MacLarens of Balmorie 05 - Once Upon A Time In Scotland (3 page)

“Okay,” she said on a long sigh. “That'd be nice.”

When he returned with the water,
Abbie
was out cold with a small smile parked on her face. He set the glass on the bedside table and stared at her for a long moment with regret. T

Abbie
Murphy was too dangerous for the likes of him.

She was sweet, beautiful—and
very
honest when drunk, he thought with a small smile as he tucked the covers around her—and there the sadness that had
shone
in her eyes... Aye, she was dangerous to a man like him. He enjoyed relationships without strings, without getting in too deep and caring too much. He liked to play. He liked the game. But only with those like him. Because he hated hurting anyone, hated to see that look in a woman's eyes when she realized he didn't share the same feelings.

It was easier to steer clear. Easier for both parties.

And he'd become fairly adept at recognizing those who could handle no strings and those who couldn't.

With a heavy sigh, he left the bedroom, locked up the cottage, and left.

Even though he pushed her from his mind several times, she kept coming back, lingering there the entire drive home. He wanted to pursue her. And on one hand it was the perfect situation; she was only in Scotland temporarily and he'd be in the clear when she left. But he couldn't live with himself if she left in tears or, heaven forbid, in love. He'd already seen the sadness in her, already knew she was lonely, and he'd be one hell of a bastard if he took advantage of that.

And though he was loathe to think on it with much depth, the lass made his protective instincts crazy. She'd been hurt and abandoned by a right bloody bastard. And, worse, the man had walked away from his own child. It made Liam furious. His own father had left, just walked out on Liam and his brother, Ross, leaving their mother heartbroken, depressed, and alone to run the household and the family distillery. Any hopes he had of a reconciliation were dashed when his father died a few months later. Granted, he'd been a lad, but he'd been old enough for the experience to change him.

After parking his truck, he headed to his door. The night was cool and the village was completely quiet. Often nights like this brought a sense of rightness and calm, but not tonight. Tonight he was edgy and angry. Hell, he even felt protective for
Abbie's
kid who, at some point in his life, would wonder how his own father could leave him, and question his own worth and—

“
Och
,
dinna
go down that road,” he muttered against old feelings of unworthiness as he unlocked his door and stepped inside.

CHAPTER 3

The next morning,
Abbie
stared at the ceiling, unable to move. Her stomach rolled in uneasy waves and a heavy ache pounded beneath her skull. But worse than that, she remembered every damn word she'd said last night. No, not said. More like blurted out in glorious, unending, humiliating, desperation.

How. Embarrassing.

She might never show her face in
Balmorie
again.

Meeting Liam had done something to her body. Woke it up. Gave her butterflies.

And she'd responded by telling him about her vibrator.

With a groan, she buried her face in her pillow. Yeah. She was never leaving the cottage again.

Which was just as well. She had work to do.

And that's what she'd focus on—work and try like hell to forget her idiotic attempt at drunk flirting.

Her deadline was two months away and she had nothing but a vague storyline and a shaky first chapter. It was the first time in her five-book cozy mystery series that the plot and the characters weren't coming easily. As usual, her intuitive mother had been right when she'd said that the book was a mirror of
Abbie's
life. Her personal life was at a standstill, coasting along with no direction or purpose, and it was affecting her work, her creativity, her motivation.

She hadn't had a break in four years and had been increasingly rundown and unmotivated.

So when Riley went beyond just the week long invitation by suggesting
Abbie
use the cottage for an extended stay,
Abbie
—with much encouragement from her parents—took it, not just for the break it would give her, but in hopes it would inspire her to complete her manuscript.

And once in
Balmorie
, once breathing the fresh air, soaking in the landscape and the utter peace and quiet of her cottage, she realized how much she needed the break and how lucky she was to have parents who, from the very beginning, were so involved in her son's life and so willing and eager to have him all to themselves during her retreat.

She had to get her head on straight and focus.

Her story needed a moment, a launching point to thrust her character into a mystery to be solved. And perhaps a bit of romance was in order, too.

Liam's image popped into her head, namely that killer grin and those eyes that said he knew exactly what to do with a woman...

Ugh!

Her focus and her routine had been just fine up until last night. She'd been in Scotland for two weeks. Every morning she got up, showered, edited her pages from the day before and then used the old bike to go to the castle for breakfast. She loved the little cottage, loved the castle, loved the land, and was enjoying her time away from her life in Virginia.

The last thing she needed were complications of the tall, rugged, accented sort.

Annoyed with herself, she shuffled from the bed to the bathroom, popped a few ibuprofen, and then took a lukewarm shower. After, she brushed her teeth, then twisted her wet hair into a bun, pulled on yoga pants and a stretchy white cotton
cami
and went downstairs to make a pot of coffee.

Once it was brewing, her attention turned to her To-Do list for the day. Edit her pages from the day before, finish getting dressed, eat in—thus avoiding the castle and a potential run-in with Liam—and then take a bike ride up to the spot overlooking the ruins of old Castle
MacLaren
.

