The Accidental Scot (17 page)

“I can think of worse ways to while away the rest of the night.” Then a thought hit him. “What about your father? Will he worry?”

“No. I'm sure he's sleeping, and he knows we're working,” she added. “Why don't you get yere pretty arse up and warm the shower water for us.”

“Oh?” Max said. “This night just keeps getting better and better.”

“Aye. Grab some candles from the bedside table while you're at it. In case the lights go out.” She smiled impishly. “I want to inspect that gorgeous body of yours from top to bottom.” She gave him a wicked grin. “Starting on my knees.”

P
ippa woke in the morning with Max wrapped around her, a woman thoroughly spooned, a couple of cozy sardines in the little bed. She was sore in places she'd never been sore before. But in a good way. She'd been well loved last night and in the end, he'd been the one on his knees in the shower, making her see stars. It was the most delicious night of her life.

She should feel guilty about it but there was nothing wrong with indulging herself. Especially since she'd gone into it with her eyes wide-open. She was no longer the naive college freshman. And it'd been forever since she'd gone to bed with someone.

The only thing that did trouble her was the fact that they hadn't gotten around to using protection. During the heat of the moment, it hadn't seemed important. But, now . . .

She put it out of her mind. People had sex all the time and didn't get pregnant. She'd never been careless before and would never be again. No matter how tempting Max was, she would make sure that he was suited up properly whenever they made love for the short time he was here. A pang hit her chest—something to do with him leaving—but she refused to acknowledge it.

Max kissed the top of her head. “Morning,” he said huskily.

“Morning.” She stretched, accidentally hitting him in the chin. “As wonderful as this is, I can't laze around all day. I've got to get to the factory.”

He nibbled at her neck and pulled her back to him. “Play hooky.”

“I can't.” She could feel him getting hard and it thrilled her. Longing jolted through her veins, as if her nerve endings had downed a shot of espresso. Maybe she couldn't skip work, but that didn't mean she couldn't make him suffer a little. She rocked her bum against his groin just for fun.

He moaned and rolled on top of her, his arms outstretched so he wouldn't crush her. “You shouldn't mess with the bull unless you want the horn,” he teased.

“Sir Bull, I'm sore. And late.” She wanted to bask in the playfulness they'd enjoyed all night, but it was the light of day. And she was starting to see things more clearly. “I'm sorry. I have to get out of here.”

“I'm sorry, too.” He lifted a hand so she could scoot out from underneath him.

When she rolled from the bed and stood, she looked back. A blanket of coolness came over her and she shivered—was it from the lack of his body heat . . . or could it be regret?

A worried frown crossed his face as if he was feeling the same thing. “We both better get ready for work. We should probably take one more look at the contract in the light of day, before it gets faxed off to MTech.” He sat up, looking perplexed. He pointed to the space between them. “Are you all right?”

But it seemed that he was really asking if
they
were all right. She couldn't address that right now. Relationships
were tricky things, even casual ones like theirs. And her track record for taking up with two-timing scoundrels was uncanny.

“Grand,” she finally answered, sounding as enthusiastic as if she was signing off on a new sidewalk for the factory.

He put his feet over the side of the bed and pulled the sheet over his midsection as he reached for his boxers.

Awkwardness like a thick fog rolled in and filled the room. What they'd done for the past six hours was irresponsible. Her emotions were turning rawer by the moment, her feelings too new and close to the surface to be comfortable. She wanted to crawl back into his arms to make it go away.

“I better contact Miranda and let her know what's going on,” he said as if to himself.

It was the wrong thing to say. Pippa's anger flared. “Feeling guilty for stepping out on her?”

“Pippa, dammit, you have it all wrong.” He pulled on his boxers and reached for her. Maybe to shake her.

She scooted back toward the opposite wall.

“You're being irrational.”

Maybe. And she hated that he could think straight at a time like this. She was nothing but crazy emotions. But she found some harsh words to bolster herself up.

“Yank, no need to run and confess to Miranda what ye did last night. We were just passing time until the storm let up.”

He stepped nearer. “I won't let you lie to me
or yourself
like that. Last night was . . . was . . .”

