The Great Scot (9 page)

“Erin,” the crew leader pleaded.

She tore her gaze off Dylan's muscled backside and shot the young man a quick, placating smile. “Just give me a few minutes,” she said, loudly enough for Dylan to hear, but as she hurried to keep up with his long-legged strides, she made a hand motion behind her back for the crew to continue on after she and Dylan were gone.

From the looks of things, they were well behind the new pre-production schedule. Somehow she suspected Dylan was likely at least partially responsible for that. If word got back to Tommy, her ass would be chewed into tiny little leprechaun bits. It was exactly what she'd promised him wouldn't happen. What Dylan had also promised her he wouldn't let happen. Which was the first thing she planned on reminding him about. Just as soon as she got him away from the house.

She caught up to him at the top of the central staircase. “Would it be okay if we took a short drive?”

“A drive?” He stopped and looked back at her. “Why? Where?”

She managed a light laugh and placed her hand on his arm. Big mistake. It was like touching a live wire with a wet hand. It took considerable control not to jump at the jolt it delivered straight to her libido. “Don't worry, I'm not kidnapping you.” Although the images that scenario sent springing to mind didn't help matters any.

“I dinnae feel comfortable leaving here just now.” His tone was tight, his voice deeper even than usual, his accent more pronounced.

“You signed the agreement,” she reminded him as gently as possible. “You're not even supposed to be in this part of the house.”

“Something I'm regretting with every passing second.”

“We agreed to return everything to its original state or better. Why can't you trust me on that?”

“Agreeing is one thing. Seeing with my own eyes the havoc they're wreaking is making me less than confident of yer claims.”

“I can assure you your fears are unfounded. And you'll be far less stressed out about it if you'd just stay in your part of the house like you agreed to. You know, it's not too late to let us put you up in town. The hotel is booked and frankly overrun with crew anyway, but we have a few private homes lined up for overflow—or maybe you could stay with one of your brothers.”

Another worker banged up the stairs just then, a ladder balanced on his back, forcing Dylan to pull Erin closer as he backed up to allow the man to pass. “Come on,” he commanded. “We'll discuss this downstairs. I have an office, we'll talk there.”

Erin was momentarily incapable of speech. Dylan's hands were on her again, his chest was brushing up against hers, and she could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek. If she tipped her head back and lifted up on her tiptoes, her lips would brush across his chin, so close to his mouth, so close to—“I—I need you to show me something,” she blurted, self-preservation mercifully kicking in. She quickly untangled herself from his grasp. “My car is just out back. It won't take long, I promise.”

He cocked one brow and didn't budge one inch. “What could I possibly have to show you? I'm no' a fool, Ms. MacGregor. You're wanting me off my property so your crews can finish their systematic demolition of my home.”

“Partly,” she said, thinking that, where Dylan was concerned, she might get farther by just being frank. “But I do really need your help. We can go over exactly what they're doing and why, and what kind of processes we use to restore things on the drive. And please, by now, it's Erin.” He'd only used her first name once before. Two days ago, standing on a paint-spattered drop cloth. She remembered it quite clearly, the sound of her name on his lips. Foolish really. But if they were going to get through this, it was silly to continue to stand on business formalities.

And if he was at all swayed by her polished little speech, his autocratic features didn't reveal it.

“We won't be gone long,” she promised. “Come on. Give me an hour. You'll be back bullying the crew and disrupting everything in no time, promise.”

“This isn't a joke to me, Erin.”

She wasn't sure which thing got to her most. The implacable tone, or the way he said her name. Even spoken so sharply, just like last time, it did something funny to her insides. Maybe strictly business-like wasn't such a bad idea. It was that damned accent. Made everything sound sexy. “It's not a joke to me, either,” she told him, as serious now as he was. “And I know this isn't easy to watch. It never is. I tried to get you to bunk elsewhere. Now you know why. There's nothing else I can say that I haven't already. But Glenshire has weathered far worse battles than this, I'd wager.”

“Except, in the past she's typically been attacked from without. Not from within. Some of the walls they are so handily drilling and hammering were last restored over a hundred years ago. It's no' always a matter of putting up a new bit of plaster, ye ken?”

