Chapter Nineteen
Gretchen
My mouth refuses to function, except when it hangs slack, and my senses aren't working much better.
How do I want this to go? Not sure what "go" means in this context, plus I'm still coming down from the high of our mind-altering sexual experience in the old castle.
So, I start mumbling things that should be words but aren't, as if I have tissues in my mouth.
Kirk stares at me blankly, as if he has no idea what I'm saying either.
"Gretchen, lass, are ye unwell?"
"Uh, no, I guess. Sorry, I think you just short-circuited my brain back there in the castle." Yeah, he probably thinks I've had a stroke.
Kirk's eyes crinkle at the corners. "I was that good, eh?"
"Maybe I was that good." I can't help smiling. "Betcha never thought of that."
"No, I hadn't." His forehead crinkles in the most adorably perplexed expression. "What do ye want, lass? I need to know."
I gaze down at our joined hands, considering his question.
A week ago, I was a bored virtual assistant from Tennessee who came to Scotland looking for a distraction.
Now I'm sitting in a sports car with a Scottish stuntman who's dragged me into meeting his family and enjoying red-hot castle sexcapades. Nothing about this situation is normal.
"I don't know," I finally admit. "This wasn't exactly in my travel itinerary.
All I know is that with you, I've had the most incredible time of my life--- because I'm with you.
" I stare out the windshield at the darkening Highland sky.
"I like you a lot, and I love Scotland. Whatever this is between us, it feels.
..meaningful. Like when you're working on a coding problem and suddenly all the variables click into place. "
"That's quite the declaration from an American who claims to be only on holiday for a wee while." Kirk brushes his thumb over my knuckles. "I dinnae mind having you click me into place, mo leannan."
"Don't make me regret saying it." I nudge his shoulder with mine. "I'm trying to be honest here."
"And I appreciate your honesty." His tone becomes deeper, rougher, all traces of teasing gone. "The truth is, I haven't felt this way about a woman in a very long time. Maybe ever."
"Is that your way of asking me to stay a little longer in Scotland?"
Kirk lifts my hand to his lips, then feathers a kiss over my palm. "Aye, that's exactly what I'm asking. Stay with me, Gretchen. Let me show you all of Scotland---not just the tourist spots, but the places only locals know."
"What about Dougal and all that drama? I'm not exactly eager to get tangled up in whatever Highland mafia situation you've got going on."
"Let me handle Dougal." The conviction in his voice reassures me. "He's a problem, aye, but not one that should rob us of whatever time we have together."
I bite my lip, weighing my options. Maybe I should say no.
Get on the next plane back to Tennessee, back to my predictable life of spreadsheets and client calls and Tuesday night trivia with my roommate.
Heather hasn't texted me once since I left for Scotland.
Hmm, I suspect she might be up to something---or else she's in jail for stalking the bodybuilder next store.
Kirk threads his fingers with mine. "You can walk away now, and I'll understand. I'll even pay for your ticket home."
"No, I don't want out. You are the best time I've ever had."
Kirk slumps back in his seat as a slow grin spreads across his face. "I've never been anyone's best time before. That's high praise coming from a lass who claims to have white-water rafted with alligators."
"The alligator thing was a joke. But yeah, I want to stay. I need to find out where this goes."
Maybe I should feel weird about my relationship with a hotheaded stuntman I barely know.
But jumping off one of Kirk's cliffs without knowing how deep the water is below appeals to me.
After years of playing the good girl, I'm ready for some serious badassery.
Gretchen Carver, badass. That does sound intriguing.
Kirk stares at me with the kind of eagerness I'd expect from a spaniel. "Now that's settled, you'll stay, and I'll show you the parts of Scotland that don't make it onto postcards."
"I'll need more clothes," I point out. "I only packed for a week."
Kirk chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "That's easily fixed. We can shop in Inverness, or I could ask my mam to lend you some things."
