Chapter 3

And there he was. Already seated at the dining table with his seven geriatric angels…or demons, depending on your perspective, surrounding him. The only empty place at the large, round table was to his left, the chair snugged up so close to him that it was almost in his armpit. But knowing Grant, and she felt like she did know him pretty well after a year and a half of teasing duck and weave, the poor man probably had no idea what the devious mob of grannies was up to.

“Mornin’.” Joanna pulled out the chair and shifted it farther to the left so she wouldn’t be in Grant’s lap—again. “Did everyone sleep well? Ready for a big day?” Thank goodness for the ingrained tour-guide chatter that came so easily to her she could chant it in her sleep. Grant was quite the distraction. Always had been. Always would be. Damn, I wish…

Grant jumped up from his seat, gently brushed her hands away from the back of her chair, then pulled it out a bit farther from the table and waited for her to sit. “M’lady.”

“Oh my,” Frances said in a breathless tone that greatly resembled the purring of a well-fed cat. “Such a gentleman.”

“Frances.” Hazel thumped the table with the handle of her butter knife.

“What?” Frances looked at her in wide-eyed innocence.

Hazel didn’t answer, just glared at Frances over the tops of her glasses.

“Ye think ’tis best we try to ignore them?” Grant whispered next to Joanna’s cheek as she lowered herself into the chair and allowed him to scoot her up to the table.

“Definitely,” she murmured under her breath while trying not to shiver and lean a little closer to Grant so his lips could brush her skin. She slid aside the empty place setting in front of her, then wrapped her hands around the tall travel mug she’d already filled at the coffee bar before coming to the table. He must’ve amped up his pheromones or something today. He’s getting to me worse than usual.

“Yer no’ going to eat?”

“Uhm…no.” Joanna covered a grin with another long sip of coffee. I see you scooting your chair closer. What are you up to, Mr. MacSexy? Ramping up the flirting today, are we? Putting on a show for the old ladies? God help her if he was. Her self-control would never survive it, and she’d left her battery-operated boyfriend hidden back in her room at the house she shared with her best friend Lucia and Lucia’s seven-year-old son, Tyler. “I’m not a big breakfast eater. I’ve got a protein bar in my bag if I happen to get hungry before lunch.”

“A protein bar,” Grant slowly repeated, the look on his face registering somewhere between dubious and disgusted. “Mistress Martha has the best parritch in Brady and ’twill stick to yer innards ’til supper if necessary.” He scooped up a healthy spoonful of the rich, steaming glob of creaminess in his bowl, cupped one hand under the spoon, and started toward her with it. “Here. Try it. Ye’ll find ’tis much tastier than that black muckwater yer drinkin’ or a protein bar either.”

“That’s oatmeal—right?” He’d called it something else, but she’d recognize that lumpy nastiness anywhere. “I don’t like oatmeal. Thanks, anyway.”

He waved the spoon a little closer to her face and amped up the power of the adorable dimple in his cheek to I always get what I want wattage. “Come on, lass. Just a wee taste. I ken for certain ye’ll like it.”

“You don’t ‘ken’ shit when it comes to me and oatmeal.” Joanna raised a hand to prevent the spoonful of yuck from coming any closer.

“Such language!” Annamae scolded from across the table.

“I know, Miss Annamae. Please accept my apology, or better yet…” Joanna patted Grant’s shoulder. “…blame Grant. He started it by attacking me with oatmeal.”

Grant ducked his chin and grinned as he slowly and seductively licked the spoon clean. Then he gave her a sideways glance that finished setting her blood on fire. He reached over, took hold of her hand, and pressed a lingering kiss to her open palm. With her hand still so close to his mouth she could feel the heat of his breath, he leaned forward and spoke in a low tone that only she could hear. “I’ll choose m’weapons more carefully when next I decide to attack ye.”

“Uhm…you do that,” she bantered back, struggling to breathe through the erratic pounding of her heart against her breastbone. Wow was the only word that came to mind. Grant was seriously stepping up his game from their usual innocent banter. This was all-out innuendo and paired with his deep, rich brogue, he wasn’t fighting fair. If she expected to keep her self-control intact, she’d have to initiate “clueless” mode and hope like hell that Grant fell for it. She’d admittedly grown fond of him—very—and lusted after him even more. But considering her track record with men, that was a dead giveaway that something was wrong with Grant beyond his medieval manners and the odd way he picked his words. Besides—how terrible would she be if she risked a steady flow of income for Carolina Adventures with a relationship that could possibly go so bad?

The prickling sense of seven pairs of bespectacled eyes focused on her like hunting hawks on a bunny yanked her free of the inner survival monologue. Time to get this tour under control. She grabbed her travel mug and stood, pushing her chair away before Grant had time to help her. “I’m going to bring the bus around to the circle drive. You ladies meet me there.”

With her best nonchalant attitude, Joanna smiled at Grant. “We’ll meet you at the welcoming center. Okay?”

“Nay, lass.” Grant’s lopsided grin blossomed into the type of knowing smile that set off Joanna’s warning bells. “The clan tasked me with improving Esme’s drivin’ skills, so I had her drop me off here this mornin’. I’ll ride to the park with ye and yer ladies, if ye dinna mind.”

