Chapter 11

The soft sound of a steadily cycling gurgle accompanied by a rich, welcoming aroma coaxed Joanna to open her eyes. Other mouthwatering smells pulled her up to a sitting position on the couch. She glanced out the windows. It’s dark? Shit! How long did I sleep? The last thing she remembered was Grant holding her in the swinging chair on the porch.

A wave of confusing emotions laced with a double dose of panic rushed through her. Had he really meant everything he’d said? She raked her fingers through her hair and re-coiled the bun at the base of her neck. Where were the ladies? Oh holy crap! I’ve misplaced an entire tour group.

She scooted to the edge of the plumped cushions of the leather couch, wiggling forward until her toes touched the floor. It took a bit of a hop to rise from the depths of the overstuffed seat, soft pile of throw pillows, and cozy woven blankets. She looked around. This was definitely a man cave, but the edges had been softened considerably. Grant must’ve given his sister full rein to decorate the inside of his home too.

This space had a vaulted ceiling of cedar planks and oak trusses left their natural color, which glowed an even warmer gold in the light of the black wrought-iron chandeliers and sconces strategically placed all around the large room.

Joanna glanced around the seating area where she’d awakened from her nap. It adjoined the part of the porch closest to the river, overlooking a steep hillside covered in pines and cedar trees leading down to the shoreline. Two walls of this portion of the room were glass, giving the feeling that the area was just a rear expansion of the porch. The remaining walls were multicolored sandstones cemented into natural mosaics, spanning from the hardwood floors up to what appeared to be a loft or gallery with a roughly hewn wooden railing running along two sides of the room. Skylights were built into the slant of the ceiling, angled so that those standing or sitting in the second-floor gallery would have a clear view of the stars. A cheery fire flickered in the hearth at the opposite end of the spacious area, beating back the damp chill of the rainy March evening.

I’ve got to find Grant and get back to the ladies. She took in a deep, calming breath and her mouth started watering. Coffee first. There’s always time for coffee. Joanna followed the enticing aroma of coffee and something baking. She smoothed a hand across the velvet coolness of granite countertops, the earth-toned pattern swirling with warm creams, rich chocolate browns, and flecks of reddish orange to match the rest of the room. Beautiful mahogany cabinetry with stained glass inset in the doors and large commercial stainless-steel appliances shouted that Grant MacDara had spared no expense when it came to building his home.

The shrill beeping of the coffeepot led her to the inside corner of the sprawling kitchen with a massive U-shaped center island that reminded Joanna of the helm of a ship. A mug stand fashioned from a polished branch of driftwood squatted beside the coffeemaker. Joanna took down a chunky ceramic mug and filled it with the black brew of the gods.

“You’re up.” A teenage girl, blond and leggy, buzzed into the kitchen area from an adjoining room partitioned off with a black iron-bracketed sliding door that looked like it had been taken from somebody’s barn. “I’m Esme. Grant’s sister. I brought y’all some supper.” She pulled open the oven door and peered inside. “Miss Lydia said I’m supposed to let it get a crusty-looking brown on top.” She waved Joanna forward and pointed at the black cast-iron skillet of yellow cornbread in the oven. “That’s still kind of pale whitish yellow and kind of gooey-looking on top. Don’t you think?”

“I know nothing about cooking,” Joanna said while still bent and studying the contents of the skillet. “It looks like it’s almost solid on top, but it’s definitely not brown. Jiggle the pan. Maybe if it’s still squishy it’ll wiggle enough so we can tell.” She straightened, searching the room for a clock. “And did you say supper? I know it’s already dark, but what time is it?” Mounting panic dug its claws in and cinched her stomach into a nauseated knot.

“It’s after six. Grant should be back any minute. He had to help Ramsay and Alec get Da calmed down.” Esme frowned, pulling her blond braid to the front and worrying the end of it through her fingers. “A tourist triggered one of his ‘spells.’ ” She tossed the waist-length braid back over her shoulder and stood taller. “Da will be fine, though. He’s the strongest man I know.” She cleared her throat and forced a smile, moisture shining in her light blue eyes. “Miss Lydia sent ham and bean soup, the fixin’s for the cornbread, and peach cobbler for dessert.”

