Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Ross stood at the bottom of the second story staircase and stared up at the attic door.
He hadn't been in the attic since his mother passed away.
Boxes he and Liam had stacked were still there, still in the same place, still unopened since their packing.
Just the thought of those familiar things and the memories they'd surely bring made a tight sensation spread across his chest and put pressure on his heart and lungs.
He pushed away from the steps. He wasn't ready.
And no one, especially Harper Dean, was going to make him ready.
Downstairs, he grabbed a beer from the refrigerator and then headed for his office at the front of the house.
As he took a long, cold drink a shadow passed by the front window.
Ross set the bottle on the floor by the wall and approached the window.
As he glanced out, a shape hurried around the side of his house.
He blinked, stunned for several seconds at the sheer gall of Harper Dean.
Did she truly think she could sneak around his property and find the bloody notebook herself?
As he backtracked and headed down the hallway to the back door, he was amazed at her utter disregard for the law and her unwavering stubbornness.
She had spirit, he'd give her that. Harper always had a wild streak, fire always lurking behind those golden eyes of hers, but this time she was about to get burned.
And Ross felt an immense sense of satisfaction to be the one to strike the match and light her up.
It was more than she deserved.
He eased up to the back door and listened. He heard a soft bang and a muffled curse. He grabbed the unlocked knob and held it still. As he expected, it started to turn. He held it fast, however.
Aye. She'd regret ever messing with him.
He gripped the knob harder, frowning—the lass was stronger than he thought—and contemplated his next move. He wanted to make her miserable, and the fact that she had put herself in a situation that allowed him to do just that . . . Well, it was a gift from above, the way he saw it. Just desserts.
In a flash, Ross released pressure on the knob.
The door burst open to Harper's strangled cry of surprise.
She stumbled forward. He grabbed her arm, spinning her over the threshold and then pushing her flat against the wall by the door.
He used his body to hold her there. Her breath was ragged and loud.
His heart pounded with a rush of anticipation.
Oh, he was going to torment the hell out of her, make her wish she'd never set foot on that airplane. Or Scotland. Or his doorstep.
"Did ye truly think—"
Pain shot through his groin.
Bloody hell.
His vision blurred. He stumbled back, shocked she had the nerve to knee him in the balls.
He bent slightly at the waist, one hand on his knee as he struggled to regain his breath and cope with the pain.
Harper's footsteps thundered down the hall toward the front door.
Gritting his teeth, he charged after her, more determined than ever to exact revenge.
Ross reached her just as she opened the front door.
From behind, he reached over her and slapped it shut.
She froze, her front pressed against the door.
He froze, too, trying to regain control and think clearly.
Her bum was snug against his front, against his aching, bruised balls.
He could smell her shampoo. He leaned closer, his mouth just brushing the curve of her ear. "Cheap shot, lass."
"Well, what did you expect?" she ground out. "Man yanks a woman into his house... I was only defending myself."
"You seem to forget the fact you were breaking into my house, Harper."
She shrugged and said pertly, "Details."
Harper seemed perfectly content to stay squished up against his front door, obviously not wanting to face him. He grabbed her arms and turned her around. She was stiff and resistant, lifting her chin and glaring at him with that fire he'd been thinking about moments earlier.
"I hadn't broken in yet, so you kind of shot yourself in the foot. You should have just waited. Then you'd have grounds to charge me."
"Have you lost your mind?"
Her eyes went narrow and her spine straightened. "Have you lost your integrity, your honor? Oh, wait, you lost those a long time ago. You withholding my father's work," she stepped forward and poked him in the chest, "is spiteful, rude, petty, unkind, rude—"
"You said that one already," he said blandly.
She gave him a hateful smile. "Okay. Jerk. How's that?"
Something shifted inside Ross, and it felt a little like regret.
Not liking the sensation and damned if she'd make him feel guilty, he grabbed her wrist, pulled her down the hall, ignoring her protests and attempts to free herself, opened the coat closet and shoved her inside, locking the door.
