Chapter Fifteen
Ian fought a losing battle. He had tried pretending Bella was nothing more than an old friend, perhaps a favored cousin. Nothing worked. All he could think about was getting her naked and into his bed.
Serving as tour guide at the castle had tested his patience. She was so damned passionate and adorable when she got excited about history. The more questions she asked, the more he tried to entertain her. And in between, he fought the urge to snatch her up and kiss her senseless.
There had even been a split second in the chapel when he flashed on an image of him sliding a ring on Bella’s finger. Holy hell. Where had that come from?
His torture had started with her skimpy running clothes at breakfast, escalated at the sight of her amazing body in the simple black dress, and reached full tilt while escorting her around the romantic castle.
He needed a break. He needed to clear his head. He needed to get away from her. ASAP.
“Shall I call a cab?” he asked, his voice hoarse and raspy.
Bella beamed. “Oh, no. Let’s walk again. I love this city.”
The torture continued.
As they made their way down the Royal Mile, Bella was drawn to one after another of the charming shops along the way. She bought gifts for Finley and McKenzie and a couple of smaller remembrances for girlfriends back in North Carolina. But soon, she stopped abruptly in front of a bay window with an elaborate collection of jewelry on display.
The placard, lettered in calligraphy, “Pieces Inspired by the Outlander Series.”
“We can go inside, if you want to,” he said, resigning himself to another half hour of cooling his heels.
Bella shook her head wistfully. “No. I hardly ever go anywhere I’d wear something that fancy.”
“What’s with all the amber?” he asked.
She looked at him as if his IQ was in question. “The second book is called Dragonfly in Amber. I thought everybody in Scotland knew that.”
He held up his hands. “Sorry. A bit outside my scope. I’m more of a Grisham fan. Or Stephen King.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing.”
He grinned inwardly. She was miffed and insulted. The truth was, he was trying to get a rise out of her. He had read the first three Outlander books a year ago on the recommendation of a friend and found them fascinating. Not entirely his cup of tea, but impressive nevertheless. As a Scotsman, he’d been drawn in by the story and curious to see where the author would go next.
He tapped her arm. “If you’re not going inside, can we please go back to the hotel? I’d like to take a shower, and I need to check in with a couple of my colleagues.”
“Fine. Let’s go. The jewelry is probably too expensive anyway.”
* * *
Fortunately for his plans later in the evening, Bella loved the restaurant he had chosen. It was small and intimate with white linen tablecloths and tiny crystal vases filled with purple heather. They both chose the beef bourguignon, on the recommendation of the waiter, and were not disappointed.
The place was packed even on a weeknight, a sure testament to good food. Ian loved his homeland, but he had no illusions about Scottish cuisine. The way to a woman’s heart was a classic Parisian meal topped off with fresh strawberry tarts covered in Chantilly cream.
After her second glass of wine, Bella switched to coffee. “I’m stuffed from dinner, and my head is spinning already.”
He grinned lazily. “Maybe I could make your head spin.”
“Stop that,” Bella said. She looked sleepy and sated. Warm and happy, too.
“Stop what?”
“You know,” she said. “Flirting. I told you. We’re just friends.”
“Ah. So you say.”
“Bite me.”
It was clear she wanted to be indignant, but she was too mellow to work up much steam. She wore the same khaki skirt from yesterday, this time with a royal blue cashmere sweater in deference to the cool evening. Ian thought she looked good enough to eat with a spoon.
“Hold still,” he said gruffly. Leaning forward, he rescued a small dollop of whipped cream from her chin and popped it into his mouth. “Delicious.”
Bella gazed at him hazily, perhaps unaware that her pupils were dilated and her soft pink lips quivered. “I won’t sleep with you,” she said firmly. “You are you, and I’m me, and ne’er the twain shall meet.”
He leaned back in his chair and grinned, lifting a hand to summon the waiter for their check. “You’re a hard woman Arabella Margaret Craig. Did it ever occur to you that I don’t want my heart broken either?”
She blinked. “Who said anything about hearts?”
“Isn’t that why you’re keeping me at arms’ length? You’re afraid of love?” He tossed it out there as a dare to see what she would do.
“I’m not afraid of anything,” she snapped. “Maybe I just don’t want to be bamboozled by a handsome, nerdy scientist.”
“Bamboozled? Really?” Her vocabulary was a hoot. On the other hand, she had called him handsome, so that was something.
“Men are allergic on principle to domestication. There’s a reason you’re a bachelor. I pity the woman who falls in love with you.”
“You have me all figured out, don’t you?” he said, resting his elbow on the table and leaning his chin on his hand. “We should go,” he said huskily. “There’s a queue outside. Someone will want our table.”
She finished her coffee. “Are you always so considerate, Mr. Larrimore?”
He caught her hand in his and entwined their fingers. “Apparently not. It seems I was dreadfully neglectful of a certain woman’s pleasure a few nights ago. I’d like to remedy that.”
Bella lifted her nose and stood up, wobbling only slightly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
They made their way through the maze of closely packed tables and out into the crisp, cool night. Bella leaned against the wall and took a deep breath. “Plying me with rich French cuisine to seduce me is a low trick, Ian.”