After six. Holy shit. She said after six? “My group. The ladies. The Knitting Chicks. Do you know where they are?” Lucia would kill her or even worse—not say a word, just give her “the look,” a look where she looked like somebody had just stolen her puppy. Joanna took a long sip of the scalding hot coffee, squinting against the burn. How could she have been so irresponsible? She’d completely deserted the tour group for an entire day and left them to find their own way back to their supper and the bed-and-breakfast. They’d probably demand a full refund. “Do you know if anyone took them back to the bed-and-breakfast?”

Esme bubbled with laughter, her blond brows arching high and the blue of her eyes growing darker and sparkling with mischief. “You mean that bunch of drunk old ladies?”

“Drunk?”

“Oh yeah.” Esme nodded. She covertly glanced around the room and leaned closer to Joanna. “Don’t tell Grant I said this, but those women got totally shit-faced with Mama and Miss Lydia in the dyeing barn. That’s why Mama insisted on putting them up for the night in the VIP lodge next to the keep. No way could they make it back to the bed-and-breakfast. As Da would say, ‘They were so deep in their cups they couldna find their arse with both hands if they tried.’ ”

“And since when does a proper young lady say ‘shit-faced’ or ‘arse’?” Grant appeared from behind a stone partition separating the kitchen from a casual dining area.

Esme rolled her eyes. “You said it after you helped Mama herd them into the VIP lodge.”

“I’m no’ a proper young lady.”

“No…you’re a proper pain in the—”

“Esme!” Grant gave her a warning look as he lifted the lid to the pot on the back of the stove, stirred the contents with a ladle, then returned both lid and ladle to their former positions. “I appreciate all that ye’ve done, but I’ll tan yer arse if ye canna behave like the sixteen-year-old daughter of a high chieftain should. Will ye be eatin’ dinner with us, sister?”

Joanna found herself hoping the young girl would stay. It wouldn’t hurt to have a “safety cushion” from Grant for a while, and what better chaperone than a teenage girl? What the hell am I going to tell Lucia about the group? How will we cover the cost of the VIP lodge?

Esme winked at Joanna, then scooped a set of keys out of a long wooden bowl in the center of the countertop. “Nah. I’ve got a couple of tests tomorrow. I need to study. Sadie said if I keep my grades up, she’ll take me on her next trip to New York.”

“It was nice meeting you, Esme.” Joanna wished the girl would stay, but she couldn’t fault the kid’s priorities. A trip to New York was a pretty cool reward for good grades.

Esme waved at Joanna as she tiptoed to peck a quick kiss to Grant’s cheek. “If I screwed up the cornbread, don’t tell Miss Lydia. You know she’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

“Agreed.” Grant smiled and gave an affectionate swat to Esme’s behind. “And keep to the speed limit. I’ll no’ be talkin’ to the sheriff anymore on yer behalf and I dinna want to have t’snap that leering deputy’s neck.” Grant chuckled and shook his head as Esme stuck out her tongue at him, then closed the door behind her. “That wee lass is a force t’be reckoned with.”

Joanna nodded, vaguely acting like she was paying attention to what Grant was saying while she searched the room for her phone. Where the hell is it? Did I leave it on the porch? I’ve got to call Lucia. Picking up the wadded throw from the couch, she held it by the corners and shook it out. “Have you seen my phone? I’ve got to let Lucia know about the group.” She folded the coverlet with sharp, jerking movements. Dammit. There goes the emergency fund. “And you don’t happen to know how much the VIP lodge is, do you? We’ve never rented that for any of our groups before. I don’t think it’s covered under our contract.”

Grant frowned, looking at her as though she’d just spoken in a language he didn’t understand. He pawed through the clutter of small articles in the wooden bowl on the counter. “I put yer phone here, but ye dinna have to worry about anything. It’s all been taken care of.”

“Abandoning my group, allowing them to get drunk, and then having them quarantined in the most expensive lodging at the park is not my idea of everything being taken care of.” Joanna massaged her throbbing temples. Wild old ladies, alcohol, and throwing away money were definitely a recipe for one hell of a migraine. She needed to eat. Maybe that would appease the building headache and keep it down to a dull roar. “I’ve got to call Lucia so we can figure out how to handle this.” Lucia was going to shit.

