The Trouble With Kilts (The MacLarens of Balmorie) (2 page)

Her hand shot up. "Let me stop you there." The action made her lose her balance briefly, that final shot hitting her. "Because I know where you're going with this. One, it's none of your damn business. And two, I'm down right now, but I'm not out. Okay, Mr. Happy Pants? Don't need you pointing out that I'm not myself. You're the last one who should."

"I am, huh?" he asked, mildly interested.

"Yeah, you are. I've heard all about you too—the way you used to be before the accident."

"It wasn't an accident. It was pretty fucking deliberate."

"You know what I mean." She shrugged out of his jacket, tossed it at his chest, and made for the door, muttering, "I'd rather be inside with all the annoying romantic people."

"Wait."

Fuming, she spun around. "What?"

He stared at her, the moment coming to a standstill. "Never mind."

Riley huffed, rolled her eyes, and marched into the house with all the dignity her wobbly heels would allow.

Chapter 2

Jamie watched Riley's departure. Head held high, she stumbled, let out a squeak, then righted herself, tossed another angry glare over her shoulder—like it was
his
fault she nearly fell—and then disappeared inside the conservatory.

Once she was gone, he released a pent up breath. From the first moment he met her eight days ago, the tension had started. Whenever she was in the same room, whenever they spoke, which was brief, he tensed up as though he was bracing for something that never came. Riley Brooks packed one hell of a wallop, and she had the sexiest bedroom eyes he'd ever seen.

So why the hell had he called her out?

She was right. He was the last person on Earth who had a right to. Hell, he didn't know who he was anymore, so bringing up the fact that she wasn't herself had been hypocritical to say the least.

He turned back to the wall, braced his hands against it, and let out a slow breath. Maybe he gave her a hard time because she was a reflection of himself, like looking into the mirror. It pissed him off to see her so quiet and meek—not that he'd known her before, but the stories her cousins told had made him choke on his drink more than a few times. She wasn't the person he'd expected to meet. She wasn't the same after having her heart blown to smithereens.

And neither was he.

Weird thing was, he was disappointed. He'd been, surprisingly enough, looking forward to meeting Riley and had somehow convinced himself she'd provide some distraction and fun. Putting that kind of responsibility on her wasn't fair. Having any type of expectations at all wasn't fair. And weirder still, he wanted to help her.

It sure as hell wasn't his responsibility, but it was easier to contemplate fixing someone else, than to face fixing himself.

The skin and muscle below his knee ached, the cold seeping in. The fact that he'd been on his feet for hours hadn't helped. He could use a drink to take the edge off. But he'd kept the drinking to a minimum today. The last thing he wanted was to get drunk and fall in front of everyone—a horror he'd gladly avoid. No, he saved the drinking for when he was alone, when no one would see him fall, or throw shit at the wall, or stare below his knee at the leg that should have been there, that felt like it was
still
there.

With another heavy breath, he pushed away from the wall and headed inside to say his goodbyes. He was done for the night.

The conservatory was warm and dark, only a small table lamp near the wide doors that led into the hall. As he crossed the floor, he heard a thud and a soft curse. He stared into the large room that housed a multitude of plants and small trees in pots, and spied a high heel poking out from behind a potted ficus. He approached, coming around the tree and finding Riley lounging in a chair in that amazing dress. Her knees were angled together, her trim calves turned outward and her ankles and toes turned inward. One arm hung over the chair, the other over her head. The breath went out of him. She looked like some pin-up with the hem of the dress riding up her thighs and her hair coming loose from the pile on top of her head.

James swallowed and tried to shake off the sudden, swift rise of attraction. He'd seen her almost every day for eight days now, and during that time, yeah, he'd noticed her—hard not to with all that wavy dark copper hair and those big bedroom eyes, long lashes, and a mouth that turned up smartly at the corners—but he never let himself go there. She had dimples when she smiled, too. But she only seemed to do that when she was with Kate and Lucy, and sometimes Hamish and Fran. Never with him. He was surprised to realize that it bothered him.

