Love is a Battlefield: Games of Love, Book 1 (9 page)

A silence descended over the room, broken only by the contented purr of the cat, which remained lodged in the corner of the couch.

“Listen, about last night. I wanted to apologize—”

Kate leaped up. “Can I get you a drink? I have wine, beer, water…”

He looked up at her with an unreadable expression. “Sure. Whatever. Beer is fine.”

She practically ran off to the kitchen. Kate had no idea what to do with all this heady conversation and gifts and apologies—they were most decidedly not in her plan of action. Last night, Julian had been overbearing and rude, using his friends as a shield for mockery. He’d wanted Cornwall Park, and he made it very clear he would use his brawn to get it. Based on what Jada said, the best idea was for her to pay him back in kind, except instead of brawn, she was supposed to use beauty.

And brains.

Crap.

Somewhere in there, she’d forgotten to take brains into account.

She peeked out the doorway. Julian sat there looking completely at ease, not at all like a man who was worried about losing his land to a silly little woman. He looked like a man who knew what he wanted and always got it. Because he was big. Because he was strong. Because he was gorgeous.

He was playing her. Like she was playing him.

But he was doing it
better
.

She stormed back into the kitchen and opened two bottles of Heineken, tossing the caps into the sink with a tinny ring. Her whole life she let other people make the rules and set the course. She always tucked her shoelaces back into her bowling shoes before dropping them off at the counter. She was constantly working double shifts at the bookstore because one of her employees needed time off for a date or day at the beach. And she went home to Seattle for almost every holiday out of the year because that’s when her mother and father felt the heavy burden of their lackluster marriage the most.

Kate wanted to come in first for once. She wanted to matter.

She wanted to win.

This time, when she resumed her place on the couch, she was careful to sink lower into the cushions, not stopping until her thigh was inches from Julian’s. Her dress even had the good fortune to creep up until her whole thigh was exposed, and she just let it, her skin flashing brazenly in the warm space between them.

“Thanks.” Julian took the beer but didn’t drink it. He fiddled with the label until Kate was settled, without so much as a second glance at her leg. “Will you let me apologize now?”

“No, I won’t.” Kate ran her fingers through her hair and gave her head a toss. She flashed him a smile and licked her lips invitingly. “I’m inclined to stay mad at you right now.”

“You are?” He shifted away from her—not enough to increase the distance between them, but enough so Kate’s confidence wavered.

“Hell hath no fury as a woman scorned,” she pointed out, her eyebrow arched. At least, she thought it was arched. How did Jada manage to make it look so easy?

“I don’t understand. Have you been scorned?”

Kate sat up straight and furrowed her brow. Sure, she was a little out of practice, but she’d never had such a hard time seducing anyone before. All a woman had to do was show up—wasn’t that Sexual Chemistry 101?

“Well, yes, last night at the bar. There were words. Inappropriate ones. I was definitely scorned.”

“I know you were. That’s why I’m apologizing.”

Kate caught a quiver of a smile at the corner of his mouth, a chip in that cool façade. “But I’m not accepting it.” She waggled a finger at him. “Therefore, I remain scorned.”

He reached forward and grabbed her finger, setting his beer on the table in one smooth move. His hand was rough, the texture of hard work and honesty. “And what am I supposed to do about that?”

She widened her eyes and gulped—a reaction that wasn’t completely faked. His hand moved up hers, little prickles of sensation following everywhere he touched. It suddenly seemed very difficult to determine who was seducing whom.

“Nothing,” she whispered as his hand reached her arm. His fingers grazed lightly over her forearm, the little hairs standing up in anticipation of his arrival. She licked her lips. “But I might be persuaded to let you make it up to me.”

He traced the path of her tongue on her lips with the warm pad of his thumb, his hand cupping her neck and pulling her closer. This time when he shifted, it was in her direction, so close she could have moved a tiny bit and found herself entirely ensconced in his lap.

