Men in Kilts, Page 4

  Iain immediately stopped chuckling. “Oh, aye,” he agreed quickly as I leaned down to nibble on his hips. “I do. Punish me, love. Punish me now.” And so it was that I found out he was ticklish in one particular spot. I discovered this when I was zerberting him. A zerbert goes by many names, but in my family, it’s the noise made when you place your mouth on a flat, smooth stretch of skin, and blow.

  Let’s pick our minds up out of the gutters, shall we? I said flat , smooth stretch of skin.

  So there I was, merrily zerberting away and whammo! I hit the ticklish spot, leaving poor Iain helpless with laughter, about at the end of his tether. I removed myself from the area in question, kissed the two nearby protuberances, and sat back on my heels, sniffling and wiping back the tears of merriment.

  And I knew, at that moment, if I was not able to spend the rest of my remaining days with Iain, I would go stark, staring mad.

  “The conference ends today,” I tossed out casually, my future with him uppermost on my mind. “When I set this trip up, my plan was to spend a week in the Lake District, then two weeks in other parts of the country. I’m supposed to leave this evening.”

  “Are you, now?” he asked noncommittally as he rubbed at his stubbly jaw.

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I told you last night, it’s a research trip,” I said, suddenly feeling incredibly naked—more naked than just bare-skin naked, naked in a way that I’d never felt before. I was sure he could see right through to my soul as I sat there wanting him, wanting to be with him, wanting to never be parted from him. I shut out the part of my mind that was screaming warnings at me and laid my hand on his chest, right where his heart was beating strongest. He lifted my hand up to kiss my palm.

  “Did you not say you were interested in doing some research in Scotland?” I nodded. “I did.”

  “Well then, if you’d not be minding a change in your plans, you’d be welcome to ride up with me in the morning.”

  “Scotland,” I said, a thrill going through me at the thought of it. Iain and Scotland. Scotland and Iain. Iain in Scotland. Anyway you said it, it sounded perfect to me. “I’ve always wanted to see it. I’ve heard it’s lovely.”

  “Aye, the Highlands are like no other. I live near the Spey Valley—if you’re interested in that area, I’d be pleased to have you stay with me.”

  “I would like that very much. Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?” I hated the awkward, stiff feeling that suddenly came down between us, the feeling that arose between two people when one was not sure of the nature of the other’s intent. I didn’t want to push myself on him if he was just being polite, but I was more than happy to meet him halfway if he truly wanted to continue our relationship, even if it was fated to be only for a short time.

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want you, Kathie.” I leaned down to kiss him and told him I would hold him to his words. He gave me an unfathomable look, and said simply, “I’m counting on that, love.” We missed the first round of panels that morning, but sat together for the remainder. I had to admit my mind wasn’t wholly focused on them what with having Iain so close to me, distracting me whenever our legs or arms would occasionally brush against each other in that casual, but highly erotic, new lover way that made me catch my breath each time it happened. At one panel we sat at the rear of the room, Iain with his arm draped over the back of my chair, his fingers tangled in my hair, gently stroking the nape of my neck. I used the opportunity to lean into him and let my imagination wander. Things were looking very rosy indeed: I would be with Iain for at least the next few days; I would be in Scotland, a place that had long made my heart beat fast with desire; and that evening Iain was taking me to dinner to meet his eldest son, Archie, who lived just outside of Manchester. Yes, things were looking very good indeed, which just goes to show how blinding love at first sight could be.

  “This is very important to me, Iain,” I had said that morning as I tugged a russet colored sweater down over my head. “Meeting your children is the middle-age version of being taken home to meet your parents.” I didn’t finish the thought by telling him that although I wanted to meet his two sons, I also wanted to be sure we didn’t hit them over the head with our fledgling relationship, especially since I had no idea where it was going. It was more important that Iain’s sons slowly be clued in to the fact that their father had a new someone in his life, someone who did not intend on letting him go without a fight.