Shouldn't be too hard to avoid him... The estate was massive and, like Riley had said last night, Liam worked mainly on the farm and restoring old cottages. Feeling optimistic, she poured a steaming cup of coffee, mixed in her sugar and cream, then leaned against the counter, cradling the hot mug.

The kitchen was bright and cheery with walls of stone and wood and three windows by the kitchen table. There was a cute window over the sink framed with blue curtains, and an African Violet sat on the windowsill. Her favorite thing by far, however, was the brightly painted door that led outside to the drive and the small patio with its walled garden. It was a
dutch
door, which meant she could unlatch the top half and open just that part to let in the fresh country air.

Deciding that was just what she'd do,
Abbie
flipped the latch with one hand and pushed the top half of the door open. Sunlight bathed her face and she closed her eyes to soak in the warmth, breathing in deeply. A shadow fell over her and when she opened her eyes, she looked straight into the eyes of another.

A scream lodged in her throat as she leapt back and dropped her mug on the tile floor.

Shards and hot coffee went everywhere.

There was a man standing at her door, the sun so bright behind him that it created an insidious halo. She couldn't see his face clearly, just the height and width of his shoulders..

A soft curse came out of his mouth, then, “
Och
,
dinna
mean to scare you, lass,” he said quickly. “Stay still.”

He reached over the bottom
dutch
door and grabbed the handle to let himself in. “Hold it!”
Abbie
stepped back while shoving her hand out like some deranged crossing guard. “Look, buddy, I don't know what you think—”

“No, lass, don't step—”

A shard slid into her heel as she stepped down.

“—on the glass,” he finished in a flat tone.

Holy—
Pain! Not good. So not good.

With a hiss, she lifted her foot to see blood drip onto the tile. On one foot, she wobbled, flailing for balance and in danger of taking another step just to keep from falling. The knob clicked. He was inside, filling the small kitchen with broad shoulders and a towering frame. “What
dinna
you understand about stay still?”

Liam. Okay. Crap, it was
Liam
.

A hysterical laugh stuck in her throat. Of course. It had to be him. And he was frowning at her waiting for an answer, which did very little for her disposition. “Well, with the sun behind you, I couldn't see. And you were coming inside...”

Abbie
grabbed onto his bicep for support and regretted the move as the feel of hard muscle flexed beneath her palm. Her thoughts came at her from everywhere. Bits of pottery littered the floor. He'd scared the daylights out of her. Her foot hurt. There was a dreamy Scot in her kitchen. She hadn't put on a bra. And she wasn't sure what to do next.

“Come on then. Let's get you cleaned up.”

Before she could respond, he swept her up in his arms and carried her over to the kitchen counter. She caught his scent. He smelled really, really nice—outdoorsy with a hint of clean skin and shampoo. It made her want to bury her nose in his neck.

She tried to be inconspicuous while breathing in and getting a good whiff.

So nice.

An eyebrow lifted as he stared down at her with a curious expression, and she wondered if she'd been busted. His hand was still around her back, the other under her knees, his body so close... Her heartbeat kicked up a notch.

Apparently her attraction for the sexy Scot also extended to sobriety as well.

Oh God, and now her nipples were hard.

Mortified,
Abbie
crossed her arms over her chest, which only pushed her cleavage to monumental proportions.

Liam's eyes went wide.

With a blink, he cleared his throat, moved his hand to her lower back and shoved her down the counter so that her foot hung over the sink. Then, his big hands gripped her ankle. The palms were roughened by hard work, and they were warm, so warm that a happy shiver stole through her body.

All business now, Liam examined the wound, which didn't hurt as bad as it probably looked.

Ignoring the sting in her heel,
Abbie
indulged in the view, noting the way his unruly hair held a myriad of high and low lights, the way his army tan T-shirt stretched over his shoulders. He had nice arms, defined and muscular. Her mouth went dry and she shifted her attention back to his face. He had a gorgeous, rather noble profile, and she loved the way his hair brushed his ear and curled at the neck. He hadn't shaved, and the rugged look it gave him only added to the picture. And she was pretty sure the fitness and scruff wasn't cultivated, but came by way of long days of hard work.

And
that
was just about the sexiest thing ever.

As if sensing her thorough examination, he lifted his gaze and held hers for a long moment. Was it just her or was the air becoming harder to breathe?

His Adam's apple slid up and down with his swallow. His gaze fell. And landed squarely on her breasts in the thin
cami
. He cleared his throat again and said in a strangled tone, “Better clean them— It. The cut. Better clean the cut...”

“The cut. On my foot,” she repeated, wondering if it was possible for a person to really spontaneously combust.

One corner of his mouth quirked, just the faintest hint of a dimple appearing in the scruff on his cheek. “Aye. Your foot. Clean up your foot.”