“I understand, I do.” Just as she understood that no amount of arguing or haranguing on his part was going to alter the crew's course of action. There was no turning back now. She had a legally binding agreement backing her up, and Dylan was quite well educated enough to realize that, too. He was just trying to bully his way past it. And her.

It wasn't going to work. This season's cast was due to arrive in seventy-two hours, with filming slated to start the following Monday. From what little she'd witnessed, it looked as if they'd need twice that long to get the place into shape. “We have a contract,” she said quietly. “You can't stop things now, Dylan.”

She'd used his given name intentionally, hoping to create a sense of camaraderie, remind him he supposedly trusted her. The result was that his gaze settled exclusively and quite intently on her. If she wasn't completely mistaken, he seemed as caught off guard hearing her speak his name as she'd been in hearing him speak her own. Of course that was complete and utter nonsense, but still…when he looked at her like that, well, it made utter nonsense seem a lot less…nonsensical.

But the way he was looking at her made her skin heat up and muscles tighten in the most interesting places. “In addition to being your communication director, I still have a job to do.” His pupils expanded and she swore she could feel heat emanating from him, too. “I—I really could use your help.” She paused to clear her suddenly dry throat. “Could you spare me a few hours of your time?”

“Hours?” That got both of those dark eyebrows arching.

She didn't dare tug his arm and forcibly try and move him down the stairs. She didn't dare touch him at all. She was straddling a dangerous line between frankness…and awareness. So she started moving down the stairs on her own and prayed he followed her. “One or two is all I need, promise.”

“You're quite free with your promises.”

She knew from the proximity of his voice that he was right behind her. It was as alarming as it was relieving. She didn't even want to think about trying to control her reaction to him in the confines of her tiny rental car. “I don't make them if I can't keep them,” she tossed over her shoulder, wishing she felt as casual as she sounded.

“That remains to be seen.”

She ducked under another ladder and stepped over a dropcloth, winding her way toward the rear of the house. “My car is right over there,” she said as they stepped outside.

“We'll take mine.”

She turned to find him striding off toward a detached stone building. She had to hurry to keep up with him. “You don't have to do that. I don't mind driving, and that way you don't have to waste gas.”

He was already bending to the task of manually hauling up the garage door, which didn't budge easily. He had to put some muscle into it, every ripple of which Erin quite shamelessly observed.

He grunted as he dragged the paneled door upward. “Might as well make something positive out of this debacle.”

Erin didn't argue further. If it got them out of there, she would ride on a hay wagon pulled by mules. Still, no one was more surprised than she was when he lifted the door to reveal a sleekly stunning, midnight blue Jaguar convertible. “Wow.”

Dylan propped his hands on his hips. “I know,” he said, without the least bit of smugness. “That's exactly what I said when I first laid eyes on her.” He brushed at the dust with his sleeve and plucked at a few leaves that had blown in. “Hullo, darling, missed me, have you?”

Erin did a double take. The man scowled more often than not, and any humor she'd ascribe to him would be sardonic at best. At no time had she ever thought him capable of that low, purring tone. She instantly folded her arms across her chest. “I take it you don't drive her much?”

“No. With all the work here, I take the lorry, as I'm usually hauling things about. Hasn't been much reason to do any pleasure cruising for…well, for longer than I care to admit.”

In her experience, he was either direct, defensive, or wary. And always commanding. So it caught at her, that thread of vulnerability in his tone. “Was this the car you drove when you lived in the city?”

“One of them, aye.” He answered almost absently, his attention more on the car as he continued to pluck leaves and brush off the fine layer of dust. “'Tis the only one I kept.”

She didn't know what to make of him now. He was less Great Scot, and more…normal. And all the more appealing. She walked around the other side of the car. The more room she could put between them the better. “Can we put the top down?”

When he didn't immediately answer she looked up to find him studying her, rather than his beloved sports car.

“What?” she asked, trying not to fidget under his steady regard. “I just thought you could use a little fun, that's all. I figured you bought a convertible for a reason, so we might as well, right?”

