Mad About Plaid (9 page)

An eyebrow lifted and he put on a deep brogue for her benefit. "Nay, not all lass."

"You sound just like Hamish."

He scrubbed a hand down his face and smiled. "I can do a wicked Sean Connery too."

"I'll bet."

They stood there for a long moment. Him staring up at her as she stared down at him. "I really don't see how this is going to work."

"Just put your knee onto the ledge."

Fearing it'd be a disaster, she grabbed his hand, and managed to get her knee onto the ledge of the boat. Ian moved closer. "Wrap your arms around my neck, and I'll pull you off."

She started laughing. "Are you serious? You're either trying to put the moves on me or get me soaking wet."

Ian cocked his head and thought it over. "Both sounds good to me." He chuckled. "Come on, lassie, let's give it a go. Once I pull you away, wrapped your legs around my waist, and I'll walk you to shore."

"That sounds really naughty," she couldn't help laugh, leaning forward, both hands on his wide shoulders, as he wrapped his arms around her middle.

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Walker."

"Me. You're the one who said 'wrap your legs around my waist'," she echoed in a very bad Scottish accent as he pulled her off the boat. She screamed and held on tight. The last thing she wanted was a cold dip in the loch. One of Ian's arms supported her rear end, and she wrapped her legs around his waist as tightly as she could.

Even with the rain gear separating them, it felt as naughty as it had sounded.

As he turned, he stumbled. Lucy screamed. "Oh my God, we are so going to fall!"

Ian sputtered a few curses. "Good God, Lucy. Don't climb up me. I can't . . . see. Stop holding my head. Your shoulder is in my face."

Lucy's giggles turned to all out laughter. Her entire body shook as she moved to the left.

"Bloody hell," he bit out, infected by her giggles with laughter of his own. "Stop laughing."

He stumbled again. She screamed. But he made it to shore and set her down, his arms still around her. Lucy gazed up at him, her hood falling off, and her laughter subsiding. Their gazes locked. Their breaths came heavy and loud in the sudden quiet.

She swallowed, clearing her throat. "We made it."

Ian released her. "We Scots are made tough. Braveheart and all that. Come on, the rain's let up. I'll show you the ruins." He removed the rubber boots, grabbed the basket, and then took her hand.

Ian spent the next hour showing her the ruins of the old Castle MacLaren. It was amazing. The fact that he had such a long and known family history was incredible. And it meant so much to him. He never said as much, but she could hear it in his voice as he told her about those who built and occupied the castle.

When they returned to the shore, he set out a picnic lunch on a wide flat rock and they ate in the shadow of the ruins. "Thank you," she said, popping a piece of shortbread into her mouth. "For the tour."

"You're welcome."

"Will the ruins be on the activities list too?" He nodded. "You're not worried about vandalism?"

He smiled. "People around here and visitors tend to respect the old sites. The only vandals here are the ones in my family. My parents scratched their initials into the rocks when they married. Grandparents, too, and beyond. A family tradition, I guess."

"And one day, you'll do the same."

"Suppose so."

Ian went quiet as he ate, staring out at the water, his profile thoughtful. The sun peaked through random patches of clouds, making bright shafts straight down to the water. Lucy fished in her bag for her camera and snapped some pictures. She couldn't resist turning it on Ian, able to get a few shots before he caught her.

"You'd have to build a dock, I guess. To get people off the boat," she said

He regarded her for a long moment. "There's a dock around the other side of those rocks."

She stared blankly as his words sank in. Then, she bit out a curse and swatted him hard on the shoulder. "All that trauma for nothing!"

Ian ducked, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he laughed. "Honey, that wasn't trauma you were feeling."

She laughed so hard her stomach hurt.

Once she recovered, she snapped a picture of him, knowing immediately it was a picture she'd treasure. Him grinning like the devil, the castle and loch in the background.

Ian held out his hand expectantly. Lucy handed over her camera slowly, curious to see what he'd do. Look at the picture? Delete it? But he turned the lens on her and clicked. Oh, great. She rolled her eyes and gave him a frank face, trying to hide the smile tugging at her lips. "Okay, fun's over."

Ian leaned back and looked at the viewing screen. She expected him to finish and give it back, but then he continued clicking through her pictures. He seemed engrossed. And suddenly she felt very bare, and very much like his opinion mattered. She had to bite her tongue and not ask him what he thought.

He finished. "Why aren't you doing this for a living? You could sell these. They're incredible."

She held out her hand and he returned the camera. Her heart was pounding. She didn't want to hear his opinion after all.

"Yet you work for your cousin grooming dogs."

"So?" she said defensively.

"Just trying to figure you out."

"Nothing to figure out. Everyone has to work. Everyone has bills." Lucy began gathering the food and putting the leftovers back into their containers.

"Your photographs are world class, Lucy. World class."

She knew what he was really saying. Why wasn't she working as a photographer? Why was she clipping doggie toenails and brushing canine teeth instead? Kate had a deep, deep love for animals. They were her life. She'd turned something she loved into her own business. And the question was, why didn't Lucy have the courage to do the same? That was what he was really asking.

Ian didn't push, and she was grateful for that. It was none of his business anyway.

They cleaned up in silence and before Ian could return from stowing the basket on the boat, Lucy followed him out, not caring about getting wet. He said nothing, just lifted her onto the boat and climbed in behind her.

When Lucy spied the castle in the distance and realized they weren't heading toward it, she gave Ian a questioning look.

"Whisky tasting remember?" The boat slowed. "You still up for it?"

Oh yeah, she was up for a drink. Several, in fact.

