Charming Scottish Bastard

by Melissa Blue

  He remained quiet for a moment. “Do I look as pained as you do when I’m being open and honest?”

  She laughed. “No, you do not.” There was a lot to process for the both of them it seemed. Still… “Is Isla okay? Wait. Are you going to need your room back? I can find somewhere else—”

  Grant shook his head. “I found us another place before picking her up. As far as if she’s okay…I don’t know.” He ran his hands through his hair, tension pulling the skin tight along his cheekbones.

  God. How much she wanted to step forward and just hold him. Fighting the urge hurt so much she had to shove her hands into her pockets and ball her fists. “Are you okay?”

  “You might be the only person to ask me if I am.”

  “Are you?” she pushed.

  “No, but my sister needs me, so I’ll…” He shrugged.

  Once again, silence fell between them. “If you need me for anything, ask me.”

  “Can you please take the Baird the broom? I don’t have it in me for another round with him. Kincaid hasn’t said anything to me about…” He shook his head. “I just want to focus on my sister.”

  Did he realize how alone he sounded? How tired? “So what you want is for me to leave this A+ hiding real estate so you can have it for yourself? I see how it is.”

  He looked around then made a face. “You could have hidden in the distillery. At least there’s whisky.”

  She grabbed the boom. “I think my hiding days are over.”

  21

  I

  sla: Girl’s night. Kincaid’s place.

  Grant tiredly glowered at his mobile the next day. It was ten in the morning. His room felt empty with her gone. That and the text alert had likely roused him awake.

  Grant: The fuck?

  His sister simply sent a picture in reply. Mia bit her lip, making her smile crooked. Kincaid held her hand in his, his brow furrowed in concentration as he painted her fingernails. The scene looked both cozy and happy.

  Grant: Too tired

  Isla: I guess calling a girl’s night doesn’t work anymore ☹

  If his sister wanted to shove a knife into his heart, that was the way to go.

  He hadn’t seen her in months. She was running from something she wasn’t willing to tell him, yet. Grant groaned, rolling over until his feet hit the floor.

  Grant: Be there in a bit.

  Took him twenty minutes to get to Kincaid’s flat. Isla answered the door with a bright smile.

  “What time did you wake up to come bother them?” he grumbled.

  “Around eight. I made them breakfast, so ‘Caid only grouched a little bit. Mia was perfectly lovely. You might as well take off your shoes. We’re about to do the pedi part of the mani-pedis.”

  “Why are you home again?”

  She wrapped her arm around his and dragged him toward the living room. “Did Logan and Elliot call you today?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Just curious. I know you probably told them I was home.”

  “I did when I picked you up.”

  Mia and Kincaid were exactly in the same place as they had been in the picture. Her feet were now resting on his brother’s lap while she reclined on the couch.

  “Morning,” Mia said. “There’s some leftovers from breakfast.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Have you talked to Tasha recently?”

  She laughed. “I know what happened. I haven’t poisoned the leftovers.”

  Kincaid’s head swiveled between them. “What happened? She didn’t—”

  Mia patted Kincaid’s arm, none too gently if the smacking sound was anything to go by. “They had a pretty bad fight, remember?”

  His brother nodded slowly. “Aye, right.” He met his brother’s gaze. “Go eat. Isla said something about face masks and deep conditioning our hair, so you’re going to need your strength.”

  His brother wasn’t thumping his head or escorting him to another room to yell at him. He glanced at Isla. She’d cooked breakfast. Something was going on, but he couldn’t figure it.

  He let the suspicion go. He had to catch them up anyway. “Since I’m here, I should let you know I am no longer the CFO of Scotland, International.”

  Kincaid blew out a breath and looked to Mia. Mia’s gaze tracked to Isla. His sister patted him on the back. “I’m proud of you,” Isla said. “That had to be a very hard decision.”

  Grant scrubbed a hand over his face. “You do not have to treat me with kid gloves because of what happened with Tasha. I’m braw. Swear.”