“If you want, I’ll drive!” Georgetta volunteered with a wicked grin as she rose from her seat and motioned for the other women to follow. “That way you and this fine young man can sit together.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Joanna quickly interrupted. “Our insurance only covers drivers employed by Carolina Adventures.” There. That sounded like a safe official reason to refuse. Whether or not it was true, she had no earthly idea. She turned her attention back to Grant. Time to ferret out what he was up to. Never in all the time she’d known him had he been this forthcoming to stay at her side. I’m not complaining, she told herself. But what the hell is going on?

“I’ve seen Esme drive. Looks like she does just fine to me.” She fixed Grant with the same look that always worked on seven-year-old Tyler when the little imp was trying to get away with telling a lie.

Grant rose from the table. Smile gone. Replaced with a stern jaw-clenched look. “No sixteen-year-old lassie shouldha already gleaned three warning tickets for speeding.” He shook a finger in the air, reminding Joanna of a preacher warning of hellfire and damnation. “I offered t’heat up her fearless wee arse with a fine willow switch but Máthair wouldna hear of it. She spoils the girl as sure as I’m standin’ here.” He shook his finger again, his voice getting louder. “The only reason she’s no’ had t’pay any of the tickets is because that young deputy is smitten with her and thinks she’s bonnie.” Grant shook his head with a hard jerk. “I’ll snap that man in half if he touches wee Esme.”

Okay. So he’s not lying about Esme. “I’m sure you’ll get the situation all straightened out.” Joanna motioned to the ladies and waved them toward the door. “The circle drive in about five minutes, okay?” Surely, that would give them all enough time to…how had Irene put it…oh yeah…powder their noses.

Joanna latched hold of Grant’s preaching finger that he still held stuck up in the air, then turned and headed across the dining room. What a pull toy! She coughed to cover a mischievous giggle. “If it’s that young dark-haired deputy, he just enlisted. Navy, I think. Seems like somebody said he’s interested in subs. He won’t be around much longer to chase after Esme. There’s part of your problem solved.”

“Good.” Grant artfully finagled his finger in her grasp until he was holding Joanna’s hand against his side as though he would never let go. “But what is subs?”

Struggling to ignore just how right it felt to have Grant snugging her up against his side, Joanna wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “Uhm…what?”

“Subs,” Grant repeated, stressing the word as though it felt completely foreign on his tongue.

I did hear right. Is he serious? She stole a glance up at Grant’s face as they released hands and pushed through the outer door leading to the parking lot. The man looked confused—and dead serious. “Naval submarines. Subs is short for submarines.” She didn’t want to sound like she thought he was stupid, but…damn—does he really not know what a sub is?

“I see,” Grant replied, but Joanna could tell by the uncertainty in his tone that he still didn’t understand and from the scowl on his face, he hated being seen as vulnerable or ill-informed.

Better change the subject. “I thought we’d start the ladies in the herbal shop at the park. Your mom’s working today—right?”

“Aye.” Grant stood beside the tour bus door, bowing slightly and hand held out toward Joanna. “M’lady.”

“ ‘M’lady’?” Joanna repeated as she took hold of the aluminum railing of the bus and put one foot on the first step. “You know you don’t have to do that medieval park stuff when it’s just you and me, right?” There. She’d finally said it. His role-playing had been cute at first. Kind of fantasy-romantic, even. But—damn. She’d never know the “real” Grant if he was constantly role-playing. That was the main reason she wondered if the rumors about him being a moody-ass diva were true.

Grant straightened and took such a deep breath that his already massive chest swelled to epic proportions. “I wasna aware that treating a lady as she should be treated was…how did ye put it…oh yes…medieval park stuff. I’ll be beggin’ yer pardon if I’ve offended ye, but I’ll ne’er stop treatin’ ye with the respect and caring that ye deserve.”

Holy shit. He’s serious. Joanna released the bus railing and put her foot back on the ground. Must be a Scotland thing and drilled into them at an early age. With a hesitancy born of being burned by relationships before, she reached out and touched his tensed forearm locked across his chest. The muscles of his arm barely shifted under her fingertips as though it was taking all the strength Grant possessed to stand there and not say whatever else he had on his mind. “I’m sorry, Grant. I wasn’t making fun of you—promise.” She squeezed his arm and took a step closer. “I’m just not used to being treated so…”

“So what?” Grant asked quietly, relaxing his stance and closing the distance between them.

“So…nicely,” she finally forced out. Or at least she thought she said the words out loud. It was hard to know for sure with Grant this close. All it would take was tiptoeing and leaning forward a little bit more and those fine Scottish lips would be hers.

“M’lady,” Grant whispered low and sweet, then encircled her with his arms and pulled her to him. “M’lady,” he whispered again, his lips brushing across hers, making her ache for more.

I can’t take this anymore. “My, Grant,” Joanna responded, then slid both hands up his chest, traced her fingers up and into the back of his hair, and gave herself to the kiss she’d worried about far too long.