"Thought you wanted to be among the romantic people," he said.

Fiery brown eyes opened and a flat expression appeared on her face.

"At least the music is good," he offered as a soulful Highland tune echoed into the room.

She stared up at him for a good, long moment. And, yeah, he supposed he deserved the suspicious look, the scowl, and the guarded tension in her body.

Finally she sat up, leaned forward, and rubbed under the ankle strap of her heel, giving him an unmitigated view of her cleavage. His pulse leapt. The neck of his shirt felt tight, and he pulled at it, clearing his throat.

"What do you want, James?" she asked tiredly.

"Jamie," he corrected. He plowed his fingers through his hair, let out a deep sigh, and then held out his hand. She looked at it like it was a snake. He frowned. "I'm trying to make amends, Riley. We've both had a rough time of it. Shouldn't have called you on it. Not sure why I did. Hey, misery loves company right?" Christ, that sounded lame.

Not happy about it, she slid her hand into his and let him pull her to her feet.

Once she was up, her warm hand in his, standing awfully close and looking at him with those eyes, he didn't want to let go. Not yet. It had been so long since he'd felt good things like this—warmth, softness, the sweet scent of a woman. Feeling like he had nothing to lose, he tugged her hand, pulling her against him.

"Look," she began to argue.

"Just dance with me, Riley." He slipped his free hand around her waist and with the other, pulled her hand up to his chest and held it over his heart. "It's been a while."

She was stiff as a board and it made him smile. He had to admit, he liked getting under skin and throwing her for a loop. It gave him a jolt, a sense of pleasure. It was the little things in life. And it struck him that those were thoughts and feelings the old Jamie would have had. Maybe he hadn't lost as much of himself as he thought he had.

Okay. This was not good. Standing up against James—Jamie—was risky business. She'd been trying to avoid all contact since she'd met him. Of course, being that they were both in the wedding, she'd seen him for nearly every meal and excursion for the last eight days. Eight days of trying not to stare at that face... Eight days of avoiding the small little fantasies that tried to wiggle their way into her brain.

He smelled way too good, so good it made her want to put her mouth on his neck and see if he tasted as good as he smelled. He was tall and sexy and tormented. And so hot it'd take very little effort to light her world on fire. A lethal combination, one Riley knew she should avoid. She had a terrible track record with bad boys. With Mark, though, she'd finally beat her weakness. Mark was refined, professional, and his manners were impeccable—well, accept the whole cheating thing. In that respect his manners sucked.

Jamie bent his head. "You're thinking too hard, New York."

His warm breath on her neck sent shivers skittering along her skin and butterflies loose in her stomach.

Not attracted to Jamie. Not. Attracted. To. Jamie
.

"I don't think this is a good idea," she blurted, leaning back to look at him. The way his brown eyebrows angled over those blue eyes, gave him a predatory look, but the thick eye lashes softened it somehow—a wicked combination. She loved the way his stubble framed his full lips, the way it outlined his jaw, the way his eyes fixed on her with intensity. He was bad all right. And she was drunk. This could only spell trouble.

He rocked slowly to the music. Not really moving, just swaying. "We're just dancing, lass," he murmured, holding her tighter.

Her eyes rolled at the name, at the voice saying it, at the way her body practically sighed with pleasure. Thanks to all those romance novels she and her cousins had read, she was a sucker for hot men with accents, for warriors and heroes, for men who loved as hard as they fought. James MacLaren stood with her in a house whose foundations were over five hundred years old. Five
hundred
. And it had been in his family from the beginning. There were old portraits of his ancestors on the walls. They'd fought in battles for king and country. And James seemed to embody all of that and more.

A small voice inside her head tempted her to just go with it. She angled her head to look at him again. Why not? She was alone now. Single…

As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, James stopped moving. Tension filled the space between them. The room grew hot, and her skin tingled with apprehension.

"You can't look at me like that," he said in a strangled tone. "Stop biting your lip for God's sake."