“Aye,” he said, but he made no move to get into the car or take the top off, or anything else for that matter. “What exactly is it you need my help with?”

She really wanted to be on the road and some distance away from the house before she answered that, but his implacable expression forced her to opt out of that little plan. He'd been lethal enough to her libido when barefoot, wearing paint-spattered jeans. Standing there all intense and enigmatic, framed by his prowling roadster, only intensified things. If that were possible. She smiled. And kept her arms crossed firmly in front of her. “Fantasy dates.”

To her amazement and delight, his lips twitched into a hint of a smile, and a bit of a sparkle finally entered those dark gray eyes of his. “I should know by now to expect only the unexpected from you.” He slid into the car and reached across the seat to pop her door open, then released the locks on the canvas top and swiftly tucked it away in the space provided behind their seats. A second later the engine purred to life. Apparently living in the middle of nowhere had its perks. He'd left the key dangling in the ignition.

“Are you coming?”

Loaded question
, she thought, then quickly tucked herself into the low slung passenger seat before he changed his mind, or took off without her. She buckled in and slid her sunglasses on.

“Fantasy dates,” he repeated as he eased the car out of the garage.

She risked a glance at him. He wasn't exactly smiling, but there was a distinct air of amusement about him. “Yes.”

“A little fun, indeed,” he murmured.

Any reply she might have made was lost on her sudden gasp as he floored the gas pedal and sent the little sports car rocketing down the rear drive. When she looked at him again, he was grinning. And a fiercer thing she'd never witnessed in her entire life.

Dear God, she'd unleashed a monster.

I
t felt impossibly good to have the warmth of the sun on his face, the wind snatching at his hair, the open road in front of him. It had been a long time, far too long, since he'd indulged in spending even a minute's worth of time on something as frivolous as racing his car through the countryside. Longer still since he'd had company by his side.

Of course, only a fool would believe this was anything other than a business meeting dressed up as a spontaneous outing. Erin's claim that she needed his help was merely a sham to get him away from her people. What she might not have factored in was that he also had her away from her people now. He might have relinquished some of his power over Glenshire, but Erin and the entire production staff would soon learn that he wasn't going to simply turn a blind eye. They might have him contractually bound, but he planned to use every advantage he did have, and push for whatever more he might claim.

Now that he had Erin's undivided attention, he had every intention of making her understand why he should personally oversee the work they were doing. In this case, there was no better restoration consultant than him. But as Glenshire receded quickly from view, he found himself in no immediate hurry to bring it up. Instead, he let the chaos he'd left behind stay behind him and allowed himself a few moments to enjoy the fleeting sense of freedom. It would all bloody well be there waiting for him when he got back.

His thoughts wandered instead to his road trip companion. From the few conversations they'd had over the past couple of days, it was clear she knew a great deal more about him than he knew about her. Which wasn't saying much, since, other than knowing her name and what she did for a living, he knew pretty much nothing. Of course, what she knew of him was mostly information that had been filtered through either his brothers or the villagers, and therefore probably a bit skewed. Then again, in their brief acquaintance, she'd proven herself to be disconcertingly perceptive where he was concerned. It surprised him to discover he was somewhat curious about what conclusions she'd drawn, between the village gossip and their personal interaction.

“So, what exactly is a fantasy date?” he asked, choosing a far safer topic. She'd invaded quite a bit of his personal space. Maybe it was time to turn the tables a little. See how she felt being the focus of the conversation. Not that he personally cared to know more about her, of course. It was merely defensive strategy. “And whose fantasy is it? His? Hers?” He paused a moment. “Yours?” He risked a brief glance her way before returning his attention to the winding mountain road.

The car hugged the curves like a woman reunited with her long lost lover…and he was willing to let that embrace continue for as long as he could manage it. God, this felt bloody fantastic. Erin wasn't looking particularly alarmed by the speed with which he was tackling the mountain track, but she did look somewhat surprised by his conversational gambit.

His lips curved a little. Good. He hated being so predictable. “I'm assuming this is something to do with your Prince Charming and his ever-so-lucky brides-to-be?”