  I had to sit down on the edge of my bed as the full consequences of that thought hit me. Iain was in the bathroom shaving with the razor I used to shave my legs (and swearing profanely all the while he did so). I sat and stared across the room at a Monet print and examined the thought that glowed like neon in my mind.

  I didn’t want to go home. I wanted to stay with Iain. Permanently . After knowing him for only four days.

  “Well, now I know I’ve lost my mind,” I grumbled, and felt around in my bag for my shoes.

  “What’s that?”

  “Hmm? Oh, nothing, I just said that it’s important to do these things right.

  Slow and easy, that’s the key, without ruffling anyone’s feathers. I don’t want Archie to see me as a threat to his relationship to you.” Iain looked at me curiously. “And why should he be doing that, then?”

  “He’s an adult child. Adult children can find it difficult to accept that their parents have… well, you know.”

  “A girlfriend?”

  I snorted. I hated that term. “Hardly that.”

  He gave me a lazy, lazy grin. “A lover?”

  “Yes, well, I don’t think we ought to be using that word in front of your son.”

  “Do you think he won’t guess?”

  “Certainly not. We shall be most circumspect and dignified. He will see that we are friends, merely friends. Surely you have women friends?”

  “Aye, I do.”

  And suddenly, I hated each and every one of them.

  “There you are,” I said in a light and completely false tone. “There’s no reason for Archie to suspect we have anything other than a mild regard for each other.” Iain gave me a disbelieving look, but didn’t say anything more. I was determined to hold on to my self-control, no matter how much I wanted to run my tongue around the various nooks and crannies that made up the glorious land of Iain… but no, self-control didn’t allow for tongues mapping out terrain, no matter how enticing said terrain was.

  As I checked out of my hotel later that day and stored my luggage, I mused on the best way to appear friendly but not threatening to Archie. As I made my way an hour later to our rendezvous point at a nearby square, I wrote amusing little snippets of dialogue in my head in which I charmed the pants off Archie, and had him begging me to stay and keep his father from the solitary, lonely life he led. As I strolled across the square to where Iain stood, I mentally rehearsed the dignified greeting I would make upon meeting his son.

  Iain was alone, standing by a bench watching the squirrels panhandle a young couple nearby. I gave the couple a swift look. They were talking intently with each other, oblivious to anyone else. There were no other people in the immediate vicinity, so I speeded up my approach, and with a leap that would do a long jumper proud, flung myself into Iain’s arms.

  I kissed his cheeks, his ears, and his neck. I nibbled on his nose, I sucked on his lower lip, and I bit his chin. I ran my hands over every part of him that I could reach. “I’m so glad to see you,” I whispered. “It’s been so long. I’ve missed you terribly.”

  Two hours is a long time when you’re over your ears in love.

  Iain didn’t answer. He was too busy kissing, nibbling, and biting me back. He also tactilely checked my person to make sure everything was where he had left it.

  “Thank god Archie’s not here yet,” I murmured into his ear, and sighed happily when he turned his attention to kissing me properly.

  Two minutes later, just as I was about to pass out from lack of oxyg
en, Iain broke off the kiss. “He is here, love.”

  Lips. Iain had such lovely, lovely lips. More than anything, I wanted those lips to… “He’s what ?”

  He lifted his head and looked over toward the young couple.

  Oh, my god, not…

  “Archie, come and meet Kathie.”

  There are few words to describe my feelings at the moment Iain invited his eldest son to meet the woman who had, mere moments before, been hanging off his lips, but mortified and please let the earth open up and swallow me, I couldn‘t possibly be more embarrassed than I am now were pretty darn close. Poise and dignity went right down the toilet.

  For one wild moment I cherished the hope that Archie hadn’t seen me playing a round of Tongue Spelunker with his father, but one look at his tight jaw and furious eyes told me he had. Damn.

  “Archie, Susan, this is Kathie. She writes books. Love, this is Archie and Susan.”

  Archie looked for a moment like he was going to refuse to shake my hand, but struggling manfully, he managed to do so without actually shuddering or wiping his hand off afterward. He even went so far as to wave Susan forward to greet me. I gathered they were an item, although it was difficult to tell since Susan uttered only three words to us the entire evening. The rest of her time was spent in nodding to whatever Archie said. Think of a British, blond, female version of Al Gore nodding away behind Clinton, and you get a good picture of Susan.

