Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Liam was right. She hadn't come all this way just to let a bad attitude deter her.
Standing by the wall, Harper scanned the crowd on the patio.
The doors to the conservatory were open and through it, she could see Ross' wide shoulders as he talked to a group of men, some of whom she'd been ogling earlier.
Through the windows, she watched dancers clap as one song ended and another begin.
As she moved forward, making a beeline for Ross, a group of women appeared and pulled the men farther inside the conservatory and into the dance. Crap. She paused in the doorway. It was crowded and loud, and would've seemed like a lot of fun—if she hadn't been madder than a hornet.
The dance was very similar to square dancing. There was even a person calling out steps. Liam caught her eye, spun a partner around, and then snagged Harper's wrist. "Gotcha."
"No, Liam." But he was already pulling her into the fray, linking arms and following a large circle of couples as they skipped in a circle, then stopped and do-si-doed. "I don't know how—"
He unlocked elbows with her and she spun around, linking elbows with Hamish next. "No matter, lass. Tis simple." Again she was passed to the next partner and then her elbow linked with Ross. They both stiffened, and he looked about as happy as she felt.
The dance shifted so that partners stayed together and went around in a circle. Ross' hand slid around her back—a move all the men did as they guided their partners around. "Fair warning," Harper said, smiling straight ahead as they went around. "I'm not giving up."
The circle stopped, they faced each other, linked elbows and spun. "Funny, I don't remember you being this annoying."
They separated and Harper went through three more gentlemen before returning to Ross. Her blood was pumping and she couldn't wait to get back to him to say, "And I don't remember you being such a monumental ass." She smiled sweetly and continued past him to Liam.
As she swept around with Liam, she brushed against Ross' shoulder.
He gave her a look that promised retribution.
Three more men around, and throughout she and Ross shot fire every time their gazes met.
By the time they linked up again, Harper found she was enjoying herself, enjoying the anger, and the verbal punches.
As he slid his arm through hers, she had every confidence she'd get the best of him.
"The quicker you cooperate. The quicker I leave. "
He snorted, slid his hand behind her back and guided her around once more. "You leaving is the best thing I've heard since you got here."
"Good. Then we have an understanding."
"Never said that."
His hand through her shirt was warm and big. If she could have, she'd move faster just to get away from it. His body made her feel swamped, overwhelmed. She couldn't stand him being this close, or him touching her, or the fact that she could smell his aftershave.
They turned to each other at the end of the line, both breathing heavier, both unable to look away.
God, he got under her skin.
Before she knew it, she was in Liam's grip again, going through the paces and partners again, intent on getting back to Ross. He seemed just as intent.
When they met up again, his closeness and his touch .
. . dear Lord. She was not getting turned on.
Not by him. A soft curse breezed from her mouth and she forgot the excellent insult she'd been about to deliver.
Her heart pounded. Every nerve in her body was alive and keenly aware of him next to her.
His heat, his scent, his breathing, the way his hip felt against hers as they went around, the way his big hand settled firmly on the small of her back.
When they broke apart again and faced each other, she knew her face was flushed and her eyes must be betraying her. His were sharp and bright, a slight frown pulling his eyebrows together, the intent focus making her feel pinned to the spot.
The music stopped. Harper clapped automatically.
Everything outside of her and Ross seemed far in the background.
The music changed again, this time a slow, soulful Scottish melody.
Her body wanted to step closer, to flatten itself against him, wrap her arms around his shoulders and move with him.
Hip to hip. Chest to chest. But her mind held her still.
He hadn't moved, hadn't walked away, but neither had he moved forward.
He seemed to be stuck in the same trance she was.
Then someone bumped her.
She blinked, and her will slammed shut any and all interest that was brewing in her.
"Go home, Harper."
"I'll go home when you go to hell."
"Too late for that," he scoffed in a wry tone and moved past her. "Been there for twelve years."
Harper stood there for a moment, struck by his words. What the heck was that supposed to mean? She was bumped again, before realizing she stood on the dance floor with no partner. Quickly, she made her way through the dancers and out onto the patio, drawing in large draughts of the fresh, cool air.
She'd told herself numerous times this would be easy. What a joke. Deep down, somehow, she'd known it'd be anything but. And yet here she was, making a fool of herself.
Did she really need the recipe? Yes. Yes, she did because she had no idea how to make booze.
How many times had her father asked her to learn?
Dozens. And yet she always found an excuse.
Had she learned more about that part of the family business she might not need the recipe at all; she could experiment and formulate things on her own.
Her uncle, Trace, knew. But ever since her father died, he'd been pushing her to sell Dean's to the massive corporation that had eaten up most of the Independent bourbon makers in the area.
Dean's was one of the last hold outs. Sales were slipping.
They hadn't made a new version of Dean's in years.
Consumers needed something new, something amazing. ..
Sighing, she pushed away from the wall and headed across the lawn toward the loch.
At the shoreline, she toed off her sandals, smoothed her skirt under her rear, and sat on the grass, sticking her bare legs straight out and wiggling her toes.
Her insides hurt, stress and failure burning her chest. She was the chief financial officer for Deans, not a bourbon maker.
She didn't want to sell, but she, above anyone else, knew it made the best financial sense.
Her family, they'd accused her of holding them back.
They wanted out, her uncle, her cousins, the Deans who held a percentage in the company.
If they all ganged up on her and sold their percentages to one company—most likely the one after Dean's—she'd be screwed anyway.
Seemed every way she looked at it, she was doomed.
Even if Ross did give her the recipe. By the time she got it, by the time the whisky was made, aged, and ready for the market....
Harper focused on the water, trying to breathe through the disappointment and the reality of failure. She wiped at the corners of her eyes. Her father had known it too. But he'd made her promise anyway. He'd clung to the last bit of hope. Even to the very end. Even if it was irrational.
Harper lived on facts and figures. She wasn't a dreamer like her father.
No, just a failure.
She'd booked the suite in Balmorie Castle for a week, unsure of how long it'd take to locate Ross and convince him to let her see the notebook. She had six more days. Six more days to what? Wallow? Ponder her failures in the family business and with Ross?
Not likely.
No, she was done here. She wouldn't beg. Wouldn't sink so low before a man who had used her and left her. She wanted him to give her the notebook because it was the right thing to do, not because he felt pity for her circumstances.
Conflict raged in her. Stay or go? In the end, she was a Dean, and Deans were known for sucking it up and doing whatever it took.
And despite her circumstance, and the fact that getting the recipe wouldn't save the family business, she'd do it for her father.
Because he'd begged her to. Because she said she would.
And goddamn it, Ross MacLaren needed to be the one who caved. Not her.
If worse came to worse, she could always just steal it.
Harper laughed softly. Yeah. Crazy. But, damn, the thought of sticking it to Ross, to getting what she wanted without his infuriating help, was appealing in so many ways. In fact, it wasn't really stealing. Just copying. All she had to do was find the notebook, copy the pages, and leave.
Generations of moonshiners and lawbreakers were in Harper's blood. The idea of winning in the end, of attaining her goal, made all kinds of excitement course through her veins.
Getting to her feet, she picked up her sandals and walked back to the castle.
She hadn't committed to a crime just yet, but it was starting to look real good.
In fact, there was nothing wrong with scoping out Ross' house and seeing just how easy it'd be.
Besides, Liam already said if they found it, she could copy whatever she needed.
It was like she already had permission.