She wanted to finish the sentence for him.

Last night was magical.

The best sex I've ever had.

I never want to be another night without you in my bed.

She said none of it. It was stupid to even think. They had been nothing more than a couple of adults having a really good time. She found her underwear and shifted away while she slipped them on. She hadn't been embarrassed by her nudity until now. She grabbed the rest of her clothes—coat, too—and hurried out the door and down the hall to the loo.

She made a plan. She'd head home. She'd dress for work. She would forget that she'd ever had this slipup in the little room over the pub. It wasn't her worst indiscretion, or maybe it was. She shook her head at her stupidity. And also for other things, like blowing off the importance of birth control in the heat of the moment. Max . . . he was the only answer she could come up with. He had a way of making her forget herself.

She opened the loo door and stopped short. Max blocked the doorway with his bare chest, wearing nothing else but his jeans. She had the terrible urge to rub herself up against him like some feline in heat.

He'd just proved her point, and she wouldn't listen to her reckless hormones anymore.

“Move,” she said. “I've got to go.”

Downstairs the door to the pub opened and slammed shut.

“Yank?” Deydie hollered. “Are ye here? Bethia and I came by to see if ye'd survived the storm. We've brought yere breakfast.”

“God, no,” Pippa whispered. “They can't find me here.”

Too late.

“Who've ye got up there with ye?” Deydie hollered.

Weren't old people supposed to be hard of hearing?

Max shrugged. “I'll be right down. I'm not decent.” He brushed Pippa's hair away from her face. “You do what you want to do.”

He pivoted and went back to his room.

Pippa wondered why in the world the upstairs to the pub didn't have a separate entrance. She had no way out.

When Max reappeared, shirted and shoed, he didn't glance in her direction as he made his way down the stairs. “Smells good.”

But when he hit the bottom step, Pippa could hear Deydie light into him. “Ye've got that woman, Miranda, up there, don't ye? I thought she left town yesterday, but it seems you stashed her in your little hidey-hole so ye could have yere way with her. It ain't right, Yank. She's all wrong for ye. Ye need to quit listening to yere pecker.”

Pippa pushed away from the doorway, grabbed the contract from the room as her prop, and went to do the honorable thing—save Max from the women of Gandiegow.

Once she got downstairs, Bethia saw her first. “Oh.”

Deydie glowered at her. “Och, Pippa, what would Ross say?”

Pippa held up the contract. “We were working on the deal between NSV and MTech. We just finished. We're all done.” She gave Max a hard look that said she meant it.
We are done.

Deydie nodded toward her. “And that love bite on yere neck?”

Bethia touched Deydie's arm to quiet her. “Max, we came by for another reason, besides checking on you. Can ye come to Quilting Central later? We're in need of yere help.”

He picked up a scone. “I'll be there shortly.”

Pippa avoided eye contact with Max and the two quilting ladies as she slipped on her coat. “I better get going.” She held the contract up to accentuate her rush.

She fled for the door. Once outside, she breathed a sigh of relief. Everything was going to be okay. She might have been found out, but she'd gotten off easier than expected.

*   *   *

Max watched Pippa's backside as she hustled out the door. It was a damned sexy backside. He'd loved having it pulled up against him this morning.

Deydie made a guttural noise, but Bethia pulled her toward the door.

“We'll leave ye to eat yere breakfast,” Bethia said kindly. “But we'll see you soon?”

“Yes.” Hell, he had nothing else to do.

The women left and he was alone. Maybe Pippa believed it was over, but she was mistaken. They were just getting started.

The thought hit him like a freight train. Yes, they were
just getting started
, because they were perfect together. He was as certain of this as the tide coming in.

He left The Fisherman and headed to Quilting Central. The damage from last night's storm was evident up and down the boardwalk. A good portion of the garlands
hanging on the cottages and businesses had been ripped down. Funny, while the storm had been raging, he'd been at peace with Pippa in his arms. Now, looking out at the calm, almost glassy ocean, everything was unsettled. Even though he knew Pippa would be back in his bed, she'd been damned bristly this morning. How was he going to get her underneath him again?

Deydie hollered to him from outside Quilting Central. “Max, get your arse over here and help me get this garland back up.”