  “It’s nice to meet you both,” I lied through my teeth, trying to avoid the daggers Archie’s hazel eyes were shooting at me. “Very nice.” I looked at Iain. He beamed at me, then at Archie.

  “Well then, let’s be on our way,” he said, taking my hand in his. I loved holding his hand, it was so big and warm and he had fascinating, expressive fingers. I squeezed them in a silent SOS call. He squeezed back and turned toward the parking lot. “I hope the restaurant isn’t too far, lad. We have to be off early in the morning. Kathie’s coming with me up to the farm,” he tossed over his shoulder. I glanced back at Archie. I was lucky looks couldn’t actually kill.

  We managed to make it to a nearby Chinese restaurant without anyone openly declaring war, but I knew Archie was stockpiling missiles and aiming them directly at me. I reminded myself that although I wasn’t old enough to be his mother (he was ten years younger than me), I was old enough to act mature and not lower myself to his level of surly snarls and peevish pouts.

  “He doesn’t like me,” I told Iain as we were following Archie’s car to the restaurant.

  “He’s not the expressive type, love,” Iain tried to reassure me. “He likes you, he just doesn’t say much.”

  I wasn’t having any of it. “Oh, he’s expressive enough. I’m just thankful his expressions have been confined to nasty looks and nothing else.”

  “It’s just that you took him by surprise,” Iain explained as we turned into a crowded parking lot. “I should have thought to mention I’d have you with me.

  Don’t worry, love, he’ll warm up to you.”

  I didn’t say anything to that—what could I say? Iain, I’ve known you four days now and I’d like you to disown your son because he hates me! Hardly likely. I crossed my fingers that Iain was right and Archie was merely slow to take to people, and followed him into the restaurant.

  This was one time my fingers let me down. Iain was initially bewildered, but quickly became angered by his son’s continued rude behavior. Only Susan of the Nods kept him from saying anything about it to Archie. It was obvious that Archie resented my presence; he spent a good deal of the evening pointedly telling Susan what wonderful times he had growing up with his family.

  “When I was younger, Dad and David and I would go up to Loch Ness every summer and go fishing,” he stated with an accusatory glare at me. I shrugged to show I wasn’t going to contest his childhood memories. “Just the three of us.

  We had a great time fishing and sleeping in a tent and going for rambles, with no one around to disturb us.”

  “Oh, surely you must have seen Nessie just once over all of those years spent rambling the loch?” I asked archly, instantly regretting my words when Archie bristled at my interruption.

  “Only the daft and witless believe that load of rubbish,” he sneered. “But what can you expect from an American, someone who wouldn’t know her own arse from her elbow.”

  “That’s enough, lad,” Iain rumbled next to me, sending Archie a warning glance that had him biting off whatever else it was he had planned to say to me.

  I put my hand on Iain’s and gave it another squeeze, this time apologetic. He smiled in response. Archie’s glare grew blacker.

  When Susan and I made the obligatory “Who’d dream of going by herself?” paired trip to the ladies’ room, I tried to ask her about Archie, but she replied in monosyllabic answers and spent most of the time staring at me. I checked for anything unsightly hanging out of the available orifices, looked to make sure the back of my dress wasn’t tucked up into my underwear, and finally conducted a quick examination for any sudden growths that might have popped up since I last looked in the mirror. In the end, I settled for staring back at her. At least it made her stop looking at me as if I had a nipple sprouting out of my forehead.

  “Subtlety is not Archie’s strong suit, is it?” I asked her on the way back to the table.

  She was behind me, but I could feel her stare anyway. I sighed, smiled at Iain when he held out my chair for me, and, digging deep, managed to find the intestinal fortitude needed to sit through several hundred mind-numbingly sweet stories of how blissful Archie’s childhood was and how close his family was, but when he started in on how much his mother suffered after she and Iain divorced, I was furious. Although Archie was aiming his blows at me, his father was taking the beating. And that I wasn’t going to stand for.