“I think that sounds like a great idea.” His words came out in a warm tumble of breath and heat. His lips hovered above her own, so close, so inviting—

The phone rang, a shrill break that cleared Kate’s head at once. She sat back with a jolt. That wasn’t the sound of her cell phone—it was her land line. A number used only by telemarketers, her mother and Jada. Telemarketers never called on Sunday, and her mother never called after cocktail hour. Jada, on the other hand, would keep trying until Kate finally picked up the phone. It was a rule they had to prevent the untimely consumption of Kate’s potentially dead body by a starving Gretna.

“I have to get that,” Kate apologized.

Julian flashed a smile—one she was rapidly becoming to associate with him. Small and private. Almost too quick to catch. Meant only for her.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep.”

Her phone, a vintage 1920s contraption that brought to mind the telephone Mrs. Martin always used to call the police when Timmy had, once again, fallen down the well, was tucked in a cozy alcove off the kitchen. A door and a seat turned it into a private phone booth designed for her.

“Your decades are ridiculously out of order,” Jada had protested when the instrument first arrived. “If you really want to be historically accurate, you shouldn’t have a phone at all. Or penicillin. Or tampons.”

“Jada, you’re missing the entire point of my aesthetic,” Kate had protested. “It’s not the details of history. It’s the idea, the impression.”

She’d snorted in reply. “You need help, Kate.”

But the privacy of the booth came in handy, especially in moments like these.

Kate slid onto the brocade cushion and picked up the receiver, a black porcelain mouthpiece she had to hold right up to her lips. “Jada, we have a situation.”

“I know. I left my purse there this morning.”

“Not that,” she hissed, cupping the receiver with her hand. “He’s here. Now.”

“Damn, that was fast. How’s it going? Is he eating out of the palm of your hand? Ready to slay dragons and bestow on you the rights to all his royal lands? No—don’t tell me! He’s getting ready to plunder your booty!”

“Those are pirates, not Scotsmen. Besides, it’s all gone backwards.”

“He’s not falling for it? You must be doing something wrong. Are you wearing the dress?”

Kate kicked at the wall in impatience. “No, Jada. Stop! Listen. He’s somehow turned everything around—I think
he’s
seducing
me
.”

Jada let out a low whistle. “Clever. Damn clever. I didn’t see that coming—he’s better at this than we thought. Okay, you definitely need to get in control of the situation. Option A, you hang up the phone right now, rip off your clothes, saunter in there and tell him where he can lick it.”

“Ja-da!” Kate muffled her laugh.

“No? Okay, Option B, you say to hell with all this park stuff and go enjoy that big hunk of man love.”

“That’s it? That’s your sage advice? Jada, it was your idea for me to seduce Julian and get him to back off the land in the first place.”

She heard the shatter of a full beer bottle hitting the floor. The sliding door to the alcove was ajar, and it moved easily underneath her palm as she jumped out to find Julian standing in the middle of the kitchen, a puddle of amber liquid pooling at his feet.

This was not part of the plan. He didn’t look at all like a man about to give in to her feminine demands. He looked…furious.

“Julian… I…” She didn’t know how to continue, so she walked forward with her hand outstretched, hoping that small bit of human connection might give her the words. “It’s not what you think.”

He backed away from her as if she might burn him with her touch, and the look he gave her was one she would never forget. Like she’d risen from the dead—or from an underworld that was much, much worse in its eternal consequences.

“This is a game to you? This whole time—all of it? You’re playing a game?”

“No, it’s not a game. It’s Jada, she…” The words sounded lame even to her own ears.

“Oh, I see. It’s one of those many tricks your friend makes you do. How flattering.”

Kate felt as though she’d been slapped. Her face burned and her ears rang. “It’s not what you think,” she repeated.

Julian kicked at the broken shards of glass. “You know what? It doesn’t matter. You tried to get your way, but it didn’t work. That’s all there is to it. I’m glad I know what you are now, before things went any further. Thanks for the beer and the good time, but I’m out of here.”

