Meet Me in Scotland (28 page)

He murmured Gaelic to her, kissing and touching every part of her body, but it was as if he'd gotten it backward. He didn't need to woo her with his ancient words and loving hands. She was already his.

“
Tha gaol agam ort
,” he said tenderly.

She understood him perfectly; he'd told her he loved her again. But Emma, she couldn't put two words together to save her naked British hide. She was close to the edge—and then suddenly went over the top.

“That's right, my luv,” he said, caressing her face.

He hadn't come with her, she noticed as her spasms subsided and he began nibbling on her ear. He started a new rhythm between them, slow and languorous.

“I've missed you,” he said.

“Shhh.” She'd missed him, too.

But she wanted to concentrate on what he was doing to her; it felt nice. She loved how he made love to her.

Nice became heated. Heated turned into all-out need. His breathing became ragged and his composure slipped away. This time he got caught up in his own game and he wouldn't be denied. As she rocked with him, she saw the pain of pleasure on his face. She loved to see him lose control, his hips frantic to meet hers. She opened wider to him, wrapped her legs around his waist, and pulled him deeper inside. It turned her on like nothing else to feel his strength, to know she was the one to bring him to completion.

“Emma,” he groaned. “Oh, God, Emma.” It sounded like a fervent prayer. He hovered above her and she hugged herself to him, not ever wanting to let go.

From nowhere, a sob slipped out and then another. She couldn't stop herself and she couldn't explain to him what she felt. What they shared was beyond anything she ever could've imagined. The pure joy of feeling complete, knowing it was the two of them together that created something so beautiful and wonderful.

He looked down at her with concern and rolled to his side, pulling her to him. “Don't cry, luv. Please don't cry.”

“I'm all right.”
I'm not.
The tears wouldn't stop. She'd gone to bed with him hoping for a physical connection. He'd given her so much more. He'd touched her in a much deeper way than the physical. It would take her some time to recover from it, if ever.

He held her close and murmured more Gaelic to her. Eventually, she relaxed and became drowsy.

“Sleep, my luv,” he said.

And she did.

O
nce again in the wee hours of the morning, Emma snuck out of Gabriel's bed. She felt a mixture of elation and embarrassment at what had transpired between them last night.
I cried!
She still couldn't believe it. Then she'd slept like a satisfied baby. She had to speak with Claire. That was the only way Emma was going to figure out what was going on between her and Gabriel.

Emma dressed quietly and stole out of the doctor's quarters. She found Claire in the restaurant kitchen, as expected, but she wasn't making scones.

“What gives?” Emma asked. “Why aren't you up to your elbows in flour by now?”

“I've come to my senses. We have plenty of scones in the freezer to heat. That is, if anyone cares to show up.” Claire plastered on a brave smile. “How did you and Gabriel get on last night?” She put her hand up. “Before I hear any details, I need to warn you: You'd better not break his heart. You may be my best friend, but the world needs more men like him. He's a decent guy.”

“I know.” Emma burst into tears all over again. Claire ran to her and wrapped her arm around her shoulders and helped her to a stool.

“What's wrong?” Claire cooed soothingly. “I wasn't trying to upset you.”

Emma gasped for air between each sob. “I don't know what's wrong. That's why I needed to talk to you.”

“If Gabriel did anything to hurt you, I'll take the cast-iron skillet to his thick head,” Claire said emphatically.

Emma gave her a weak smile. “You just said he's a decent guy.”

“He is. But he's still a guy.”

Emma shook her head. “Gabriel didn't do anything to hurt me. He did nothing but be wonderful.”

Claire gave her a sly look. “Then I take it it went well in the bedroom?”

Emma took Claire's hands but couldn't face her, speaking to the mixer instead. “With him, it was the first time . . . I mean . . . I never felt . . .”

“You two had a wonderful time in the sack. Good for you. So, he was better than some of the other men you've shagged.”

In that moment, Emma knew she couldn't go on lying, not for one second longer. “Claire, can we sit at a table? We need to talk.”

“Sure.” She grabbed her coffee mug and pulled out a chair.

Emma sat across from her. “I haven't exactly been truthful with you.” She twisted the edge of the tablecloth in her hands.

“What are you talking about?” Claire reached out and stilled her hands. “You're the most truthful person I know.”

Emma pulled away. “I've lied. To you. To my mother. To everyone.” She stood and stared at the door.

“Sit back down. Ye're talking crazy.”

Emma leaned on her chair back, looking into her friend's eyes. “Gabriel was my first.”

“First what? First man that you've loved? That's not news to me.” Claire smiled.

“No, he was my first . . .” How was Emma going to say this? “You know. In the bedroom . . .”

“Good grief, Emma. Gabriel is not the first man you've slept with. The whole world knows that.”

