Chapter 5
Lucy's pulse flew as fast as her feet could carry her.
What an idiot! What was wrong with her? She never did stuff like that.
Never. And here of all places, where she was supposed to be helping Riley.
Oh, no. What if Ian called Byron? Riley would be fired.
All because Lucy was a hard up dummy who couldn't keep her lips to herself.
Shutting her door and flipping the lock, Lucy paced the length of her room, and then dropped into the chair.
She was so embarrassed. And stunned by what she'd done.
Ian MacLaren was like those little sugary flowers on cakes, the kind that everyone fights over at birthdays. She had to have it, had to risk it.
It was craziness, but in those few seconds that her lips touched his and she felt the warmth of his skin and breath, she had a moment of pure clarity where she knew it was right. She felt free, felt the joy in going for it, in not staying safely on the sidelines like she always did.
Oh, he wanted to kiss her, every cell in her body knew it. No man had ever looked at her that way, and the knowledge gave her more confidence and power then she'd ever known.
Once chaste kiss with Ian was better than any heavy duty make-out session with her ex—any of of her exes for that matter.
Though she knew she never should have kissed Ian, her heart rose from the depths and soared.
She, Lucy Jane Walker, the five-foot-ten-inch pet groomer and photography enthusiast, the girl who dreamed big, but repeatedly wimped out when it came to doing anything risky in life, had done something sexy and impulsive.
And a whole lot risky. She'd taken a chance. And it felt really freaking good.
Of course, she'd done it masquerading as Riley…
Her smiled dropped a notch. Riley was married.
She wasn't a cheater. What must he think of her, of Riley?
Smile gone now, Lucy flopped back in the chair, her joy deflating.
Figures. The one time she took a chance, the one guy who could make her do it, and it happens to be the worst situation possible.
Ian paced his room, his emotions still raging. His gaze lifted to the ceiling, thinking of what had happened up there. Just a kiss, he told himself. Nothing major. Nothing shocking.
But he sure as hell felt a shock. A fucking lightning bolt was more like it.
He needed a whisky.
On the way to the side table, his big toe collided with the chair leg. Pain shot through the digit. Cursing, he grabbed his foot, trying to rub out the sting, then flung himself in the offending chair.
He never felt so out of control. And this wasn't like him. If the guys in his unit could see him now, they'd be stunned. They called him Flatline, a name given years ago, one that had stuck. Ian didn't get riled and if he did, he sure as hell kept a lid on it, didn't act on it or let it show.
Lucy, however, had shaken him up big time.
He leaned forward and poked at the few glowing embers leftover from the fire.
Lucy hadn't been here twenty four hours and already it was a disaster.
Failure, a word not often associated with his endeavors, suddenly seemed like a real possibility.
And though she'd kissed him first, he'd wanted to take it one step farther. Several steps. A giant fucking leap.
Maybe his extended family back in the states was right. Maybe they should have sold the land and been on their way. Ian had no idea what he was doing or how to run a guest house.
No. That wasn't true. He had a plan, a goal. And he'd see it through. No second guessing.
He had to get things back on track, had to turn this disaster around.
The next morning, Ian stood in the old nursery, toolbox in hand, gazing out the broken window.
He'd repaired all the shutter latches and now he watched from the window as Dimon ran circles around Devin in the grass below while Dev's German Shepherd, Hildie, trotted quietly next to his brother—always beside him, always waiting for the next command.
She was tense, ready, and waiting. Ian understood.
He'd been the same after he'd been discharged, and he hoped, now that Dev and Hildie were out of the military for good, that this place could do for them what it had done for him.
He turned away from the window and headed downstairs.
As Ian passed Lucy's room, he noticed the door was open. He slowed, then heard her voice. She was on the phone. As he continued on, a phrase stopped him cold. "I lied to him, Riley."
Silence.
"Well, I didn't mean to. It just came out. It was all happening so fast. They thought I was you and then I said I was you..."
Shock slid slow and cold down his spine. What the hell?
"Well, I don't know, I was flustered, okay?"
More silence as Ian's knuckles turned white and his anger boiled over. She'd lied. She'd been lying all along. And she was talking to the Riley who should have been here, the same Riley who was supposed to write an amazing article on Balmorie.
"Yeah right," Lucy went on. "I know. Of course I'm telling them. How's things going with Mark?"
Woodenly, Ian continued down the hall and outside to the tool shed.
Inside he was shaking and stunned. He set the toolbox down slowly, heart pounding, and just stood there in front of the work bench, trying to calm his emotions.
What did she think this was, some kind of game?
This was his life, his brothers' lives, and, hopefully, their livelihood.
He scrubbed hand down his face, then gripped the counter and leaned forward, cautioning himself to slow down, to process.
A door shut loudly. Ian straightened and turned to see Lucy flounce across the lawn.
His eyes narrowed and his jaw went tight.
Her hair was up in a ponytail. She wore shorts, revealing the same mile-high legs he'd seen last night, and had a camera hanging from a strap around her neck.
He wondered if she even cared. She appeared to be enjoying her vacation, traipsing around his property, playing games, making his life hell.
Well, two could play at that, he decided.
The tables were about to turn on Riley Brooks.
Dimon spied Lucy and loped after her. "Shit." Dev's oath reached Ian's ears as his brother hurried after the big dog. Ian crossed his arms over his chest and watched the chaos, highly satisfied when Dimon jumped up and left two gigantic, muddy paw prints on Lucy's shirt, one over each breast.