Grant rounded the kitchen island, placed her phone beside her on the counter, then took her hands into his. He leaned down until his nose nearly touched hers. “There is nothing to ‘handle.’ Máthair and Miss Lydia ha’ seen to it that the ladies are comfortable and well-tended to for the evening in the lodge.” Grant chuckled and pecked a kiss to the end of Joanna’s nose. “They’ll no’ feel too well tomorrow, but for tonight, they’re havin’ a grand time.”

“You don’t understand.” Joanna pulled her hands away and picked up her phone. “We don’t have the money to cover a night of revelry for the gangster grannies. It wasn’t included in their tour fee and there’s no way we can charge them for it now.”

Grant plucked the phone out of her hands. “It’s you who doesna understand. Máthair holds herself responsible for the condition of yer ladies. If she hadna took them to the dyein’ barn, they ne’er wouldha got so wicked pissed.”

“What?”

Leaning against the kitchen island, Grant folded his arms across his chest. “D’ye ken a thing about yarn dyein’ or the processin’ of wool?”

Joanna thought back to the pamphlets about Highland Life and Legends. Nothing about dyeing came to mind, and she sure as hell hadn’t paid attention to the reenactors during any of the other tours. “I’m not familiar with the process,” she said, wishing she could grab her phone away from Grant and get the call to Lucia over and done with.

“Piss sets the color in the yarn. Indulgin’ in a great deal of drink helps ye make the piss ye need t’set yer dye.”

“That’s disgusting.” Joanna suddenly had this mental image of Hazel, Georgetta, Annamae, and Frances chugging shots, then squatting over metal buckets.

Grant nodded. “Be that as it may, the method has worked for centuries to produce some of the finest fabrics ye’ve e’er seen. Yer ladies wanted the authentic experience. I was assured that’s what they got.” Grant shrugged as though everything had been all wrapped up in a tidy little package. “Máthair feels responsible for the condition of yer ladies. There’ll be no charge for their evening at Highland Life and Legends.”

That made her feel somewhat better. At least their emergency fund was safe. For now. Joanna held out her hand. “I still need to call Lucia and let her know what’s going on. I’ll also need to call Miss Martha at the bed-and-breakfast so she won’t be wondering where we are.”

“I spoke to yer Mistress Lucia and Mistress Lydia called her sister, Mistress Martha. All parties concerned know that ye’ll be in my care this evenin’.”

“Oh really.” Joanna didn’t know whether to kiss him or kick him. How dare he pull off such a stunt as if she didn’t have a choice in the matter! “Did it ever occur to you that I might not want to spend tonight with you?”

Grant slid the phone out of her reach and gathered her into his arms. Walking her backward and pressing her against the counter, he cupped her ass with one hand and pulled her to his chest with the other. Nuzzling his way to her neck, he tickled light kisses up and down her throat. “I feel sure I could change yer mind,” he murmured against the skin beneath her ear.

Damn you. Joanna shivered, snugged into his hardness, and curled one leg around him. She slid her socked foot up and down his muscular calf and thigh, wishing they were skin to skin. “You’re not fighting fair,” she said, her nipples pebbling so tight they stung with a delicious throb.

“I fight to win.” Grant lifted her up and sat her on the counter. Pressing his forehead against hers, he teasingly smoothed his hands up and down the outside of her thighs. “And as soon as I’ve gotten some food into ye, we’ll retire upstairs for another fine battle.”

He expected her to eat? Now? When he already had her libido shifting into second gear and humming toward orgasm overdrive? “I don’t need food just yet. I need you.”

Joanna locked her thighs around his torso and crossed her ankles behind his back. She unbuttoned his shirt and yanked it free of his belted kilt with an impatient jerk. Slipping both hands inside his shirt to slide it off his shoulders, she breathed in the heat of him. A delightfully expectant shudder washed across her with the memory of those hard pecs and abs sliding against her body.