A flush spread through her body like lightning. Her breath went shallow. "Or what?" Part of her couldn't believe she'd said that, had put out the challenge. In fact, her entire face burned. Jamie wasn't the kind of man to back down from a challenge. He was the kind of man who rose to the occasion, and took challenge to a whole new level.

The way his eyes raked over her, with such potent lust, set fire to her insides. Oh boy.

She wanted this. Wanted him. Wanted so badly, she had visions of shoving him down on the floor, ripping his clothes off, and climbing on top. It was the alcohol. It
had
to be the alcohol.

James cupped her jaw. Riley's heart pounded so hard she could barely hear the music anymore. She licked her lips. He groaned and moved in.

"Riley?" A very familiar masculine voice called from somewhere far off. "Riley, are you out here?"

Chapter 3

As soon as the voice echoed through the conservatory, Riley went ramrod straight and practically leapt out of his arms. Jamie noted the way the blood seemed to drain from her face, leaving her skin pale. Her eyes went round and stunned, and a little dumbfounded. She blinked and then swayed.

He stepped forward and caught her arm. "Whoa. Take it easy."

"Riley, there you are—"

A man drew up short by the potted tree, his sharp eyes taking in the scene. Jamie waited until Riley was steady and then let go of her arm. Kate ran in behind the man, out of breath, and looking shocked, though nowhere near as shocked as Riley. It didn't take much for him to figure out what was going on.

Riley's ex-husband had come calling.

And the bastard had bloody bad timing.

He knew he should excuse himself, but he didn't. He'd heard plenty about the crap Riley had been through and about the man who had ripped out her heart and handed it to her crushed and unwanted. No. He wasn't leaving her alone with this tool.

Dev came up behind Kate and also took stock. His eyes met Jamie's and his brow lifted in suspicion. Jamie mimicked the look back at his brother. None of Dev's business what he and Riley had been up to.

Jamie scrubbed a hand down his face, shaken by what had almost happened, the after-effects of the 'almost' kiss still lingering. And he planned to finish it, too. The ass who'd broken her heart could just hop back on a plane and fly the hell home.

"Riley?" Kate said with concern.

Riley blinked again, her gaze finally focusing. Not on Kate but on her ex. Her mouth went tight. Her shoulders went back. She shook her head as if to clear it. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Everyone looked at Mark. He ignored them all but Riley. "I need to talk to you. Just give me a couple minutes of your time. That's all I'm asking. Please."

No. Don't do it. Boot his ass into the snow
.

He knew by the way her shoulders slacked and her irritated exhale that she'd relented. He wasn't sure if her irritation was because of Mark or because she'd given into his plea. She marched forward, muttering, "Fine", grabbed Mark's arm, and pulled him away.

Jamie turned his attention to Kate. Her emotions ran high--anger, concern, fear all swimming in her eyes. She put her hands on her hips, opened her mouth, shut it, and shook her head. "I can't believe he's here."

"Is she all right alone with him?" Jamie asked.

"Mark isn't violent. He's just an ass who has the superhuman power of making Riley feel this small," she said, pinching her fingers together. "He's the only one I've ever seen who can do that to her. I swear if she lets him back into her life, I'm going to kill her."

A sour taste formed in the back of Jamie's throat. His fists clenched at this sides and a tight sensation spread across his chest. "Would she do that?" he asked.

"I hope not. Riley doesn't take crap from anyone. But Mark… When you love someone it's different," she tried to explain, her shoulder slumping. "That whole 'no one can hurt me without my permission' crap doesn't seem to apply when it involves the one person you give your heart and soul to, your trust to. That person can destroy you, you know?"

Kate leaned against a table by the wall, her eyes on Dev. They were glassy and round, making Dev move forward and pull her into a hug. "The right one would never take what's given and destroy it or belittle it," Dev said. "He's not the right one. Riley knows it. Whether she's admitted it yet or not, she knows it."

Surprise came over Jamie at his brother's words. Who knew Dev was so insightful?