Meet Me in Scotland (3 page)

She wiggled it around. “It's fine.”

He gently ran his fingers over her shoulder, checking for a slight dislocation. Unfortunately, he got a whiff of her shampoo—apples? And of her—pure Emma.
Too damned intoxicating
. He tried to ignore it, but his pecker liked it. A lot.

“Ouch,” she said.

“Sorry. I'm trying to be careful. I don't think anything's broken or dislocated. But you're probably going to have a bruise. We should get some ice on that.” He opened his door and shoveled some snow into his hand, squeezing it into a brick. He pulled out a clean handkerchief, wrapped the ice pack in it, and leaned over her, holding it on her shoulder.

Her cheeks got red. “I can do it myself.” When she took it from him, he noticed her hand trembled.

“Ah, Emma, we're going to be okay.”

“I'm fine,” she demanded.

“You're shaken up. It's a normal reaction to a car accident. Even minor ones. The adrenaline floods the body and overloads the nervous system.”

“How come you're not shaking?”

He shrugged. Then rubbed his arm.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Aye.” But his arm smarted where he'd braced it against the steering wheel so he didn't hit the windshield.

“What are we going to do now?” she asked.

He looked out the window and searched for the slow car that had caused the accident. It was gone. “We're going to get out of here. The Land Rover's a tank.” When he put the vehicle in reverse, the wheels spun, but the tank didn't budge.

“And now?” she asked.

“We're going to call for a tow.”

They both reached for their mobiles. Seconds later, they found out that neither one had a signal.

“Plan B,” he said, pointing to the top of the hill. “See those lights?”

She looked, then turned back to him. “Yes?”

“We're going to wait there until the Land Rover is pulled out of this mess. What do you say, Ms. Castle? Are you up for a little snow trekking?”

She bent over and frowned at her red heels. “I guess I have to be.”

“Wait here.” He jumped out, tramped to the back, and retrieved her bag. The snow was really blowing now and the temperature had dropped here in the countryside. He knew they'd better hurry up to those lights before they both slipped into hypothermia.

He climbed into the backseat, as the bag and he wouldn't both fit in the front together.

She cranked her head around. “What are you doing with my suitcase?”

“You're damp from tumbling in the snow at the airport, right? And I have nothing good to say about your skirt in this weather. To traipse up that hill, you're going to have to be dressed warmer.” He unzipped her bag and a pair of blue silk panties fell into his lap.

“Gabriel, stop,” she said, panicked. She bent over the seat and reached for her bag. Then her eyes fell on her panties and she snatched them off his crotch, her cheeks turning bright pink.

But not before her fingertips accidentally brushed his cock.
Oh, God.

“I'll get my clothes myself.” She faced forward, reaching for the door handle.

He latched onto her good shoulder and anchored her to the seat. “What do you think you're doing? You're not going out there, not without being properly dressed. I'll turn your bag around so you can pull out what you need from where you are.”

“Fine.” She got on her knees and leaned over the seat.

Before he shifted the bag, he reached for a dry pair of her socks to stick in his pocket, but his thumb got hooked on a black bra.

Mortification once again swallowed her pretty face. She yanked her bra off his thumb. “You must stop handling my things.”

She was so embarrassed. And so bloody cute about it. He'd never seen this side of her before. She'd always been so exact, restrained. And critical of him.

It was bad form to enjoy himself at her expense. But to see her so out of her element . . .

Not the in-control Emma now.

He peeked over the top of her luggage. “Any sweatpants in there? You'll need them.”

“Of course not. Do I look like an aerobics instructor?” She rummaged some more. “But I do have jeans.” She yanked black jeans and a blue sweater from her luggage.

“What about sensible shoes? Like heavy boots or at least wellies?” He saw other underthings—items he'd like to get a closer look at—but she pulled the lid away, blocking his prying eyes.

“No boots. I've been living in southern California, remember? Just heels, flip-flops, and tennis shoes.” She pulled out her sneakers and sat back down, speaking over her shoulder. “Close your eyes while I change. And don't peek.”

He shrugged. “You don't have anything I haven't seen before.”

“Please, Gabriel.”

He closed his eyes but wasn't making any promises. His imagination went into overdrive.