He stopped when he caught a glimpse of a stack of papers on the kitchen island. They were the invitation mockups for the Fauxhall Gardens. She and Jada had been looking them over earlier—years ago, it suddenly seemed. Julian picked one up and waved it around.

“This party of yours isn’t going to happen, so you might as well give up now.”

“Give that back.” Kate jumped forward to grab it out of his hand, but she slipped in the pool of beer and went careening right into the kitchen island. She was about to fall into the shards of glass when one of Julian’s warm arms wrapped around her waist.

She could hear a string of muttered curses as he placed her gently down on the ground, a safe distance from the kitchen island. But he didn’t look at her once, and his hands didn’t linger for a second longer than they had to.

Without another word, Julian shoved the crumpled invitation in his pocket and stalked out the door, leaving Kate sitting on the floor next to a spreading puddle of lukewarm beer and feeling sorrier for herself than she had in a long, long time.
 

Chapter Five

A Scottish Rogue

Julian pulled into the parking lot of the tiny tailor shop and pounded on his brakes, gravel crunching under the weight of his Ford F-250. He was about to leap out of the cab and slam the door to complete the effect, but he saw his mom’s car parked a few spots down.

Relaxation settled over him, and he found his legs were perfectly capable of functioning in calm, walking mode. In the whirlwind of activity over the last few days, he’d forgotten she mentioned meeting him here this morning.

“Julian!” she called as he pulled open the door, the tinkling of bells heralding his arrival in the small, twenty-by-twenty space that was the only location in the entire city capable of properly sewing and fitting formal Highland dress.

“Hey, Mom.”

She jumped up from her chair and gave him a hug, her arms not quite able to circle all the way around him. It was good to see her. So far, he’d been spending most of his time at the sparse apartment he kept for his stays in town. He’d been meaning to visit his mom’s house, but fate, in the shape of Kate Simmons, had intervened.

That was the one thing he’d been trying to avoid. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by Kate in the first place, and now it seemed his mom had been the one to pay the toll—a fact that was reinforced by the tears gathered in the wrinkled corners of her eyes. Julian suddenly felt all the guilt of the world come crashing onto his shoulders, an Atlas playing catch with the gods. He should come home more. Send money more. Do more. Be more.

“You look well,” his mother gushed, clearly thinking none of those things. “But you always do. So much man in there.” She pointed at his chest and beamed.

She was a short woman—half Japanese, half Chamorro, almost as wide as she was tall—but that didn’t stop her from the ceaseless activity that had characterized her for as long as Julian could remember. As a young kid, it had been twelve-hour nursing night shifts that kept her moving. When he was older, his mother’s marriage to his stepfather, Harold, had allowed her to cut back her work hours, but she’d thrown herself into raising his sisters instead. Julian didn’t think he’d ever seen her sit still for longer than a few minutes at a time.

“Mom, I think you should go on a vacation,” he said suddenly, motioning for her to take a seat before settling next to her. It sounded like Irina, the tailor, was busy in the back room with another client. This time of year was always busy for her.

“A vacation? Isn’t that what this is? Seeing you?”

Julian’s stomach fell heavily, guilt creeping along the edges. “I meant something fun. Just for you. Like that boat we talked about before.” He’d been on her to go on one of those old-lady cruises for years. She could play bridge and flirt with old men carrying crates of Viagra onboard—Lord knew she deserved it, having a son like him to look after.

“Oh no, Julian. Not me.”

“It’s not like I’m asking you for thousands of dollars to fund a band or something, Mom. Or telling you I’m giving up the Games and taking monastic vows. All I want is for you to do something for yourself for once.”

She offered an ambiguous smile. “And what about your sisters? Or the house? You’re a sweet boy to say so, but I’m doing fine. Now, if only you’d transfer some of that concern to a nice girl—”