“What makes you say it like that?” With the top down, she had to raise her voice a little, but it carried easily through the sound of the wind. But then, she was direct in everything she did.

He rather liked that about her. Or admired the trait, anyway. They were business partners at best, so it didn't much matter what he thought of her outside that arrangement. It's not like he'd demanded she be his liaison because of any personal interest he was entertaining. He'd only insisted on dealing with her to exact some sort of compromise from her personally. Seeing as it was her discovery of Glenbuie, and by extension, Glenshire, that had turned his life upside down, it seemed only fair to shake hers up a little, too.

“Well, I can see the attraction from Prince Charming's perspective,” Dylan said, downshifting as the sports car took a particularly tight turn. “What man would turn down the chance to wine and dine a dozen beautiful women?”

Erin surprised him by laughing. “You, I'm betting.”

Again, her insight, even if she were joking, was a little disconcerting. He'd do well not to underestimate her. “Perhaps. Then again, at a different time in my life, I might have taken the chance.” Realizing he'd handed her an opening into his personal life, he quickly added, “But I simply meant he doesn't exactly have the tough assignment. The women all have to compete for the attention of one man, whereas all he has to do is pick the one he fancies most out of the pack.”

“Since when have you become a student of reality television dating shows?” she teased.

“Since they took over my life. Literally.”

She smiled, nodded. “Fair enough. Well, the guy usually thinks like you do, that it'll be easy. Trust me, he'll learn very quickly that he has the harder job by far.”

“How so? Because he has to be the bad guy and eliminate the other eleven? The women know going in that only one will be chosen, right? They're all adults. They might be upset at having their telly time cut short, but surely none of them are personally devastated by his rejection? They can't possibly know him well enough to have their hearts truly broken.”

“You'd be surprised.”

“I doubt it. But go ahead, illuminate things for me.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw her shift in her seat to give him her full attention. And it surprised him to realize he wasn't just making small talk. Not that he gave two wanks about some ridiculous American program, but he found he was interested in hearing what she had to say on the matter.

“The show might seem unrealistic in terms of developing a true and lasting relationship because the dynamics are so out of the normal realm. And yes, the fact that there are cameras recording their every snip of dialogue and every action and reaction can make some of them behave less than naturally, but trust me, that all goes away pretty quickly. It's one of the reasons we mount so many cameras, so as to have as few visible production people present as possible.”

“To enhance that false sense of intimacy.”

“Partly false. Sure, they are being put up in a fancy place, with no jobs to worry about, no bills to pay, and their only focus being developing a relationship with each other. In that way, it's not reality. But the flip side of that is that they are all living under the same roof for an extended period of time, with no other distractions. They will all spend an enormous amount of time together, so naturally things can and do move along at an accelerated pace. The intimacy factor is quite real.”

“I still say he has the royal flush. A bloke stuck in a manor home with nothing better to do but let twelve lovelies dote on his every word? Nay, my heart isna bleedin' for him.”

She snorted. “Men.”

He had to fight the urge to laugh. “I imagine he might have to contend with one or two cat fights along the way, though. A dozen birds on a mission to land one lucky lad is just asking for trouble.”

“I'd love to argue that point with you, but unfortunately I can't. You are right about that. The boxed in atmosphere does tend to enhance the competitive natures of some of the contestants.”

“Only natural. But do they want to win for the sake of the win? What if they get to know the guy and aren't interested in him? Can they opt out?”

“Yes, they can, of course.”

He glanced her way. “Aye, but do they? That's my question.” He watched her shift in her seat. “No, they don't, I'll wager. It becomes something of a sport then, or about ego and pride. Because everyone back home is watching. So it's no' all quite the storybook affair you're painting it to be.”

“Not for all of them it's not, no,” she answered honestly, “but the point I was making was that it does end up being exactly that for our prince and the woman he falls for…and who falls for him.”

“What with all the fighting and bitching going on, and the cameras going every second of every day, and them being flung into these over-the-top romantic fantasy dates or what not…I don't see where anything real can come of it. Are ye tellin' me he really falls for her? Or for the illusion of this great romance he's been presented with, with none of those pesky real world complications that will come along shortly after? It's more fantasy than reality, it has to be.”