Isn't that the way of things?
As soon as a man decides he wants to live a more principled life, temptation is dropped into his lap. Literally. Her silk lace panties, lying there as they had, lit up his brain and other regions like high-wattage bulbs.

Sure, he was trying to change his past ways, but he wasn't
neutered
.

He heard her shuffling in the front seat and grunting.

“Need help with the zipper on that skirt?” He shouldn't have offered, but tomorrow he'd go back to working on being a gentleman.

“I've got it,” she said in a strained voice.

He grinned at the images popping into his head. He did keep his eyes closed, though. For now.

He finally heard the zipper go down on her skirt.

Heard the sweater go over her head.

God, this is torture.

Heard her wriggle into her jeans.

He opened his eyes and found her big green eyes staring back from the visor mirror. He'd never seen eyes like hers.

“I knew it,” she said, her glare turning dark again. “I knew you would break your promise.”

“Sweetheart, I never promised you a damned thing.”

She huffed while pulling up the zipper on her jeans.

He grinned at her reflection. “Hurry up and get your shoes on. Our objective is the top of that hill.” He held up her extra socks. “You'll put these on when we get there.” He shoved them in his pocket. He wished like hell he had a sled so he could drag her up the hill.

She gazed back at him. “What about you? Will you be warm enough? Your head is naked.”

“I'm a Scot. This is only a wee chill to me.” He gave her a confident smile, trying to assure her all would be well.

“What about the
‘brrrr'
back at the airport?” She'd imitated his voice. “Not so Scottish then, huh?”

He ignored her and pulled another jacket from her bag, holding up the flimsy material. “Seriously, Emma, what were you thinking when you packed? This isn't heavy enough to handle a Highland summer breeze, let alone the winter.”

“I left in a hurry.”

He tossed the jacket upfront. “Put it on,” he said gruffly. They wrapped their scarves around their necks and headed out into the bitter weather.

He'd only taken two steps when Emma tugged on his arm.

“Did you lock the car?” she asked.

“There's no need.” He patted his pocket. “Besides, the keys are tucked away and I'm not pulling off my gloves to retrieve them.”

“My belongings are in there,” she complained.

“For heaven's sake.” He spun her around, pointing her in the direction of the lights. “March, Your Highness. I promise if the Abominable Snowman ransacks your baggage before we get back, I'll be your personal mechanic for life. I mean it. Anytime, anywhere. I'm your guy. All right?”

“I don't own an auto,” she grumbled, pulling away from him and huffing up the hill.

He trudged after her, muttering loud enough for her to hear, “The Sassenach would rather freeze to death than to be reasonable.”

As they got closer, Gabe realized the cottage was not the beginning of civilization as he'd hoped. The lean-to of a cabin sat all alone with only a copse of trees to keep it company. “Let's see if anyone is home. There should be, with the lights on.” He took Emma's elbow and helped her the last little bit, even though he knew she'd lecture him about it later.

Emma stopped, looking worried. “Do you think it's safe?”

“Aye. Ye're with me. I promise to take care of you.”

She rolled her eyes. He knocked on the door and waited.

An old man with a gray beard and the girth of a two-ton lorry answered. With a jolly laugh, he greeted them as if they were expected. “Come in, come in.”

Emma stepped closer to Gabe. He started to wrap his arm around her, but remembered himself. Surprisingly, she reached out and clung to his arm instead as they stepped into the small one-room cabin. There were
a sink, a tiny stove, one rocking chair, a bed, and one pillow.

Gabe stepped forward and Emma dropped his arm. “We're sorry to bother you, sir, but we've had a bit of a run-in with the ditch down the way.” He pulled off his gloves and stuck out a hand. “I'm Gabriel MacGregor.”

The old guy took it, belly-laughing some more. “And this is your missus.” He said it as if it were the truth and not a question.

Emma stepped up. “Heavens, no. We barely know each other.”

The old man cocked an eyebrow and tilted his head as if to let her know what he thought of the fib.

Gabe frowned at her as well. “Nay, we're not married. May we stay by your fire while we wait for a tow?”

The old man chuckled again. “You think you'll get a tow truck out here at this hour? In this weather?”

“But my friend is expecting me.” Emma pulled her cell from her pocket.

“I just finished making coffee and some oatcakes.” The man slipped his coat on. “Help yourself.”

“That would be grand.” Gabe got his cell out, too. “Do you have a signal, Emma?”