  “It’s difficult to blame the breakup of something so complex as a marriage on any one individual,” I commented sagely when Iain, with a clear look of warning at his son, excused himself to spend a penny. “I assume you were only a child when your parents broke up. I doubt if you were able to understand all of the stresses that drove Iain and your mother apart.”

  “Oh, I know what drove them apart,” Archie sneered at me. Susan fidgeted with her napkin and looked worried. “It was another person, wasn’t it? A love triangle, they call it. You’d probably know, you’ve got the look about you of just the sort of woman who enjoys breaking up a happy marriage.”

  “Your father is not married now,” I pointed out through gritted teeth, ignoring his insult. “What he does is of no concern to anyone but himself.”

  “It’s my business to see my dad happy,” Archie snarled.

  I opened my mouth to protest, but a deep voice from behind beat me to it.

  “If that’s the case, lad, you’d best be keeping a civil tongue in your head.” Iain returned to his chair and gave me a questioning look. I smiled and pinched his thigh.

  We made it through the meal, but Iain was clearly angry and edgy. I was annoyed and frustrated, but too new and uncertain with the relationship to say anything more to Archie. A good part of the problem lay in the fact that I was riddled with doubts and questions about our future, questions like Where was the relationship going? Did Iain really like me/love me/worship the ground I walked on, or was he just using me? Was I being mocked and didn’t know it?

  Was he serious? Was I serious? Where could I find a big two by four to wallop his smart-ass son?

  The doubts were pummeling me left and right. I wanted to face down Archie, but I didn’t feel I had that right. Iain, I was sure, wanted to say something to his son, but he was too much of a gentleman to start an argument in front of two women. So we all sat and seethed, with the exception of Susan, who kept her eyes glued on my forehead and nodded whenever Archie paused for breath, which wasn’t very often.

  After the dinner, Susan and I stood with Archie the Terrible in front of the restaurant while Iain went to fetch his car. We had planned to str
oll around Manchester’s Chinatown, but things were just too uptight, what with Archie making snide remarks under his breath, and me working in a dig whenever I thought Iain wasn’t listening, so we decided to go our separate ways instead, Iain and I returning to his hotel, and Archie and Susan going off to their flat.

  While Iain was gone Archie sidled over close to me, smirked, and let me have it with both barrels. “I’m not blind like my dad, Kathie. I know the look of a slut when I see one, but you needn’t worry I’ll say anything to Dad about you. I’m sure you’ll be out of his life and flat on your back for the next bloke in a few days.”

  I was so stunned by the venom in his voice that I didn’t even rally my wits enough to smack him. I just blinked and felt my stomach contract into a ball the size of a walnut, wanting more than nothing else to cry at his meanness. I couldn’t believe he was cruel enough to say something so vicious to me; couldn’t believe that someone related to a man with whom I was now madly in love could be so cold and callous. I suspected Archie was lashing out at me because of problems in his relationship with his father, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. Truthfully, it hurt worse because I felt incredibly guilty about the speed with which I’d jumped Iain’s bones, not to mention the strength of my emotions for him, and now I had proof that my actions had adversely affected someone else.

  I had never jumped into a relationship so fast before; maybe I was acting like a slut. Nice women just simply don’t throw themselves into bed with a man they just met, right? Perhaps Archie wasn’t so far off the mark as first imagined.

  Maybe I wasn’t as blameless as I had thought. Not only had I jumped into bed with Iain after only a few days’ acquaintance, now I was planning to visit him for at least a week—possibly longer. I hoped longer. And all that after only one night together? Perhaps what I was doing was wrong. That horrible thought struck me just as Iain arrived, only just keeping me from bursting into tears right there in front of Kwokman’s.

  Instead I turned on the waterworks in his car. Iain, poor man, was at a loss. He didn’t know why I was bawling my eyes out, but he was driving in the middle of Chinatown, a very popular and populated area of Manchester, and couldn’t find a spot to stop and figure out what the problem was.