“When you spend that many hours with someone, even a group of someones, you're going to get to know them far more quickly, and far more intimately—and I'm not talking physically, per se—than you would in a regular, real-world dating situation. In those cases, you're usually showing the best of yourself, being on your best date behavior, at least until you decide if a relationship is going to develop, then you let down your walls a bit, let the real you shine through. These couples might be given a reprieve from the day to day, real world issues other couples have to contend with, but being that they're around each other all the time, the whole ‘date behavior' thing vanishes far more quickly. No one can keep up that front twenty-four/seven, no matter how hard they try. You get to see the real person beneath the perfectly applied date makeup, the perfect date hair, and the perfect date clothes pretty much right off.”

“Then it's more a miracle that he chooses any of them, in that case.”

She pretended to swat his arm. “Very funny. Trust me, they get to see the real him, too.”

“Sounds like they're all in for it, then.”

“They are. Why do you think it makes such fascinating television? And you're right, it's not easy for the women to be in a situation where they're all competing for the attention and hopeful affections of one man. And yes, some of their reasons for being there are less than altruistic, or become less so as the contest progresses and their competitive natures kick in. But, in general, for the ones that truly become involved anyway, they're more equipped to better handle the situation than the guy is.”

“You mean they're far more willing to strap on the old ball and chain than he is. Not exactly a shocking bit of news there, now is it?”

“So cynical,” she chided.

“Just realistic.”

“Then you'd be surprised to know it's quite the opposite.”

Dylan glanced over at her. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Which just proves my point.”

“You're saying these Prince Charmings of yours are really in a mad rush to tie themselves down to just one lass?”

“Men apply for the show because they're ready to settle down, and most of them actually mean it. But they all tend to think like you do, which, broad generalization here, is typical of the breed standard.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“You're welcome,” she said with exaggerated sweetness and a bat of eyelashes.

His lips curved again, and he realized he was actually enjoying himself. She was a piece of work, Erin MacGregor was. Certainly not like any of the local lasses, this Yank.

“In that respect, you're right, they come on the show thinking, ‘All these gorgeous women are here for me? Woo hoo! Score!'”

“Aye,” he said, nodding. “My point exactly. And why not? 'Tis true, is it no'?” He caught her smug grin from the corner of his eye.

“It can be, and I'm not saying they're against the idea that something long term could come from the adventure, either,” she told him, “but more often than not, they really believe that regardless of how things go, they're in full control, calling all the shots. That they'll decide if and when they want to feel something for someone.” She shook her head. “And they never see it coming. Until it's too late, of course.”

“You're saying he always falls then?”

“That's exactly what I'm saying.”

“Well, assuming you've hand picked the lot of them based on his taste, it's no' surprising he'll find himself attracted to some of them.”

“I'm not talking about attraction. Of course there is attraction, usually with more than one of the women. We do carefully select the contestants hoping for exactly those kinds of sparks to fly.”

“So you're saying the poor bloke actually loses his heart then? Wants the commitment, the whole ball of wax? After such a short run?”

“Why is that so hard to believe?” She said it more rhetorically, as if asking all men to respond, but Dylan took it upon himself to be Everyman.

“Falling in lust, that I can see,” he said. “But under such a contrived situation, it just seems as if they might mean well, and even think they're madly in love, but surely when the cameras stop rolling and they reenter the land of the living, breathing, normal lot of us, they come to their senses and realize it was all a kind of emotional illusion. Rather like a holiday fling then, isn't it? Those don't tend to hold up under the harsh examination of real world pressures and stresses.”

She laughed. “Says the man who lives in an ancestral mansion on the outskirts of nowhere.”

He nodded readily, enjoying her easy directness. Too many people had tiptoed around him for too long, which he'd have said he didn't care one way or the other about. But this felt good. Almost too good. “Touché,” he said, his quick concession surprising her, if her raised eyebrows were any indication. “But I was a city lad for a long period of time. I think I know whereof I speak.”