Immediately she banged on it. "Ross! What the hell are you doing? Let me out of this closet right now!" The door rattled so hard, the hinges shook. "Ugh! This is kidnapping you know!"
"Aye. Takes a criminal to know one, doesn't it?"
She let out a frustrated groan and hit the door again. "You'd better hope I never get out of here, Ross MacLaren," she warned as he crossed the hallway, grabbed his beer and sat down, resting his back against the wall.
Harper muttered randomly. Cured and made threats—incredibly vivid imagination she had.
Sometime during her tirade, the fire died in her voice and he barely heard her calling herself an idiot. Much like he felt, to be honest. Letting her in his home had been a bad idea. Very bad. Now what the hell was he going to do with her?
Movement and a thud told him she had sat down against the door.
Another quick couple of thuds suggested she banged her head on the door a few times.
She let out a heavy breath. "Forget it," she said, her tone defeated.
"Wouldn't you do whatever it took? If you'd made the same promise to your mother?
If you gave your word?" She paused, her voice sinking into quiet disappointment. "Never mind."
Ross sat there, one arm hanging over his bent knee.
Christ. He didn't want to feel anything.
Much less understanding. Definitely not guilt.
He took a long gulp of his beer, then set it down again, wiping his mouth.
Maybe he was being a jerk. Petty. Rude. Spiteful, for sure.
But what'd she expect? Him to smile and greet her with open arms?
Still, her words wrapped around his resolve and squeezed until he had to admit that she was right. Had the tables been reversed and he'd had to make a similar promise to his mother, Ross would have tried everything to make her last request a reality.
Harper adored her father. She'd once confided in Ross how her mother had walked out on Whit and Harper when Harper was just a toddler.
Whitney Dean had been Harper's greatest champion, her protector, her council, and the one man who she'd counted on.
And now he was gone, leaving Harper with the task of saving the family business if she could.
Dean's had been everything to Whit. Ross knew how devastated his own mother had been when Balmorie Distillery closed its doors. Had he been at an age when he could have saved it, he would have tried anything.
You still could.
He rubbed a hand down his face, annoyed his mind would even go there. Annoyed that the dream still lingered. But it was just that. A dream.
He took his time finishing the beer, then got up and stepped to the closet door. A sudden moment of nerves set in. He wasn't sure how her release would go and what he'd be met with once he opened the door.
He knocked gently. "Harper."
Something hit the back wall as she scrambled to her feet. A few hangars fell and it sounded like she wrestled with the broom. Brilliant.
"I'm going to let you out."
"Your funeral," she muttered.
Ross turned the lock. The door flew open and slammed into his head. Pain radiated through his forehead. "God damn it, Harper!" His back hit the opposite wall.
He pressed the already forming knot on his skin and checked his fingers for blood.
She hadn't moved from the closet. Just stood there, her hair messed up, black smudges around her eyes from crying. Ross straightened, his heart dropping and his pain forgotten. All the guilt he'd been trying to avoid swamped him in one blinding moment.
Fucking perfect. He shook his head and regarded her for a long moment. "I'm sorry."
That seemed to make matters worse. A sob burst from her mouth, her head bowed, and her shoulders started to shake.
"Harper." He started forward as she looked up, her eyes round and stricken with grief. And then she launched herself in his opening arms.
It had been twelve years since he'd held Harper Dean. And she still . . .fit.
He breathed in the familiar scent of her, his hand smoothing her hair, rubbing her back as she sobbed into his shirt, wetting the fabric and his skin beneath.
Whatever their conflict, it could wait. He wasn't a monster.
He kissed the top of her head, telling her it was going to be okay.
He kissed her forehead. Then, she lifted her head and gazed up at him and he kissed her wet mouth.
He just did it. He wasn't thinking.
His hands came up and cupped the sides of her face. He brushed her tears away with his thumbs. He told her he was sorry again and kissed her soft mouth once more.
His heart hammered.
Emotions swirled inside of him like an angry wind. The logical part of him was furious he'd put himself in this position. The physical part was breathing heavy and had fucking butterflies jumping around in his gut.
What was he doing?
No.
Aye.
Shaken, he released her and stepped back.