“No. You?”

“Nay,” he said, frowning.

“No worries. Use mine.” The old guy pointed to an old-fashioned black rotary phone hanging on the wall. “It works, but I'm certain you'll be stuck here for the night.” He grabbed his gloves. “Sorry I have to leave you, but I'm going out to sleep with Miz Flanders.”

Gabe and Emma shared a glance. Was this guy a wee daft?

The big man laughed again. “Oh, you two, she's my prize sheep. She's feeling a mite under the weather. Gotta give her her medicine every hour, the veterinarian
says.” He picked up a vial from the table along with his mug of coffee. “There's only the one bed and one quilt. But I'm sure you'll manage.” He winked at Gabe.

As the man opened the door, snow flew in; then he was gone. When the door shut, the two of them were left inside, alone.

F
or a long moment, they both stared at the closed door. Then Gabe turned to the wall phone. “While I make that call, you”—he pointed to Emma—“get those shoes and socks off now.” He tossed her the dry ones. “Put those on and get warm by the fire.”

“You are the bossiest man I've ever met.”

“Thank you.”

She put her hands on her hips like she wanted to argue, but he assumed her cold feet convinced her otherwise. She slipped into the rocker by the fire and began untying her snow-covered laces.

He retrieved his auto card from his wallet and glanced at Emma as she slipped off the first shoe. When he picked up the receiver, he was relieved that there was a dial tone. As he placed the call, he turned back to her as the second shoe fell to the floor. “If you don't hurry and get those dry socks on, I'll come over and do it for you.”

She glared at him, but the person on the other end picked up and he turned away. Gabe explained the situation to the auto club, but it didn't do any good. The earliest the tow company could get there would be in the morning. Basically, they insinuated he was crazy for suggesting otherwise.

He hung up. “
Great.
”

“What's the matter?” Emma leaned over and pulled on the second dry sock.

“We're not getting towed out.”

“What?”

“The crews are stuck themselves. As soon as they can, they'll come to us.”

“When is that?”

“Not tonight. Tonight you're stuck with me.”

“Marvelous.”
The frown she gave him said she'd rather take her chances with the old guy and Miz Flanders. She stood. “I'd better break it to Claire.”

He put his hand up. “You stay by the fire. I'll call Dom's cell phone. I don't want to wake Claire. She has to get up early, remember?”

“Yes.” Emma plopped down in the chair. “The blooming scones.”

Gabe tsked
at her, turned away, and smiled. He made the phone call and told Dom what was up.

When Gabe hung up, he saw Emma rocking in the chair with her hands in front of the hearth. With the fire as her backdrop, her cinnamon hair glowed.

He stopped breathing. The walls inched closer together. Suddenly the cottage felt too small and too cozy.

One bed.

One pillow.

One quilt.

Two adversaries.

He cleared his throat. But his voice still came out husky. “You take the bed. I'll sleep in the rocking chair.” The rocker wasn't a high-back and would be uncomfortable as hell, but that's what he got for offering to help out Claire and Dom. He gazed down at the stone floor, looking for a soft spot to lie on, but it would be too cold.

“I can't let you do that,” Emma argued. “I'll sleep in the chair.”

“No, I insist.” Given his past, he wouldn't dare offer for them to share the bed. She'd consider it an assault on her sensibilities.

She didn't understand, though, that she wasn't his type—too high maintenance. Even if Emma Castle was
naked and willing
, she wouldn't be able to coax him into doing more than sleeping. He was looking for a Scottish country lass, not a city woman. A girl who understood hard work and sharing the load. Not one with a maid who bustled around so she didn't have to lift a finger.

No, Emma Castle was too much trouble, by far.

He stared at the uncomfortable rocking chair. Another sleepless night wouldn't kill him. Last night, he'd delivered Amy and Coll's first baby. A boy, seven pounds, one ounce. “I'll take the chair and watch the fire.” He hadn't seen any dry logs outside and there were only two left by the hearth. They were definitely going to get cold tonight.

Emma rose from the rocker and went to the small twin bed, which had been pushed into the corner. She stood over it, staring down, frowning. “Umm, I know this is going to make me sound awful, but you have to take the bed. I won't be able to lie down on this.”

