Chapter 21

Grant kept his jaws locked. If he spoke now, he couldna guarantee that he’d speak wisely. Surely, Joanna wouldna take that job. How could she? How in the name of all that was holy could she? And how in the hell had she found out about this…this…once-in-a-lifetime chance, as she’d put it? Had she been lookin’ for a way to leave him? Had he no’ made her happy? What the feckin’ hell had he done wrong? It pained him more than he could say that the woman was even considerin’ it. He tightened his hold on the Jeep’s steering wheel until his knuckles popped.

“You’re going to snap it in half and then we’ll have to walk the rest of the way home.” Joanna touched his forearm—lightly—as though she were afraid he’d explode with the building frustration that she had to have known she’d stirred within him. “Grant—you’ve gotta calm down. It’s not nearly as bad as you’re making it out to be. It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

Going to be okay, she says. Like hell it will. The only way ’twill be okay is if she sees sense and forgets this damnable nonsense. A thought suddenly occurred to him, pushing its way through the enraged fog muddling his mind. She was punishing him. This was his punishment for his association with the Heartstone. She’d said it had scared her to death and that she didna want a thing to do with it ever again. Perhaps she’d really been speakin’ about him instead of the stone. That possibility nearly shoved the air from his lungs like a punch to the gut.

“G-grant?” She repeated his name with a hesitant stutter, raising her voice when he didn’t respond. Her helpless tone made his heart ache—not for her but for himself and for all that he was about to lose. “Grant, please.”

“Aye?” He bit out the word and cursed the hoarseness of his voice. He had to be strong and reason some sense into her. He had t’make her see how deeply she’d cut him if she left Brady…if she left him for that damn city that might as well be on the other side of the world. He’d no’ give her up easily. She’d find that out well enough.

“Grant—please.” Slowly, her hand slid away from his arm. “I know I blindsided you with the news about the job offer, but…I was going to talk to you before I sent the email. I swear it. I just wanted to get my thoughts all sorted out with Lucia before I talked to you.”

Grant swerved the Jeep up his private drive and jerked it to a stop in front of the porch. He tore the seatbelt away and shoved open the door.

“We’ll talk inside.” He slammed the door and stomped up the steps without looking back. Normally, he would’ve gallantly opened Joanna’s door, helped her out of the Jeep, and walked her to the porch. But apparently, judging by her most recent revelation, she thought him a fool for his thoughtful old-fashioned ways. Perhaps he’d best relearn how a man was expected to treat a woman in this damnable century.

“You’re being a brat!” she shouted from the driveway. “You could at least listen to my plan. I promise it’ll work.”

He twisted the handle of the screen door until the wood frame crackled and splintered. She’d already made a plan even though she’d no’ discussed the matter with him. The knife she’d already thrust into his heart twisted and burned all the deeper with the hurt she’d ignited. He yanked open the screen door and stomped inside, letting it bang shut behind him. He crossed the porch to the wet bar, thumped a glass down on the counter, and filled it to the rim with whisky.

“I foresee myself gettin’ verra drunk this evenin’,” he informed the bottle as he left it open on the bar.

The screen door slammed again. “Fix me one too, will you?”

Joanna stood close behind him—close enough that he could feel her heat and breathe in her delicious scent. He ached to turn and sweep her up into his arms, holding her tight until all this heartbreaking foolishness went away. By damn, he’d lock them both in the bedroom and make love to her until she swore she’d ne’er leave.

He started to turn and grab her up but forced himself to stop, holding fast against the thought and keeping himself locked in place. Nay. I shouldna do so. A man of this century would ne’er do such a thing to the woman he loved. He huffed out a disgusted snort. Aye. A man of this century didna have the bollocks t’fight to make a woman see that she needed him as much as he needed her. Men of this century had been castrated by feckin’ social convention.

Judging by Joanna’s insinuation that she’d be taking the job in Chicago no matter what he thought, she apparently wanted a twenty-first-century man that was happy to wait until she decided she had time for him. An obedient man. One contented to heel until his mistress called.

Grant downed the whisky and refilled his glass, his mood growing darker by the minute. How could his dearest love not want him? Not want a medieval Highlander who kept her close and safe? A man who hungered for the touch of her every day and would die if necessary t’protect her from pain or harm? But apparently, Joanna didna want such a man, a man who treasured her in his thoughts through every waking hour and dreamt of her at night.

