Sizzle All Day (16 page)

Gillian's mouth was dry as an overcooked haddock. Nervousness sang in her veins, building up pressure and diluting her good sense so that when she finally managed to talk, she babbled forward into the fray with little regard for strategy. "I brought my own father's brooch and dirk. I have a bonnet, too, although I think we can do without that, and both stockings and truis, depending on your preference. Personally, I think you would be more comfortable with stockings. Oh," she snapped her fingers. "I left the sporran in the storage room. I shall need to go get it."

While she paused to draw a breath, the only sound to be heard in the blue drawing room was the muted tick of the mantel clock. Then the Texan replied with a short laugh.

"You won't believe the ridiculous thought I just had. This bundle of yours? For a minute there I thought you might be trying to get me to wear one of those Scottish dresses."

"It's not a dress or a skirt, it's a plaid. And you will wear it. That is the deal you made with Uncle Angus."

He folded his arms, lifted his chin, and looked down his nose, the very picture of an arrogant aristocrat. "No, it is not. The terms of our agreement are very clear. I am an attorney-at-law, remember? I wrote the contract. I agreed to haunt Rowanclere for no longer than a two-week period commencing with the Earl of Harrington's arrival and ending upon either the expiration of the time limit or the departure of your ghost-hunting guest, whichever comes first."

Her nervousness having eased some now that the first shot was fired, Gillian took a moment to shoot him a perplexing look. Who was the real Jake Delaney? This starched-shirt professional or the lazy-drawled rogue? Whichever, he was the most fascinating man.

But she and her grand-uncle Angus had bested him this time. Now it was up to Jake Delaney to honor his word. She squared her shoulders and smiled. "Pull out your contract and read it. Page two, paragraph three. Cowboy, you agreed to wear a kilt."

* * *

Jake stalked from the drawing room and marched to his bedchamber where he dug the signed contract from his saddlebags. "Page two, paragraph three," he muttered, paper rustling as he flipped to the second page.

His eyes skimmed to the third paragraph. It was the seventh sentence that stopped him cold
.... will play the part of Brian Brodie, deceased.

Jake closed his eyes. Obviously, this Brian Brodie was no made-up name like he had thought. "Sonofabitch. Who is Brian Brodie?"

She had followed him up to his room, bringing the damned armful of tartan and toys with her. "Was. Brian Brodie was the fifth laird of Rowanclere. He died here in the castle in 1692, stabbed through the heart after accusing a companion of cheating at cards."

"A violent death? Then why isn't his real ghost haunting the castle? Why do you need a false one?"

Gillian shrugged. "Who is to know the way of the dead? Perhaps he is here and does not indulge in haunt-tag."

"Just my luck. A selfish specter." Jake's gaze returned to the page. "I can't believe I left it wide open. I'm better than that. How did I miss it?"

"I believe you were smeekit at the time."

"Smeekit?"

"Drunk."

"That never mattered before," he snapped, his gaze returning to the words written in his own hand upon the page. "It was the cold. This damnable cold. It froze my brain to the point that even your whisky couldn't thaw it out."

"Stop whining, Texas."

"I'm not whining. I'm complaining." She was part of it, too. His thinking had been numbed by a sexual haze since almost the moment he stepped foot in Rowanclere. "I haven't done this poor a job at lawyering in years."

He couldn't believe he'd gotten himself into this mess. A skirt. A damned skirt. If anyone from home ever saw him he'd never live it down. "I want to renegotiate."

"No. Pull off your boots and your shirt. You can leave your trousers on for now."

"Pardon me?"

"I am about to demonstrate the proper way to don the feileadh mor, or belted plaid. It is a bit complicated, so you shall need practice dressing yourself. Rowanclere cannot have a ghaist who is not comfortable in his plaid."

All thought of his pending humiliation fled when Jake realized Gillian Ross was telling him to strip. His mind filled with images of a pair of naked bodies rolling on the bed before him.

Jake stood without moving, watching mutely, while the woman laid a brown leather belt across the bed, then spread the tartan lengthwise atop it. He stared from his bed to Gillian, then back to the bed again.

She was all business as she explained her actions. "Now watch how I fold the tartan neatly in transverse pleats. You will want to leave a foot or so unpleated as aprons on each end."

