drove on for several more miles, but she couldn’t help sneaking another peek at him.
He sighed heavily. “Emma, ye’re staring again.”
She turned back to her window but saw only darkness. “You’ve filled out, too,” she said quietly.
To Scotland With Love Page 32