  Isla nodded. “I’ll make you a plate.”

  Kincaid said, “You can take the night off, if you want.”

  Mia spread her hands. “I’m not breaking your knees, so that’s what you’re getting from me.”

  That made him laugh. “So what you’re saying is you will all be nice to me, and I have to take it?”

  Kincaid made a face. “Mia isn’t poisoning your food or breaking your legs. I think you should take the kindness and shut it.”

  He was too tired to argue, but he did wonder… “Will it just be us then?”

  “Aye, brother.” Kincaid gestured to the love seat across from the couch. “Settle in, relax for a while.”

  What else could Grant do? All he had planned for the day was glaring at his ceiling, missing Tasha and playing their last conversation over and over in his head.

  He took the seat.

  “No, no. I’ll get that,” Isla said brightly and lugged the pint glasses from the kitchen toward the main pub room.

  Grant followed her closely, suspicion like a heady scent clogging his nostrils. “Stop.”

  She turned and tried for innocent. He didn’t buy it. His sister played bright and…bouncy for work. Sometimes for play because when she had no worries that’s who she was at the core. But Isla Cameron was not meek, much less unspoiled by the shitty world.

  He added, “You can put the glasses down, because I have questions and it might take a while.”

  “I don’t know why you would have questions. I’m helping.”

  Helping. That was the fiftieth time he’d heard that word in a handful of days. More than he’d heard those words in all his life. “Isla, I love you, but give it to me straight. Why is everyone acting strange around me?”

  She placed the crate of glasses on the floor. “Strange?”

  He sighed, so annoyed. Kincaid hadn’t said anything else about the break with Tasha. The Baird hadn’t given any sage advice. Fuck, Mia still hadn’t come at him with a sharp implement. His brother’s fiancée was kind and understanding but not that kind.

  “Fine,” he grumbled. “Why did you suddenly have a need to come home?”

  Her brown eyes widened. “About three days ago your girlfriend—”

  “Girlfriend?” Was he breathing?

  “If you would let me finish, you would understand why I came to that conclusion, you arsehole.”

  There she was—his sister. In about five seconds, she’d likely curse him again. “Apologies, carry on.”

  “Three days ago, she huddled us all up. I don’t know where you had buggered off to. I was curious. She let us know you had resigned.” Isla punched him in the shoulder. “Which you didn’t tell us as soon as you did it. What a wankstain.”

  “A lot was going on.”

  “And that was her fucking point. She told us to not put too much on your plate, and if we absolutely needed something from you, to ask her first. No shite thrown your way, or we should piss up a rope and enjoy the forthcoming yellow rain.”

  “Tasha did not say that.”

  “It was her sentiment.” His sister took a moment to glare at him then smiled. “I kind of like asking her instead of you. You…” She gestured at him, her face scrunching in disapproval. “You’re…”

  “I’m what?” he bit out.

  “You ask about forty more questions than necessary.”

  H
e narrowed his gaze. “And what have you needed?”

  “See?” She picked up the glasses then headed out into the main pub.

  He could only stand there, reeling. Since he and Tasha had talked in the closet, they hadn’t said more than hello and good night to each other. She had given no sign of caring or being upset they weren’t a couple anymore.

  And yet…

  He laughed, his heart light in what felt like…ever. Tasha wasn’t making big, grand gestures. She wasn’t even putting a claim on him, but she had decided to take care of him. No one had done that for him since Kincaid had looked Grant in the eye and told him it was his turn now. His brother told him that, and then gave him every tool he would need to survive and take care of their siblings.

  He shouldn’t even feel comforted. He was an adult. If he made a mess, he cleaned it himself. His family made one and he cleaned that, too. It’s what he’d always done.