He held up both hands. “You’ve got it all wrong. I’m going to wait for you to seduce me.” He curled a hand behind her neck and pulled her close. “My new strategy is playing hard to get.” With a rough laugh, mostly directed at himself, he found her mouth with his and dove in, letting the sharp, wicked pleasure roll through his veins like an electric shock.
She was pliant in his embrace, too pliant at first. “You’re insane,” she mumbled, kissing him back anyway. Her body was soft and warm against his. She curled her arms around his neck. “I would never give you the time of day. Women don’t beg. It’s unladylike.”
He nipped her bottom lip with his teeth, perhaps harder than he meant to. Bella’s groan went to his gut and hardened his sex so fast he shuddered. “Never is a long time.” It occurred to him suddenly that they were putting on a show, even though it was mostly dark by now. “Start walking, Margaret. Before we get arrested.”
Their hotel was two blocks up and three blocks over. He kept his arm around her waist as they strolled, trying his damnedest to decide what to do. He’d been kidding about the hard-to-get thing, but the more he thought about it the more he realized it was the only way to win her trust.
Hell. Being a genius was a pain in the ass sometimes.
On the corner across from the hotel, he leaned her against a lamppost and kissed her again. “Beg me to come to bed with you,” he demanded.
Bella moved her head from side to side, her lips full and pouty from his attentions. “I can’t. You’re dangerous.”
“I’m not,” he swore. He deepened the kiss. She tasted like sweet cream and dark desire. He slid a hand beneath her sweater and found the tightly furled bud beneath her lacy bra. “Say it, Bella. Tell me what you want.”
Her entire body trembled. “You, damn it. I want you, Ian. Are you happy now?”
The words electrified him. He wanted to scoop her up in his arms and carry her across the threshold of the hotel… which for a man who hated to cause a scene was quite a role reversal.
“You make me weak, Bella. I don’t much like the feeling.” It was as honest as he’d ever been with her.
“Nobody’s holding a gun to your head.” She caught his earlobe between her teeth and gave it a sharp bite. “Walk away. I dare you.”
“Bloody hell.” Insanity. That’s what it was. He felt like a man possessed. Feverish. Incoherent. “Come with me.”
He took her wrist in a firm grip, prepared to drag her across the street. Suddenly, a barrage of lights flashed in their faces.
“Can we have a statement, Mr. Larrimore? Who’s the pretty lady? Are you still Bachelor number two, or are your days numbered?”
* * *
Bella had never actually been afflicted with a hangover. Nor was she now. But she hadn’t slept worth a damn. She rolled over to sit up on the side of the bed and whimpered when the jackhammer inside her head picked up speed. “Oh, dear heaven.”
She remembered the night before. Unfortunately. The wonderful bits were pretty damned wonderful. But the embarrassing denouement…
Bloody hell, as Ian would say when pushed to the edge. He had definitely been pushed to the edge last night. The more she thought about what happened, the less it made sense. The whole purpose behind Ian’s bringing her with him to Edinburgh was to convince the paparazzi that he was no longer eligible for the much-touted bachelor list. She was supposed to pose as his fiancée so the piranhas would circle back and attack some other poor man.
The moment had finally come, but Ian had bolted, dragging her along behind him like a rag doll. Hotel security halted the photographers at the door, leaving them frustrated and belligerent. Ian, on the other hand, lost all reason. Instead of the romantic evening she could have sworn they were headed for, he took her to her room, opened her door, and shoved her inside with nothing more than a muttered good night.
She had tossed and turned for hours, finally falling asleep around three a.m. Likely, she’d be asleep still if an annoying shaft of sunlight hadn’t peeked through the crack in the drapes this morning and stabbed her skull.
After stumbling to the bathroom like an old woman, she rummaged in her toiletry case and found the ibuprofen. She opened her mouth and washed down three tablets with tap water.
Her reflection was almost as bad as her headache. She found two very distinct hickeys at the base of her throat. Her mascara was smudged into panda eyes, and her hair had tripled in size during the night.
Dear Lord, please let me die now.
She couldn’t face Ian. It was as simple as that. If the two of them went out together, they would be pinned down again. The prospect galvanized her into action. The original plan for today was a hike up Arthur’s Seat. She still wanted to go, but without Bachelor #2. All she had to do was wear a baseball cap and sneak out the back of the hotel.
Leaving Ian to his fate seemed cold, but she had to think of the big picture. Tonight’s ceremony was non-negotiable. She was going to have to wear the beautiful new dress, smile her ass off, and pretend that everything was all right. Until then, Ian was on his own.
After the fastest shower on record, she put on a pair of jeans, sneakers, and a navy jersey pullover. Definitely touristy. With a huge pair of sunglasses, no one would suspect her of being connected to the high-profile bachelor.
She stuffed some pound notes into her pocket, grabbed her phone, and headed down a back staircase. The kitchen manager looked at her oddly when she made her way around three cartons of lettuce and asked for the exit, but he directed her anyway.
Moments later, she slowed her mad dash to a stroll and tried to look inconspicuous. Her strategy worked. No one even glanced her way as she eased around the corner of the hotel and headed down the hill. She walked toward Old Town at a brisk pace, despite her aching head.