Jake need only lay his hand on her posterior and give her a tiny push and she would fall upon his bed, there for the taking. He cleared his throat. "I'm not doing this."

Impatience simmered in the look she sent over her shoulder. "Take off your boots and shirt and lie down, Texas. Align your knees with its lower edge."

"No, I said."

She stepped away from the bed and folded her arms. Her gaze swept over him in a scathing glance. "So law means nothing to you? And you, an advocate? Have you no honor? Your contract is not worth the price of paper and ink?"

He hadn't meant he wouldn't wear the skirt. He'd meant he wouldn't wear the woman. "Gillian—"

"I'm surprised, Delaney. Uncle Angus has often told us how Texans tend to exaggerate and redefine the truth to suit their moods. However, he also says that a Texan's word freely given was worthy of trust. He says a man's honor is held in great regard in Texas. It appears my uncle is wrong."

"He isn't wrong. That's not what I... oh, forget it." Jake sat on the bed and stuck out his foot, silently demanding her assistance at pulling his boots. "By the way, if I want to whine, it is well within my rights to do so. I may have to do this, but there is nothing in that contract that says I can't grouse about it while it's happening."

The relaxation in her shoulders and spine at his capitulation was subtle, but unmistakable. Jake realized then that despite her bravado, Miss Gillian Ross had harbored doubts about the outcome of the argument. Maybe with a little patience and a bit of thought, he could find a way around this nonsense.

She knelt and tugged at his left boot. The sight of her down on her knees before him was highly erotic, and Jake tried not to watch. He couldn't help himself. When the boot suddenly slid free and momentum carried her back onto her behind, she looked up at him and laughed, her blue eyes sparkling, warming him from the inside out.

Gillian Ross could be a damned fine substitute for a fire. She removed the right boot, set it beside the left at the foot of the bed, then rose gracefully to her feet Automatically, Jake stood, too. Not six inches of space separated them.

The warmth in his blood burned hotter, his will power waned. Acting on instinct, he lifted his shirt over his head and tossed it aside. "You want me to lie down? How?"

She froze like a doe in a rifle sight. Time seemed to slow as her gaze traveled across his bare shoulders, then down his naked chest. Jake filled his lungs with jasmine-scented air that sent his senses reeling. Heat pooled in his loins.

His own stare focused on Gillian's mouth and he leaned toward her.

But she pulled back, whirled away, and reached for the bundle she'd carried upstairs. "We've no time to waste. Our guest arrives tomorrow and you need to learn this. Here," she tossed him a folded square of white linen. "I found this shirt in one of the trunks. I thought you might prefer to wear it as it will provide added warmth."

Jake inspected the garment, noting laces instead of seams at the sleeves and down the front. He slipped it over his head and flexed his shoulders. A tight fit, but bearable. At least it fell past his backside and helped to conceal his body's reaction to Gillian Ross's attentions.

"That's better," she murmured. "Next..."

The devil in him made him rumble, "I'm at your service, Gillian."

Her voice emerged in a thin, reedy squeak, "... the feileadh mor."

She wouldn't look him in the eye as she placed her hands on his arms just below the shoulders and positioned him beside the mattress. His skin burned beneath her touch and again, he scented jasmine on the air. It was all he could do to rein in his needs. It wouldn't do to ravish the woman, no matter how much his body urged him to do so.

Jake was a man in control of his own desires. He refused to be led around by his pecker. He'd sworn off that on his nineteenth birthday, the day he woke up in an Abilene whorehouse, three dissolute women in his bed, and a queasy sense of shame in his gut. He never wanted to experience that kind of self-disgust again.

Gillian Ross could make him feel it.

A spark smoldered between them that couldn't be denied. He sensed that even a little indulgence could feed the flame, make it flare and burn hot and out-of-control. In some cases, with some women, that would be a pleasant interlude. An enjoyable seduction.

With Gillian, everything would be different.

For as much as he liked to play with fire, he could not in good conscience dally with Gillian Ross. Despite her skill with feathers, Gillian was no sporting woman, and he would not treat her as such.