Grant upended his glass and swallowed the whisky in one long gulp. He slammed the heavy crystal tumbler back on the counter and selected another glass from the shelf above the bar. Risking a glance back at Joanna, he jerked his head toward the row of liquor bottles against the wall. “What d’ye wish t’drink? Whisky, brandy, port? What will it be, m’lady?” Damn…I should no’ have called her “m’lady.” Much too polite for this century.

The burn of the whisky down his gullet fed the urge to vent the sarcasm building inside him. Resentment stung like salt in the gaping wound where his heart used to be. He held up Joanna’s empty glass just as she was about to speak. “Excuse me,” he said loudly in a tone that dared her to interrupt. “I worded that poorly. I shouldha said, ‘What will ye have?’ There’ll be no more m’lady—ne’er ye fear.”

Joanna rolled her eyes, blew out a heavy breath, and folded her arms across her chest. “Whisky, please.”

“Whisky it is!” Grant poured a moderate splash of the amber liquid into a glass, passed it to Joanna, then turned back and refilled his own glass nearly running-over full. He downed it just as quickly as the first and then refilled it again.

“Could you please slow down on that stuff until you hear me out?” Joanna walked over to the cushioned settee up against the wall and lowered herself to nervously perch on the edge of the cushions, cradling the glass of whisky between her hands. “My working in Chicago won’t be nearly as bad as you think. I’ll be home every weekend…and every holiday.”

“Yer willin’ t’give me two days of yer life out of seven—and more on holidays.” Grant held out his arms and managed a gallant bow, even though four full glasses of Scotland’s finest was starting t’make his ears ring just a bit. “Yer generosity leaves me speechless, m’lady.” Hell’s bollocks. I said it again. He held up a finger. “Beg pardon. Not m’lady.” Backing up to the bar, he filled his glass again. “Yer generosity leaves me speechless, Joanna.”

“Grant, please. Don’t be like that. You know I have to do this.”

“Why?” He slammed his once-again empty glass down on the counter. “Why the hell d’ye have to do this? Tell me that. Make me understand why yer so damned determined to get away from me. What the hell have I done t’run ye away?” He’d held his temper as long as he could. The world and his family tellin’ him he must be cool-headed could all just be damned.

“It’s not like that.” Joanna’s voice broke. She slid her untouched glass of whisky on the table beside her, then looked back at him, her eyes shimmering with moisture. “I’m not trying to get away from you.”

She lies. I can see it as plain as this godforsaken day. “What about our wedding? Our children? Our life?” He’d tell this woman he loved so much it hurt like hell exactly how wrong she was and by the gods, he’d make her understand. I hafta make her see.

“We can have it all. I’ll just have a longer commute than most.” Joanna cleared her throat, retrieved her glass from the table, and barely sipped the whisky, looking at him with such a renewed expression of calmness it infuriated him even more. Gone was the moisture in her eyes that he’d foolishly mistaken for tears.

“We canna have it all and I refuse to allow it!” Grant hurled his glass across the porch, finding some small satisfaction when it shattered against the bricks surrounding the fireplace. He grabbed the half-empty bottle of whisky, barreled across the room to Joanna, and scooped her up over his shoulder. “Ye willna go and take this job in Chicago. I will ne’er allow it!”

“Grant, you can’t—”

“The hell I can’t!” He settled her more firmly across his shoulder, then kicked open the French doors leading into the den. He took the stairs to the bedroom two at a time, then kicked open the bedroom door too. “Ye will see the sense of what I say and understand the foolishness of this…this…plan of yours.”

“You don’t understand. I have to do this and I can make it work.” Joanna squirmed to free herself. “Put me down and I’ll explain all the ways we can be in touch during the week while I’m gone.” She pounded a fist against his shoulder. “We can do this if you’ll just listen.”

“In touch,” Grant repeated. If she wanted touch, by the gods, he’d give touch to her. He kicked the bedroom door closed, held the mouth of the whisky bottle between his teeth, and turned the key in the lock. Yanking the key out of the door, he stretched and placed it on top of the door facing, well out of Joanna’s reach. Then he turned and strode across the room, slammed the whisky bottle down on the nightstand, and climbed into the huge four-poster bed with Joanna still across his shoulder.