She was headed for Holyrood and beyond to the park. The castle was open to tourists the majority of the year, though not when the queen was in residence, which meant not today. It was an odd feeling to know that in a few short hours, Bella would be entering those imposing gates with Ian.
The park was a popular spot, but not everyone attempted the climb to the top. Bella’s headache finally eased off. She relished the exertion of tackling the famous hill. There were no trees near the top, nothing like a park back home, but yellow gorse bloomed in profusion everywhere. First the road, and then a narrow path led in circles up and up.
At the end, stone steps with no handrail accessed the final ascent. She was forced to pay attention to where she placed her feet or risk a nasty fall. Huffing and puffing a bit more than usual, she finally made it all the way to the top. Edinburgh sprawled at her feet with the castle and the palace easily recognizable in the distance. From this vantage point, the Royal Mile was even more impressive. To have stood the test of time and the ravages of war was no small feat.
A geological marker at her feet gave the elevation in meters. She was too tired to care about the conversion. She perched on a convenient rock and tried to catch her breath.
Slowly, the breeze and the sunshine restored her equilibrium. She tried her best not to think about the more titillating portions of last night, but it was impossible. Even now, she could feel Ian’s lips on hers, the slight rasp of his chin scraping her tender skin when he nibbled his way down her neck.
If the paparazzi hadn’t shown up, would she even now be in Ian’s bed?
She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that their romantic night had ended in ruins. The angel on her shoulder said things had worked out for the best. The less benign alter ego pointed out that she had been seconds away from throwing all her good sense to the four winds.
Wryly, she considered the fact that Ian Larrimore had—in fact—made her beg. Perhaps the knowledge should have been humiliating, but it wasn’t. He had needed her as much or more, and hadn’t bothered to hide his arousal and his desperation. Her knees pressed together instinctively.
She wanted him. Badly.
As if her heated thoughts had conjured him up out of thin air, Ian’s head popped up over the crest of the hill. “Hey, there,” he said. “I thought I might find you here.” He had accessed the top from the opposite side.
He sat down beside her and kissed the top of her head. “I feel like hell,” he said, his tone conversational.
“Me, too. How did you get out of the hotel?”
“I bribed a deliveryman to hide me in his truck and give me a ride to the bottom of the hill.”
“Ingenious.”
“Thanks. I thought so.”
“I take it the reporters were still out front.”
He nodded glumly. “Oh, yes.”
“I thought you were going to introduce me as your fiancée. That was the plan… right?”
“Yep.”
“So what happened?”
“I was a wee bit off my game what with you begging me to have sex and all.”
“I did not beg.”
He bumped her shoulder with his. “Aye, lass. You did. A man remembers a thing like that.”
“Why aren’t you in bed sleeping off your hangover?”
“’Twas only wine, ye daft girl. A Scotsman’s weaned on whiskey. It would take a lot more than last night to get me sozzled.”
“I see.”
Actually, Bella didn’t see anything at all. She was completely and unequivocally confused. About herself. About Ian. About the hazy future.
They sat there for the longest time, not speaking at all. It was a comfortable silence. Peaceful. Almost like the feeling she’d had in the small chapel.
Groups of hikers appeared, took pictures, and made their way back down. Ian offered his services to most of them, except for the ones determined to take selfies. Bella sat and meditated in the hot sun.
Gradually, her stomach and her head recovered enough to realize she was actually hungry. When she said as much, Ian produced two packets of cheese crackers from the pocket of his jacket. “Here ye go. Never let it be said that I let a woman go hungry.”
“My hero.”
It would have been nice if they could have stayed up here forever. Down below awaited all sorts of beasts. Manic paparazzi. A super important ceremony in an actual castle with an actual queen.
And then there was the question of whether or not Ian and Bella would end up in bed tonight. Their track record wasn’t great to this point.
He flipped her ponytail and leaned back on his hands. “Made any progress on your dissertation topic? Or your novel?”
Trust the dratted man to hit on the one glaring problem with her sojourn in Scotland. “Not exactly. I’ve futzed around with an outline. What would you say if I told you I was thinking about walking away from the doctoral program?”
“Aren’t you finished with all the course work?”
“Yes.”
“So only the dissertation?”
“Yes.”
He shrugged. “Kind of a waste, don’t you think? With the degree you could always teach down the road. Insurance, if you will.”
She’d been hoping he would tell her to follow her bliss. “I have a mental block about it. All I want to do is work on my novel.”
“Hmm…”
That was annoying. The vague syllable could mean anything. “You enjoy your work, right?”
“Of course I do.”
“So shouldn’t I do the one thing that gives me joy?”
He gave her a wry, somewhat fatigued grin. “I fear this is a test, and one I haven’t studied for.”
“Should I point out that you just ended a sentence with a preposition?”
“I’m getting a very important award tonight. I’d think you might show me a bit of respect.”
“In your dreams.” She linked her hand with his, and leaned her head on his shoulder. “Did I really beg? I was hoping that was a nightmare.”
“You begged, lass. I was there.”