  And yet…

  Grant looked around where he stood. The door to the small distillery laid open. Months ago, he and his brother had built it pipe by pipe. Grant, at the time, was helping his brother come to terms with how much Kincaid loved Mia. Had Grant felt it then, that his life was changing? No. Not even close. His life from now on was to make whisky. Excitement licked in his veins, even though the making of the liquor wasn’t an exact endeavor. Neither was selling it, but he had a partner in crime again. Someone to climb to the top with. He would be building something of his own this time, though.

  But Tasha Carter, his wary but loyal lass was making a play for his heart. A fucking dramatic thought, but when a woman brought the people you loved together and told them…the truth, what else could one think? He had too much on his plate. He hadn’t fully grieved walking away from being a CFO of Scotland, International. He would ignore all that to ensure his siblings were okay.

  Grant hadn’t felt it before, but he felt it now—his life was changing.

  22

  M

  ia snatched the phone out of Tasha’s hands. All she could do was blink for a moment. The noise of the pub filtered back in. She should have been working. People lined up along the bar, always thirsty. They were all-hands on deck again—except for hers, apparently.

  “We need to talk. In the back,” Mia said.

  Her friend didn’t wait for a reply. Tasha was dragged to her perfect real estate—the closet. Once there, Mia pressed her hands together and put them to her mouth, her expression intent and focused. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

  Her heart dropped into her stomach. “I promise I haven’t. It’s just been…” Tasha gestured at her phone. “I’m bad at juggling. What’s wrong? Do you need me for something?”

  “Stop.”

  The fierceness in her friend’s tone made Tasha straighten. “Okay, but what am I stopping?”

  “You know I love you, right?”

  “Oh, god. Anything that stars with that—”

  “But we haven’t talked. Not really. Not since you told us things had gone sideways and that you were taking over for a little while with everything on Grant’s plate. I didn’t want to butt in.”

  “Liar.”

  Her friend laughed. “Fine. I am a total liar, but I figured it wasn’t just Grant who had a lot on their plate. I assumed at some point we’d talk. We haven’t. So now we are. Talk.”

  Open and honest. Her heart pounded. “I went and broke my own heart.”

  Mia’s gaze softened. “I know.”

  “And I feel like I can’t make a claim on Grant’s, until I can show him I see him. I really see him and all that he does for everyone he loves.”

  Her friend frowned. “But you haven’t told him what you’re doing.”

  “This is Grant. He’s going to figure it out.”

  Slowly, Mia nodded. “And then?”

  That was the part that kept her up at night. “With John—” Tasha shook her head. Her past relationship couldn’t compare. She contorted herself for him. She sacrificed who she was to make him happy. “Being with Grant has made me realize I’ve turtled, every time there was a hint of a deep connection with anyone.”

  Mia scoffed. “You didn’t do that with me.”

  “How could I?” Tasha laughed. “You’re you. You sort of just cartwheel into someone’s life and before they know it, they love you a little.” She crossed her arms. “I’m not that. I’m the person you have to cartwheel in on because otherwise…And I don’t want him to have to coax me out of my protective shell. He’ll find out that I’m taking care of him. He’ll know.”

  Mia sniffed. “That’s a pretty big damn hope, Tasha. That’s…kind of fearless for you.”

  “I know. OMG. What am I doing?”

  Mia laughed, so loud, Tasha had to smile back. Her friend said, “You’re telling the man you love, in a way that he knows, how much you love him.”

  Tasha’s laugh faded. “I know. OMG. What am I doing?”

  The corner of Mia’s eyes creased from the depth of her smile, and for the first time in a long while, everything felt okay.

  Two days later at 2 a.m. Tasha’s phone buzzed with a text alert. Her feet hurt. Her fingers ached. Even though she had long past crumpled into the bed, she was still up.

  This time, her phone rang. The ringtone was the standard tone which meant it was a wrong number or spam. She made a whiny noise and buried deeper under the down comforter. Her days hadn’t gotten longer, but what she handled in a day stacked up.

  Isla, goodness love her buoyant attitude, her sharp wit, and how quickly she could turn the air blue—the woman was a gotdamn whirlwind.