He shook his head as he strolled toward her, remembering his first encounter with the old matriarch. “You really know how to charm a guy.” When he reached her, he gave her a formal bow. “At your service, madam.”

She gave him a hard stare. “Your devil's tongue won't bewitch
me
. And don't think that I've forgotten about ye having Pippa at the pub either. Now grab the other end of this garland, Mr. Christmas, and put it back in place.”

“Good grief,” he muttered at his nickname.

She put her ham-sized hands on her hips.

“Yes, ma'am,” he intoned.

“That's better. If you mind yere p's and q's, ye can stay for lunch after ye get yere chores done for me and Bethia.”

Lucky me.
He was going to pay for being alone with Pippa at the pub. But really, he didn't mind. He liked the quilting ladies.

All morning they kept him so busy, he didn't have time to worry over NSV's chief engineer . . . much.

For lunch, Deydie fixed him a plate of chicken and dumplings and brought it to one of the little café tables.
“Get over here and eat. Ye need to keep up yere strength.”

“More things for me to do later?” he asked.

“We'll see.” She gave him a funny look, as if she knew something he didn't.

*   *   *

While Max ate his chicken and dumplings, Deydie slipped out the front door, dragging Bethia with her.

“What is it?” Bethia whispered. “Ye're yanking me old arms from their sockets.”

“We're off to see the McDonnell
.
”

Bethia glanced back at Quilting Central. “Were we on the list to get him his lunch? His pills won't be due for another two hours.”

“We need to see him while Pippa's still at work,” Deydie said.

“What for?”

“You know.” Deydie didn't enjoy being the bearer of bad news, but it seemed to fall to her more times than it did to others.

Bethia chewed her lip. “Are ye sure this is a good idea? Some might say we're overstepping our bounds.”

“Good Lord, this isn't some metropolis like Inverness where people don't watch out for one another. We're Gandiegow. We take care of our own.”

They hurried down the boardwalk to the house with the red roof and the green door. They didn't knock, knowing the McDonnell wouldn't be able to answer anyway.

Unfortunately, they came face-to-face with Pippa.

Deydie put her hands on her hips. “What are you doing home?”

Pippa frowned right back. “Lunch. And I live here. Why are ye here?”

“Don't be cheeky,” Bethia chided gently.

“I came home to check on Da,” Pippa said. “He hasn't been himself.”

Bethia swiveled back to Deydie, her old friend touching her arm. “Maybe this isn't a good time.”

“No. We'll talk to the McDonnell.” Deydie pointed a hard finger at the lass. “And it won't hurt for ye to hear the truth of it. But not a word from ye.”

“What—” Pippa said.

“Not a word.”

They walked into the den where the McDonnell sat in his wheelchair. He frowned, looking disappointed, like he expected someone else.

“Has Freda been by?” Pippa asked.

Deydie fumed. She'd told the lass to be quiet.

The McDonnell didn't answer his daughter but looked away.

Deydie nudged Pippa to the side so she could come fully into the room. “I said ye could stay, but we're doing the talking.”

“What's this about?” the McDonnell asked.

“It's not exactly a social call,” Bethia hedged. “We're here with a suggestion.”

“Not exactly a suggestion. More like a warning.” Deydie gave Pippa a knowing look. The lass had the good sense to shy away from her hard stare.

The McDonnell's frown grew. “Go on.”

“Deydie and I think ye should open your house up to the Yank,” Bethia said. She was good at coming up with ways to handle things delicately.

The McDonnell's brows came together. “I asked him before but he declined, said he's happy at the pub.”

Deydie barked with derision. “Happy's not the half of it.”

The damned girl elbowed her.

Bethia jumped in. Which was best. She could smooth things over better than a hot iron. “We were thinking it would be best if Max stayed here. He could help Pippa with things around the house.”

Deydie caught Pippa's eye roll and elbowed her back.

Bethia gave Deydie a look that meant she wanted her to behave herself. After seventy years, Deydie was getting tired of that look. Bethia continued with her reasoning. “Max has proved himself right handy at Quilting Central. Hasn't he, Deydie?”