He walked over to inspect the bed, too. The quilt folded at the bottom of the mattress was pristine white with a few Red Cardinal blocks scattered about, perfectly clean. But the gray sheets pulled over the mattress looked like they'd never seen the inside of a washer. “I see what you mean. Not very sanitary.”

“Maybe we should go back to the car?”

“Too cold. We'll have to stay here.” He looked over at
the two logs. It wasn't much, but it was better than the prospect of carbon monoxide poisoning. “I have an idea.”

He grabbed the quilt and spread it over the bed. “Here. Lie on this and I'll tuck it around you.”

She looked pensively at the rocking chair and then back to him. “If you promise not to paw me, I have a better solution.”

“Okay.”

“We can both use the bed like a divan. If we sit and lean our heads against the wall, we could get some rest. There should be enough quilt to at least wrap around our legs to keep us warm.”

Well . . .
Gabe might have to adjust his perception of Emma Castle. She wasn't just an upper-crust beauty; she had brains, too. Usually he admired a good brain, but for some reason he wasn't happy that Emma might be more than what she appeared. “Then you won't mind me sitting next to you?”

She gazed at the expanse of him like he would cop a feel if given half the chance. “I'll suffer through.”

“That's the spirit,” he said.

“As long as you keep your hands to yourself.”

“I assure you, that's the last thing on my mind.”

She harrumphed, muttered something about an egghead, which made no sense,
and busied herself adjusting the blanket.

“I didn't mean that the way it came out,” he tried. She wouldn't believe him that he was a changed man. She ignored him, the damage already done.

Then she produced an extra-long yawn, her eyes watering.

“How many hours have you been up?”

“Don't worry yourself over it,” she said, suppressing another yawn.

“Pick your spot.” He went back to the hearth. “I'll put another log on the fire.”

She put herself at the foot of the bed. He figured so she could make a fast getaway if necessary.

He glanced at his watch. “Who knows? Maybe we'll get lucky. The tow company could surprise us and get here sooner than expected.”

“I do hope so.” She wrapped the quilt over her legs. “Gabriel?”

“Hmm?”

“Good manners dictate that I thank you.”

“For what?”

“For forcing me to change into warmer clothes.”

“Don't mention it.” He stoked up the fire. “I should apologize for causing you to fall in the snow at the airport. Sorry,” he offered back.

“Oh yes, there is that.” She looked like she might take back her thanks of a moment ago.

He lingered in front of the hearth. Not for warmth but for working on pinning his newfound principles in place. But old habits die hard. He was alone with a beautiful woman, and he was going to share a bed with her. Granted, it was more like sharing a sofa, since they would be sitting up with their backs against the wall. But still. In the past, he wouldn't have given a second thought to taking advantage of their cozy situation. He might've even gone as far as to believe it was a sign—that he was supposed to put the moves on her. But he was a changed man now. And, well,
Emma was Emma
. Not for him, that was for sure. He needed to stop visualizing her naked and tamp down the hard-on that threatened. She was not a potential mate—no matter how attractive she might be. Since they had to, the two of them would huddle together on the bed for warmth and nothing else.

He finished and wandered over to the bed. “Can I join you?” He kept telling himself to treat her like a sister. The only problem was, he'd never had one.

She scooted away from him, giving him plenty of room. He sat down and made sure he didn't touch one cell on her body. He wouldn't pull the cover over his legs just yet, either. She was already so skittish.

She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, and he thought she might be going to sleep. He relaxed against the wall, too, deciding that being holed up here with Emma Castle wasn't so bad. It gave him a respite from Gandiegow and his worries back there. It wasn't easy fitting in to a small town. Emma shocked him out of his thoughts by speaking.

“I still can't figure it out,” she said with her eyes shut. “How in the world did you, of all people, come to be a doctor?”

He shook his head. “Aye, me of all people. Go to sleep, Princess.”

Within minutes, her breathing turned even. According to her, she'd had a rough twenty-four hours. Emma seemed to think everything would be okay once she saw Claire. But the truth was, Claire had her own problems, and maybe Gabe should've warned Emma. Told her she should've thought twice and gone somewhere else, somewhere out of the line of fire. Anywhere but Scotland.

*   *   *

Emma woke slowly, feeling rested and contented. Things were a little hazy. Where was she? Whose body did she cling to? Why did she take such comfort in the arms around her? Slowly she became aware of the location of her hand and what lay underneath.
An erection.