Emma mumbled bitterly, “Yes, Mum loves to share.” She took a deep breath. “I haven't slept with tons of men like I've said. I've slept with exactly three before Gabriel.”
Not the triple digits I've claimed.
“But with Gabriel . . . it was different. He was my . . . my first . . . orgasm.”

It was hard to get the word out, but once she did, her insides flip-flopped deliciously. She finally understood what all the hubbub was over sex. She never should've undersold the importance of a good roll in the hay to lift one's spirits. Maybe she should've listened more closely to her couples in their therapy sessions when they said their sex lives had been
off
. Hers felt absolutely on, and there was no better drug in the universe than complete satisfaction.

Emma was so caught up in her own thoughts and the details of her new and wondrous sex life, she didn't immediately register the shocked look on Claire's face.

“Three?” Claire's volume was considerably higher. “What the hell, Emma? All those years, I thought something was wrong with me that I wasn't having wild sex.”

“I never meant . . .” Emma looked down at her hands, with no real words to defend herself.

But Claire had more to say. “So, the whole spread-eagle thing on top of the grand piano was made up?”

Emma nodded.

“And you never came three times in one night with three
different
men.”

Emma shook her head, ashamed of that one. But her
mother had called her a prude in front of Claire, and only because Emma dressed more conservatively than Claire when they went out. Emma never realized that while she was protecting herself from her mother, she had inadvertently been hurting her best friend.

“So, all these years when I've worried I wasn't normal, because I'm satisfied sleeping with the same man for the past decade . . .” Claire's voice trailed off.

Emma reached out to touch her, but Claire backed away, her shoulders stiff.

“I don't need this right now. Between what's been going on with me and Dominic and all the grief I'm reliving over losing my da. And Mama.” She spun on Emma, more distraught than she'd ever seen her. “How could you have lied to me over the years? I'm your best friend. Has that been a lie, too?”

“No,” Emma said, “I'm a terrible person is all. I never should've—”

The swinging doors to the kitchen flew open and there stood Gabriel, smiling. One after another, emotions slammed into Emma's gut.

First, he made her weak in the knees. Second, it was such a relief to see him; he could save her from Claire's tirade. But then it occurred to her that he had poor timing. He wouldn't save her from Claire—he'd probably join in the crucifixion.

He walked toward her. “There you are.”

“Hold on.” Claire stepped in his path, stopping him from reaching her. “Did you know about this?”

“Claire, don't.” Emma grabbed her arm.

But Claire shook her off with a crazy look in her eye. Emma knew that look. Her Scottish ire had the best of her, her hotheaded temper set to boil. “Did you know Emma was a big, fat liar before ye screwed her? She hasn't slept with hundreds of men like she's claimed. She's
been feeding me lies since we were teenagers. Haven't you, Emma?”

Gabriel's eyebrows pinched together. “What are ye talking about?”

Claire put her hands on her hips, but there were tears in her eyes. “She's been playing us for the fool. Tell him, Emma. Tell him that he's the first Big O that you've ever had!”

Gabriel cocked his head to the side as if he hadn't heard correctly. He turned to Emma, searching her face.

Emma couldn't stand to see him judging her. But she was the liar here.

“That's enough, Claire,” Dominic growled, standing in the doorway. “This is between the two of them. You have nothing to do with it.”

“Oh, really?” Claire yelled. “I think I have a perfect right. They haven't been too shy with their opinions of
our
marriage.” She swung around to Emma. “How does it feel to have another person get in the middle of your relationship?” Then Claire turned back to Dominic. “Have ye not gotten an earful from these two?”

“Not really.” Dominic shot Gabriel a puzzled expression. “What is it you have to say, Gabe?”

After a moment, the doctor shrugged. “I'm on Claire's side. You know I'll help out financially. She should have a baby. She's not getting any younger.”

Claire's intake of breath could've been heard all the way to London.

Gabriel shifted uncomfortably. “That didn't come out right. I mean from a medical standpoint. If Claire is going to get pregnant, she should do it before thirty-five. The problems and complications start to rise exponentially from there.” He took a step toward Dominic. “I'll always have your back—you know that. But if ye insist on waiting to have a baby until you have all the money you want,
then you're wrong. Some things are more important—like family. You, of all people, should know that.”

Dominic looked like he wanted to punch Gabriel.

“But what about lying?” Good ole Claire had brought the focus right back to Emma.

When Gabriel turned toward Emma with that questioning look again, she wanted to crawl under the table. When she didn't speak up for herself, she saw the last remnants of his good opinion of her drop out of sight. Just like she'd strapped cement blocks to it and slung it in the ocean.