She was irritated, mad that he made her think about one of her greatest failures. Trying. That was her failure. She never even
tried
. Fear of failure. Fear of everything. "Absolutely. How fast can this bucket move?"

"Fast as you want it to, lass."

"And you know what? Stop calling me that." She didn't want him to be so perfect, so nice, and accommodating. She didn't want to hear the subtle Scottish accent or words that set butterflies dancing in her belly. She didn't want any of it.

As they came upon the village, Lucy had to admit it, too, was picture perfect, lining a pretty curve of land that hugged the loch.

Ian moored the boat and they walked up the dock, past several fishing and leisure craft to the Lazy Lion Pub across the street. He'd been quiet after her outburst, and she couldn't tell whether he was hurt or pissed or simply didn't care.

It didn't take long for Lucy to get drunk.

"It's meant to be sipped," Ian told her for the third time.

Lucy downed her glass. "It's a whisky tasting. I'm tasting. It's all good, MacLaren. Don't worry about it."

He let out a snort, took a sip of the amber liquid, and then fiddled with the crystal glass, wondering what the hell to do next. Lucy was well on her way to getting wasted. Not exactly the way he'd envisioned the day going. He'd ticked her off, asking about her photography, and by doing so, making her face some things she obviously preferred not to face.

She hiccuped.

If she kept up her current pace, he'd have to carry her back to the boat.

Grant, the bartender, eyed him when Lucy asked for another drink. Ian gave a slight nod. One more. Because maybe she needed this. From what he did know about her, she didn't take risks. Her entire trip was probably the biggest risk she'd ever taken. In a lot of ways, Lucy Walker was finally spreading her wings, learning who she was. In a weird way, he felt proud of her. And humbled that he was able to go along for the ride.

He shook his head.

What did he care? He needed a great review. He needed to make sure Lucy left Scotland with happy memories, ones she'd never forget.

She hiccuped again.

Ian lifted an eyebrow.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"You don't approve of my drinking?"

"From where I'm sitting, you're a grown woman..."

"Glad you noticed." Oh yeah, he'd noticed all right. "But you didn't really answer the question."

Ian angled in his seat to face her. She did the same and their knees touched. "None of my business, Lucy. If this is the way you want to let loose, it's your choice. Done the same myself."

"Mmm," she hummed thoughtfully as she brought the glass to her lips and sipped. Her eyes stayed on him, those big expressive eyes that glittered gold and copper in the low light of the pub. "I did need to let loose, I guess." She licked the whisky from her bottom lip and Ian almost had a coronary.

She finished her drink, set it on the bar, and then grabbed Ian's hand. Warmth from her skin, the way her slim fingers played with his palm, his wrist, turning his hand over, made his heart go into overdrive. "You're a decent guy." She glanced up at him with sadness.

His chest constricted into a tight knot.

It felt like she was breaking up with him, which he knew was crazy seeing as how they weren't even a couple. But damned if he wanted to hear her say they couldn't be together, so he cupped both sides of her head, leaned in, and kissed her whisky-glazed lips.

So goddamn soft.

A low moan of approval hummed in her throat. His shirt twisted as she grabbed it and pulled him closer. Lust leapt in his belly and ran hot and heavy through his veins. He wanted his tongue on her, wanted to taste her, but Grant's low chuckle as he walked by made Ian back off.

The look they shared, the heat, the significance, the inevitability.

They'd see this through.

But not now.

Ian stood. With a shaky hand he pulled out a few Euros and tossed them on the bar top. Lucy got off her stool and began making her way to the door. Ian caught up, surprised when she opened her hand behind her. He took it, and she led him out the door and into the cool afternoon.

His lust dropped to a low simmer as he helped her onto the boat. "Maybe you should sit down for the ride," he suggested.

"Ugh. No thanks. That'll probably make me sick. I'll stand."

They didn't speak after that. Ian was pretty sure Lucy's thoughts were occupied with the same things that occupied his—the fact that sooner or later, they'd be together. That being with Lucy seemed to be set the minute she'd arrived at Balmorie.

It shook him up. It made no sense and yet, when he looked into her eyes, it made perfect sense.

Cold unease whipped through him. He had to stop thinking, stop making more of it than it was. Just fucking stop. Take a step back. No, not a step. He should run. Yeah. Run screaming.

Ian was so worked up by the time he docked the boat and walked Lucy inside the house that he nearly collapsed in relief when she thanked him for the day, and hurried upstairs. No conversation. No touching.

For a long time he stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at nothing, feeling more lost than he'd ever felt before.

The shuffle of footsteps told him Hamish had come into the room. The old man stopped beside him and was quiet for a while. "This calls for a drink, eh lad?"

"Does it?" he echoed flatly.

"If the way you look at that lass is what I think it is, seems a damn waste of time to fight it, or pretend it isn't what it is. Or that the occasion doesn't call for a drink." Any other time Ian would have laughed at that. Hamish was always coming up with
occasions
to have a stiff drink. But Ian wasn't laughing; he felt a little sick, to be honest.

Hamish slapped him on the back and chuckled, as though he knew exactly what Ian was going through. "Come on, lad. Let old Hamish set you right."

Chapter 9

For the next two days, Ian played Lucy's personal tour guide, showing her everything the estate had to offer. He kept his distance and could tell she was doing the same. When the conversation took a more intimate turn, she hid behind her camera lens or changed the subject. They were both scared. Both overwhelmed by the possibility of what was truly happening between them.

On one hand, he was glad she wasn't throwing anymore surprise kisses his way. On the other hand, he was annoyed with himself. He didn't run scared. He faced things head on. At least he used to. Before Lucy.