“Joanna,” Grant said in a scolding tone. “Ye’ve no’ had a thing but whisky and coffee all day.” He kissed her long and hard, then finally raised his head. “Ye’ll need yer strength for what I have in mind this evenin’.” Rubbing his lips back and forth across hers, he slid a hand up under her shirt and cupped one of her breasts. “I swear it. Ye willna be disappointed.”

“But I need you now.” She hadn’t meant to groan out the words, but she just couldn’t help it. Maybe she was light-headed from no food, caffeine, and the latent effects of alcohol, but all she really knew was that she was on fire and needed release. Badly. She reached down and cupped the hard ridge outlined at the front of his kilt, massaging and pulling. Before Grant could react, she flipped the kilt out of the way and rhythmically stroked the prize she was fighting to win. “Please…don’t be selfish and leave me like this. It feels like you’d enjoy a little release too.”

“When ye say it like that, ye leave me no choice.” Grant slipped his thumbs under the waistband of her sweatpants and before she realized what was happening, he jerked hard and yanked them and her panties down around her ankles. The cold countertop against her heated flesh nearly took her breath.

Smiling, she stripped her shirt and bra off over her head and lay back on the counter. “Now, this is the perfect appetizer.” A shiver wiggled her across the countertop.

Grant pulled a condom packet out of the sporran hanging at his side, ripped it open, then slid it on. Leaning over her, he licked her from her belly button all the way up to her throat, then nibbled his way to her mouth. “When I had this counter built t’suit m’height, I had no idea what a boon it would truly be.”

Joanna scrubbed her feet together, trying to kick free of her knotted pants and panties. Dammit! I’m tangled up. She slid her hand to Grant’s chest and gently pushed him away. “I need a little help. You’ve got my ankles tied together.”

Grant looked down at her with a wicked grin. “Aye, lass. And tied up is the way ye’ll stay.” He stepped back and flipped her over onto her stomach, bare ass in the air. He playfully nipped and bit across the fullness of her butt cheeks while teasing his fingertips across her drenched slit in the process.

Joanna shuddered, stretching to grab hold of the other edge of the counter while grinding her mons against the cold hardness of the granite edge at the tops of her legs. She wriggled, trying to spread her legs wider and hike her rear into Grant’s hand. She needed relief. Cock or fingers. She didn’t care which, but she needed something now. “Please—I need…”

Grant bent over her and swept her hair aside. Pressing his long, hard length along the crack of her ass, he rained nipping kisses along her shoulder and up to her ear. “What d’ye need, lass?” he whispered, hunger echoing in his rasping tone. “Tell me.”

Joanna bucked, the cold, hard counter beneath her growing hotter by the minute. She wriggled her butt against Grant, straining to spread her thighs. “You. Please. Now.”

“As ye wish,” Grant said as he slid his cock in between her folds and slowly, with a teasing gyration of his body, buried himself to the hilt.

“Yes!” Joanna gasped and arched, hanging on to the edge of the counter until her knuckles popped. The tight wet fullness. The pulsing heat. Just a few more strokes. “Please, you’ve got to move for me. Now!”

“Aye, m’love. Aye!” He hammered hard and fast, the fronts of his thighs slapping against the backs of her legs as he drove as deep as he could go.

Just three strokes in, Joanna’s world exploded into body-shaking bliss. A shriek ripped free of her throat as she arched her back and reared up on the counter, stretching into the best yoga cobra pose she’d ever achieved and holding it while orgasmic lightning crashed through her in excruciatingly delightful waves.

Grant pounded faster, then dove in deep and stayed, pressing his forehead between her shoulder blades as his body tensed and pulsed inside her. Holding her where her legs joined her body, he suddenly straightened, yanked her hard back against him, then roared something unintelligible that echoed to the rafters.

So, this is what it feels like to be suspended in time. Joanna smiled at the first coherent thought making its way through the after-orgasm fog. She relaxed her arms and sprawled across the counter. Grant groaned one last time, then fell forward on top of her, body heaving as he gasped to catch his breath.

A shrill, ear-splitting beep peeled out, shattering the moment and managing to yank Joanna out of her delicious euphoria. She stirred under Grant, shifted to the side, then lifted her head and sniffed. Her eyes popped open. Shit! Smoke.

“Grant! The cornbread!”