What was she supposed to say to him? That Egghead Emma hadn't been able to figure out how to land a real relationship or an orgasm until now? That is, if she and Gabriel were in a real relationship. She was such a loser. And a liar.

But she wasn't the only one who'd lied.

Emma whipped around to Claire. “What about all the lies you told everyone in Gandiegow about Dominic?” Immediately, she felt lower than the lowliest of rats. “I'm sorry, Cla—” Emma tried.

“Don't fash yereself,” Claire said coolly. “Now that I know ye, I wouldn't expect anything less.”

Emma burst into tears.
Again.
She'd done enough damage for one day. She grabbed her coat and rushed out of the restaurant into the cold morning air.

*   *   *

“What the fuck, Claire?” Gabe muttered, looking at the door Emma had just gone through.

“Don't talk to my wife that way,” Dominic warned. He swung on Claire. “Don't think I approve of what you did to Emma, either. It was badly done.”

“Gabriel needed to know that she lied about it all, every last sexual conquest,” Claire muttered.

Gabe was still in shock. Emma hadn't slept with every Tom, George, and Harry? He'd been her first orgasm?

Unless of course, Emma had lied about climaxing with him, too. She'd have to be one hell of an actor, but still. What other secrets might Emma have been hiding from him? He thought they'd always been honest with each other.

In a funny way, he'd thought he and Emma were both the same, walking the same path, trying to put their pasts behind them, looking for a more meaningful relationship.

With that, the truth hit him head-on, knocking the air from him. From day one, Emma had insisted she didn't believe in lasting relationships. She'd held firm to that belief, never wavering.
Ah, hell!
He'd been kidding himself to think otherwise. Hoping against all odds. The lion in his chest roared, and the small ring box in his jacket pocket felt out of place. He'd been too hasty. He never should've gone to Edinburgh to get it. Christ, he never should've gushed to his da that he'd found his
one true love
. “Lies,” he muttered. Lies were tearing them all apart.

“Gabe? Are you or aren't you?” Dom said impatiently.

Gabe frowned. “What?”

“Are you going to stay and help with the lunch crowd?”

“No.” Gabe needed space. From Emma and her lies. From the Russos and their stunts. From everything. Dominic and Claire were on their own. Gabe had finally learned his lesson: Don't mess around in other peoples' relationships. Especially if he didn't have a clue what the hell he was doing with his own.

He didn't say goodbye, but before the kitchen doors closed, he heard Dominic speak to Claire.

“You're not going anywhere. Whether you want to or not, you're stuck here with me. The tomatoes are in the cooler.”

*   *   *

Emma made it back to the quilting dorm and into the bathroom just in time to throw up. She'd been emotional and queasy since she'd woke up. Vomiting seemed perfectly normal, like the icing on the cake to her horrendous morning from hell. She would get out of town today, Christmas Eve or not. She probably wouldn't get a flight out until tomorrow, but sleeping in the terminal was preferable to staying one more night in this town, with all the residents' stupid heartwarming, gut-wrenching, ripping-the-truth-out-of-her ways.

She shuffled into the bedroom and fell on her double bed. She felt awful—both physically and mentally. She and Claire had had minor arguments over the years, but this breach of Claire's trust would not be easily mended. It might take a long time, if ever. Tears blurred Emma's vision. Claire was the only person in the world who had always been there for Emma. She rolled on her side and held her stomach. She felt like she might throw up again.

She closed her eyes and tried to come up with a way out of this mess. She loved Claire and Dominic. She loved Gabriel. She wanted to make it right with all of them.

Her eyes flew open.

I love Gabriel?

She gasped.
Oh, God, where did that come from? Can it be true? And if it is, when did it happen?

She jumped out of bed. She had to talk to Claire about it. But then it all hit her again. Claire didn't want to be friends with a big, fat liar. What was Emma going to do?

There was a holler from the front door. “Girl, are you here?” It was Deydie.

“Back in the bedroom.” Emma tried to straighten herself up, but she knew she must look a fright.

Deydie waddled into the bedroom while Emma pretended to fuss over the bed, as if making it. As if she'd slept in it last night.
Still the liar
.

“Ye're needed at Quilting Central. Moira embroidered the tag for the Gandiegow Doctor quilt and I need ye to sew it on.”

Emma turned to face her, not in the mood to be pushed around yet knowing she risked life and limb by facing off with Deydie. She pressed on, anyway. “Isn't there someone else to do it?”

Deydie glowered at her. “They're busy.”

Emma heard the underlying text loud and clear:
You have no obligations, no family like the others.
Now she didn't even have Claire to call her own.

Deydie's frown deepened. “Ye started that project and now ye'll see it through to the end. The quilting ain't over until the fat lady says so, and I say that quilt ain't done yet.”