Dev paused in front of her, eyes wide and fixated on the sight.
Ian frowned. He was walking forward before he even realized he'd moved. Lucy might look innocent and inviting, but Ian knew better. Best not let her get her hooks into Dev…
"Down! Get down, you big mutt!" Good grief, the dog was heavy.
Laughing, Lucy stepped back, regained her balance, and righted her shirt.
The shaggy gray giant sat down in front of her, tail thumping the ground, mouth open, and panting.
Even sitting, his nose was at her belly button.
"You're a big guy who doesn't know he's big, aren't you? " She scratched behind his ears.
"Sorry about that."
Lucy glanced up at the tall, broad shouldered, very good-looking guy.
Brown hair brushed his collar and had a slight wave to it.
He wore a heavy five o'clock shadow and looked a little bohemian and a lot rugged.
But it was his eyes that caught her attention the most. They were hazel, a light shade of brown with some green thrown in, and they were .
. .well, haunted was the only word that came to mind.
A well-mannered German Shepherd sat by his side.
"He's a work in progress." The guy's eyes darted to her shirt. Lucy looked down. Two muddy paw prints over her chest. Great. "Sorry. He has no sense of size."
"Typical of big dogs. You sound American," she noted, though he did have a slight accent. He nodded, not offering up anything else, so Lucy fished. "Are you a guest at the castle?"
"No. I'm staying in one of the cottages and helping with repairs." He eyed her thoughtfully. "So you know dogs," he gestured to the Deerhound, referencing her earlier comment about typical big dogs.
"Yeah. It's been a while since I've been around one his size, though. I work with animals." His eyes lit with interest. "Nothing glamorous. My cousin, Kate, runs a pet grooming and sitting business in New York. I work for her."
"All that, and you still have time to write for The Ambler," Ian's voice sounded from behind her.
Her stomach dropped like a stone.
Crap.
Lucy swallowed, plastered a smile on her face. "I like to stay busy," she said carefully, forcing herself to meet his gaze.
Yep. Just as striking as she remembered. She really hoped to avoid him today after her idiotic behavior last night. But no such luck.
Standing together, the resemblance between the two men became clear. While their coloring was different, they had the same large frames, and similar facial features.
"Brothers," Ian said.
"Devin." Devin held out his hand.
Lucy took it. "Lucy. Nice to meet you."
"If you see another one of us wondering around," Ian added in a dry tone, "just ignore him."
"That'd be James," Devin clarified. "The youngest."
Ian and Devin were about the same height, both built, and both had that aura of capability and strength.
The universe was not playing fair today, making her face two gorgeous men, one of whom was staring at the paw marks over her breasts—Ian's attention stayed there way longer than necessary.
When his gaze finally lifted to hers, it was completely unapologetic, and filled with an unreadable expression that gave Lucy pause. Something was different about him...
Devin cleared his throat. "See you around, Lucy. Sorry about your shirt." He gave Ian a quizzical look before leaving with the Shepherd.
Great. Now she was left with big, bad-attitude Ian. "This your dog?" she asked.
After a beat, Ian stroked the dog's head. He had nice hands. Strong hands. And Lucy wanted to roll her eyes for noticing.
"Dimon is sort of everyone's dog."
"Right." She was antsy to cut and run and avoid any more embarrassment. "Well, I'm off to sight see and take some pictures, so… Bye."
She got three steps beyond him when he said in a challenging tone, "That afraid of me, Mrs. Brooks?"
Lucy froze. Surely she was mistaken. No, don't turn around. Don't take the bait. But she was already turning. "Excuse me?"
One of his black eyebrows arched. "Afraid. Scared." He cocked his head. "Otherwise known as . . . chicken shit."
A gasp caught in her throat.
One corner of his mouth quirked, but his eyes were intent on her, calculating, waiting. She couldn't believe he had the nerve to call her out. Why couldn't he be one of those people who simply let things drop? But no. He was calling her on the kiss last night, calling her scared. Wonderful.
"Chicken shit. Really?" she said flatly.
He shrugged. "If the feathers fit. You're embarrassed about last night.
You kissed me. It happens." As though spontaneous kisses from strangers happened all the time.
As though he was God's gift to women everywhere.
He probably is. "Now you want to avoid me.
Way I see it, you can grow the pair you had last night or run scared. "
Heat crept into her cheeks. Would she go to jail for hitting him? Might be worth a night in prison just to shut him up… "You don't talk like a Scot all the time."
"I'm half Scot. Raised in North Carolina.
Went to college there and then in Edinburgh.
Joined the U.S. military when I was twenty three.
Stayed eight years. Got out six months ago.
Grandfather died three weeks later and I inherited this place with my brothers.
Now, back to you. We can hop in my vehicle and I can show you the estate for the glowing article you're going to write or you can turn tail and run. Which is it?"
She glared at him. "I never should have kissed you."
"And I never should have liked it so much."
With that stunner, he shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and sauntered off.
Then, he glanced over his shoulder with an appraising look. "My ride's this way."
Lucy didn't move, she was still trying to pick her jaw up off the grass. This wasn't the rigid, slightly annoyed guy she'd met yesterday. Oh, he was definitely different. The edge was still there in droves, but now it was almost like he'd declared war on her, which was ridiculous.
He was staring at her, waiting. After everything he'd said, she couldn't run away now and prove him right. She wasn't a chicken. Lucy plastered an fake smile on her face. "A tour sounds wonderful."