  Gawd, Mia… Tasha needed to buy her best friend a castle.

  Kincaid had grumbled to no end about his brother. It had all been worry, but she’d never met a man who made her think of a bear with a thorn stuck in his paw.

  And JFC don’t get her started on the Baird.

  She’d kept them all at bay, so Grant could get some peace. Had she known before…She would do it all again. He had looked rested and content, if not suspicious.

  Her phone buzzed again with a new text. She pushed back the comforter and snatched the device from the nightstand.

  Unknown number: My sister said to text you. Who is this?

  She texted back a short and sweet intro, “This is Tasha. I’m guessing you are either Logan or Elliot.”

  After that she texted Isla: I’m going to choke you.

  Isla: LOL luv u 2 sis n law. Tell dat arse 0 I luv him and visit

  Asshole. So that had to be Elliot texting her. Kincaid and Isla went all soft expressions whenever they talked about Logan, as though they missed him. Elliot…

  She switched back to the screen with the unknown number and said, “Hey, Elliot! What do you need?”

  A knock came at her door and only her head moved. The sound came again, and she cursed. If it was Isla or god forbid, Elliot, Scotland would be one Cameron short before sunrise.

  She wrenched open the door. “I swear to god, I’m going to…”

  Grant smirked at her. “I see you’ve gotten to know my siblings.”

  Her phone rang the standard tone. Grant tutted and plucked the phone from her hands. A second later he barked, “Leave her be, you manky bastard.”

  Too shocked to do anything else, she stepped aside when he waltzed in.

  “Aye, I can guess what Isla told you, but did you even ask her what she’s doing in Glasgow?”

  He was silent as he backtracked to close the door behind him. That gave her a moment to consider she was in a threadbare pajama short set. At some point it had been cute, but after a few hundred washings if she stood too close to fluorescent light someone could count the wrinkles on her belly button. As stealthily as she could, she tried to creep to the bathroom.

  A hand grasped the hem of her shirt. Grant’s brows furrowed, and he shook his head at her. His knuckles brushed her stomach and she tried to swallow the gasp. It had been forever since
he’d touched her.

  “I think she’s running,” he said into the phone, but pinned her with his stare. “Trust me, I know what it looks when someone is trying to rabbit because they are scared.”

  He dropped his hand from her shirt and cupped her cheek, his thumb rubbing back and forth along her skin before she could even think of protesting. Not that she would…could. She closed her eyes and leaned in, having missed this, even this small thing of him touching her.

  “Call her. She’ll listen to you. Don’t know why, but she always looked up to you.” His hand slid to her nape and then his lips brushed her forehead. “No. Her, you can’t talk to.”

  She opened her eyes and found him smiling down at her.

  “Absolutely not. Bye, you wankstain.” He turned his attention to her phone long enough to hold down the power button.

  She couldn’t hold in the laugh. “Was he going to call back?”

  “Believe me, he will, until he hears directly from you. You do not want that headache. It’s bad enough you’ve been wrangling Kincaid and Isla.”

  She been found out.

  He gave her the stare. The one that scared her a little because it always felt like it told her exactly everything he felt about her. “You were taking care of me, lass.”

  “I was…delegating.”

  His hand relaxed. “Are we back to being cagey?”

  “I’m not. I was delegating,” she protested.

  “We weren’t together by any means, and yet, you went right ahead and dealt with my headaches.”

  “I underestimated the energy they—your siblings—took. I thought I could…lend a hand while you…adjusted to no longer being a CFO.”

  “That sounds like a press release. I shouldn’t be impressed and a little turned on, but tell it to me straight. Why did you take care of me? Because that’s what you were doing.”

  Would it ever be easy to just rip off the scabby wounds and let air hit those parts of her? But god, she tried. “You couldn’t see or hear yourself when we were talking in the closet. You were so tired, and still so willing to take care of everyone else.”

  “But why did it even matter to you?”