Yet, he could offer her nothing more. He would leave Rowanclere in a matter of days. Africa, China, the Polynesian Isles. He'd waited half his life to be free to go exploring, free of responsibility, free of the ties that bound him so firmly to family and San Antonio, Texas. Now, finally, his time had come. He wouldn't let a hankering for a beautiful Scottish lass interfere with his plans.

The safest course was not to touch her at all.

Damn.

While Jake lectured himself, Gillian pushed him down upon the bed, trying to act matter-of-factly, betrayed by the tremble in her hands. When she leaned over him, Jake's erection battled with his brain to take charge of his thinking.

Maybe a little touching wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he could indulge a little. He could stop before it went too far. He was strong. He could handle this.

God, he wanted her to handle him.

As his gaze snagged on the generous swell of her bosom, another question occurred. Perhaps she wasn't as chaste as he assumed. Hell, she'd spied on him when he was naked. An innocent maiden would have run away screaming; Gillian made a most suggestive comment. Too, how did a beautiful young maiden come to learn how to dress a man in Highland garb unless she did a bit of the undressing that went along with it?

Wishful thinking, Delaney?

He didn't know. As much as he'd love to have her here and now, the thought of another man knowing her charms made his gut twist.

Meanwhile, Gillian forged ahead, obviously anxious to put this intimacy behind them. "This is the difficult part. You must fold the unpleated ends across your body, first right, then left, making sure you do not disrupt the pleated part while you're about it."

As she folded, her hands brushed his lower stomach, his hips, his thighs. Jake sucked in a deep breath as his cock swelled even more. Good thing he had his pants on.

"Next the belt." She hesitated, her hands hovering on either side of his waist for the space of a heartbeat before she fastened the leather strap around him. Softly, she said, "Stand up and we'll finish it."

He'd rather pull her down against him and finish it his way.

Jake wanted Gillian Ross. He wanted her with an intensity he'd never felt with another woman. It surprised him, shocked him. Disconcerted him.

He held out his hand for Gillian to help pull him to his feet. Her gaze flicked up, met his. He saw his own feelings of confusion and desire reflected in their depths.

She clasped his hand and tugged. Jake rolled smoothly to his feet, but was slow to release her. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard.

Gillian yanked herself free of him and took a big step back. "The sporran. We need it. I shall bring it." She darted from the room as quickly as Scooter after a bird.

Jake could breathe again.

Alone now, he tugged at the bottom of the skirt that hit him a good two inches above the knees. Funny how naked the garment made him feel even with his pants still on. But then, if he were wearing just the skirt and not these britches that got tighter every time Gillian touched him, wouldn't he be a helluva lot more comfortable? Maybe these Scots had the right idea after all.

"Hell, when in Rome," he muttered, his fingers reaching beneath the tartan.

Jake dropped his pants, then kicked them out of the way. Walking over to the mirror, he braced his hands on his hips and studied his reflection.
Hmm. Never realized my legs were so hairy.

Turning sideways, he took two steps forward, then two back, watching the swing of the skirt. Hell, a good wind would bare him but good. Cool him down, too. Around Gillian, that would come in handy.

The female in question knocked briskly on the door even as she waited into his room. "I have the sporran, Mr. De..."

Her voice trailed off as her gaze dropped to his bare legs.

"Laugh and I'll have to hurt you," Jake warned.

"Oh, my. I see nothing to laugh about. You wear the feileadh mor as if it were made for you."

With the approval in her tone, the tension returned. The air between them all but vibrated. "Gillian, I want—"

She pasted on a cheery smile that looked as fake as her voice sounded false. "Excellent. It's a bonny fold, too. I must say I did a fine job of it, considering I've never worn the belted plaid myself."

"I wondered about that. Just how did you learn to do this?"

Had he not been watching closely, he'd have missed the shadow that crossed her face.

"An old friend taught me."

Suspicious, Jake waited for further explanation, but it wasn't forthcoming. His eyes narrowed. That was a damned strange reaction.

Before he could pursue it, she gestured toward a gilt-edged mirror and spoke in an instructive tone. "Look in the glass. The hard part is done, and now you can adjust the plaid to suit your mood or the weather. Like this," she explained as she pulled the unpleated portion up over his shoulders, her touch brisk and businesslike. "You can wear it for a cloak. You'll like it this style because it is good for keeping warm."