“I’ll show ye touch until ye understand the true meaning of the word better than ye e’er have before.” He flipped her to the bed, lay across her, and covered her mouth with his.

As he deepened the kiss, the slight push of her hands against his shoulders gave him pause. Even in his inebriated state, he’d ne’er force himself upon her. But then her hands shifted, smoothing up his shoulders and around his neck. She pulled rather than pushed. Opened to him and accepted his kiss, giving back even more.

Grant settled more comfortably across her, stretching the length of her as she sank into the pillows. Her sweet whisky-flavored mouth inflamed him even more. She arched into him and wrapped one leg around his hips, grinding up against him.

Damn these clothes. Grant eased away just enough to unbutton Joanna’s blouse and unzip her jeans. Smoothing his hands around her warm, silky torso to the center of her back, he nimbly unfastened her bra and yanked it away.

“Let me help,” Joanna whispered against his lips.

“Should I trust ye no’ to run?” he growled against her throat. “Bear in mind, I’ve bolted the door and ye’ve no place t’go.”

“I have no intention of running,” Joanna said with a groan as he pulled one of her nipples deep into his mouth.

“Verra well then.” As soon as Grant raised himself up a bit, she wiggled her way out of her jeans and panties, then shimmied out of her blouse and her bra.

With Joanna finally naked beneath him, Grant knelt astraddle her body, pulled off his own shirt, and ripped away his kilt. Lowering himself to his elbows, he kicked off his boots and pushed them over the edge of the bed. A groan escaped him as he settled down between her legs, her wet hotness greeting him and making it impossible for him to wait. He slid into her, deep and hard. “I must have ye. Now,” he rasped with a tender nip of the soft skin just below her ear.

Joanna ground herself up into him, squeezing him with her thighs and pulling him harder into her with both hands cupping his ass. She bucked beneath him, panting hot and urgent against his lips. “More,” she pleaded. “Harder.”

Grant slowly eased his cock out until nothing but the engorged head remained inside her. He barely moved his hips from side to side, just enough to make Joanna squirm and whimper beneath him. He brought his face close to hers and barely bit and sucked at her bottom lip. “Open yer eyes, Joanna. Look at me and hear what I say.” He plunged in deep to the hilt, then pulled out again.

Joanna’s eyes flew open and she spread her legs wider, then locked her ankles across the small of his back and squeezed her thighs tighter around him, arching up and doing her level best to bury him back inside her. She bucked beneath him, frowning when he didn’t move.

“I’m listening,” she finally panted.

“I need us like this whene’er we wish—not just on weekends or holidays.” Flexing his hips, he thrust inside her two more times, grinding hard enough to make her writhe and moan. He struggled to hold his control. With her breasts pressed to his chest and her wet heat sucking him in deep and hard, all he wanted to do was pound his love home—literally. But he couldn’t. She had to see reason first. “I swear t’ye that ye’ll ne’er regret lettin’ me care for ye.”

“We can talk about it later. Just finish what you started.” She squirmed and dug her nails into the cheeks of his ass, trying to pull him inside her.

Grant thrust in deep and then stayed there. He kissed her hard, opening her mouth wider and drowning in the taste of her. Finally, he lifted his head and touched his nose to hers.

“I hope yer well-rested, lass,” he whispered against her lips. “Open yer eyes,” he said louder. “Joanna—open yer eyes.”

Head thrown back, Joanna opened her eyes and looked at him as he methodically pumped in then out, slow, then fast, light, then hard. “Harder,” she whispered over and over, her gaze still locked on his.

“As ye wish, lass, but know this and know it well. We’ll not be leavin’ this bed until ye swear ye’ll let me love ye every day of the week and twice or more on Sundays.” He pumped harder, arching his back as he slammed into her.

As her moans grew louder, he thrust faster. This was a battle. A battle for the woman he loved. Before he lost complete control and spilled himself inside her, he managed to speak one last time and he prayed she knew just how much he meant every word.

“Ye’ll find I’m a verra selfish man, Joanna, and I’ll ne’er share ye with anyone or anything.”