She rocketed to her feet, fully awake, appalled at what she'd been doing. Had she been rubbing him? Certainly not, but her hand had been on his . . . on his . . .
ohmigod
, his crotch. She wiped at a bit of drool from her face and
saw in horror that she'd left some spittle on his jacket, where she'd been cuddled up to him. “Bloody hell,” she muttered.

Gabriel came awake, looking dazed, too. “What's the matter? Is the tow here?”

“No. Just a bad dream.” It was the truth. She couldn't admit to snuggling with him. Although she suspected he knew, because he eyed her closely. She glanced at his crotch.
Oh, why did I do that?
Even more dismaying, his hard-on didn't look diminished in the least. In fact it looked . . . bigger.

Her mother's teachings about men in the morning were very clear. An erection in the morning is normal and should be expected. It doesn't mean that he's necessarily been stimulated by thoughts of you. But it also doesn't mean that you can't take advantage of his morning erection to get an orgasm. Emma had been fourteen and appalled by her mother's info dump.

But Emma wasn't fourteen anymore. If she had to admit the truth, she was a little curious about what he looked like. How he felt. And gratified she'd played some part in causing such a response in him, no matter what facts her mother had spouted. And she was . . .

She licked her lips.
Turned on. Oh, God.

Emma peeked at Gabriel's face and saw that the sadistic womanizer was blushing.
Blushing.
Cheeks red, sheepish look on his face. Why was Gabriel, the rogue, blushing?

“Emma, ye're staring again.” He pulled the quilt over his manhood.

It was best to change the subject. She plastered on her politest smile. “What time is it? It's still dark out.”

“It's well past seven,” he said, apparently playing along with Let's Pretend This Never Happened
.

“How about some tea?” she said.

He nodded. “Tea sounds fantastic. I wonder if the old guy has some.”

“Great. Why don't you check and get it started?” She heard him mutter
Princess
under his breath as she flounced off to the bathroom. Hopefully,
her drool
on his jacket would dry before she came back.

She dawdled for quite a while in the restroom but finally had to emerge. “Is the tea ready?”

“Nay, just coffee. I hope you like yours black. I couldn't find cream or sugar.”

“Savages,” she muttered. That's what the Scots were. No tea. No cream. No sugar. “No, thank you.”

“Just as well,” he said. “There is only one mug, anyway.” He took a sip of his coffee and went back to the rocker with a pad of paper.

“What are you doing?”

“Writing the old guy a note, in case he doesn't get back before we leave.”

“What for?”

“Thanking him for the use of his cabin.”

She felt stupid. Plus, she hadn't anticipated that Gabriel knew anything about polite manners.

Just as he took another sip from his mug, there was a knock at the door. He went to answer it.

A young man with bright red cheeks and red hair stood there. “Dr. MacGregor?”

“Aye.”

“I got you pulled out of the ditch.” Red handed him a clipboard. “Sign here, please. You'd better hurry and get down there. Your auto is blocking the roadway.”

Emma rushed to pull on her shoes, anxious to see Claire. And to get away from Gabriel. Even though they had a drive ahead of them.

Gabriel held her coat open for her.
Another surprise.
He could be a gentleman, too? Instead of stepping into
it, she snatched it away from him. Not to be rude, but so she didn't have to be beholden to him. After she slid into it, she headed for the door. Out of the corner of her eye, she got another little shock: Gabriel had folded the Cardinal quilt and righted the bed.
More civilized than the man I remember.

He followed behind her but stopped when he got outside the door and looked around.

“What's wrong?” she said.

“I don't see an outbuilding.”

“So?”

“Then where did the old guy get off to?”

“I don't know. Maybe the outbuilding is on the other side of the hill.” She turned back, and Red was halfway back to his lorry. She followed after him.

“I guess.” Gabriel caught up to her. “When we get to the Land Rover, make sure you switch into dry socks again.”

“Will you ever stop telling me what to do?”

“Doctor. Remember?”

“Bossy,” she said.

“Princess,” he shot back.

At the vehicle, Gabriel stuffed some bills into Red's hand. The kid tried to refuse them, but Gabriel insisted. She got in and traded out her socks, shoving her soaked sneakers under the vent.