"Your mom's clothes?" I picture myself dressed like a Scottish mother, like Kenina Balfour. "Um, no offense to Kenina, but I think I'd rather hit up some stores."
"Inverness it is, then." He starts the car again and the engine purrs to life. "Tomorrow, we'll make a day of it. Shopping, lunch at a proper restaurant---not just fish and chips---and maybe I'll even take you to see Culloden."
"The battlefield?" I perk up, and my history nerd side gets excited. "From the Jacobite Rebellion?"
Kirk raises an eyebrow, seeming impressed. "Most Americans only know about it from that television show with all the shagging and time travel."
"I do read actual books, you know." I cross my arms, feeling oddly defensive. "My senior thesis was on 18th century European conflicts and their economic impacts. The Jacobite Rebellion was a major turning point."
The tough stuntman gawks like I've suddenly grown a second head. "A real historian as well as an engineer? You surprise me at every turn, Gretchen Carver."
"I'm a virtual assistant," I correct him. "The engineering degree is expensive wall decoration at this point."
"Why did you leave it behind?" he inquires, pulling out of the hotel parking lot and heading toward his place.
"I didn't exactly plan it that way," I admit, watching the village lights blur past the window.
"After college, I took what was supposed to be a temporary job while looking for engineering positions.
Then the pandemic hit, and the economy tanked.
And suddenly remote work was all anyone wanted to hire for.
" I shrug, trying to make it sound less pathetic than it feels.
"I'm good at organizing things and keeping people on track. So here I am."
"Wasted talent," Kirk states with surprising conviction. "You should be designing bridges or rockets or whatever makes that brilliant mind of yours light up."
"Says the man who jumps motorcycles over rivers for whisky commercials."
"That's different." He slows the car as we approach his apartment building and pulls into a slot. "I do what I love. Every day, every stunt. Even when it scares the piss out of me."
That makes me laugh. "You? Scared? I find that hard to believe."
"Oh aye, it can happen." He parks and turns to face me. "Fear is what makes the adrenaline worth it. Without it, what's the point? It's like whisky without the burn."
"I guess I never thought about it that way." I can't help wondering if...maybe I've been playing it too safe for too long, hiding behind my laptop screen instead of taking risks.
"Stay with me tonight, gràidh. Tomorrow we'll drive to Inverness, get you some proper clothes, and I'll show you the battlefield that changed Scotland forever."
I unbuckle my seatbelt and lean across the console to kiss him, drawn by some invisible magnetic force field between us. "I'll stay. But only if you promise to get me out of these clothes the minute we're inside your flat."
"Aye, lass. That's one promise I'll gladly keep. We can pick up your clothes at the hotel in the morning, assuming ye want to give up your room there."
"Yeah, that would make sense."
The walk upstairs to his apartment feels like a marathon run at sprint pace.
Kirk keeps his hand at the small of my back, guiding me through the building with a possessiveness that sends shivers up my spine.
The moment his front door closes behind us, he makes good on his promise, peeling my clothes off with the same focused intensity he applies to his stunts.
Later, wrapped in nothing but his sheets and the warmth of his body pressed against mine, a strange sense of peace comes over me. It's like I've been searching for something without knowing what it was, and somehow stumbled across it in this small Highland village.
"Are you always this quiet after sex?" Kirk whispers, his breath warm on my neck.
"Only when my brain's been thoroughly scrambled. Twice in one day is a personal record." I trace lazy patterns on his chest, trying to time the rise and fall of his breathing.
"We could go for three," he suggests, his hand sliding down my back.
I laugh and bat his hand away. "Let me recover first, you insatiable beast."
The soft glow from the bedside lamp casts shadows across his face, highlighting the strong line of his jaw and the curve of his lips.
I study him, trying to memorize every detail.
This moment feels fragile somehow, as if I've stumbled into someone else's fairy tale.
But I wouldn't give up these days with him for all the gold in the world.
Kirk Balfour is like no one else on earth, and I plan on mining all his lust and sweetness and dauntless daring.