Page 67 of Scot on the Run
Chapter Eighteen
Bella didn’t have a headache this time when the sun peeked in. On the other hand, finding herself clearheaded and in possession of vivid memories from the night before was almost as devastating.
She and Ian had barely slept, and then only in snatches. The man was a machine. Every time she fell asleep, she awoke to find his hands caressing her as if he had to learn every peak and valley of her body. In the midst of wild lovemaking, he murmured words of Gaelic to her all night long. Too bashful to ask for a translation, Bella had let the musical language sink into her soul.
At the moment, a large male arm pinned her to the bed. When she wiggled experimentally, the arm tightened, but the Scotsman didn’t open his eyes. No matter. Maybe they could spend the whole day in bed.
Reaching for her phone, she peered bleary-eyed at the screen and squawked in dismay. “Get up, Ian. We have to check out in twenty minutes.” She eluded his grasp, jumped out of bed, and started throwing things in her suitcase.
He raised up on his elbows and frowned. “Dinna fash yerself, lass. We’ll call downstairs and tell them we want to stay another night.”
“We can’t do that, you big crazy man,” she said, trying not to be distracted by his naked magnificence. “I already asked yesterday to extend our stay so we could play tourist, and they said they have a large tour group arriving this afternoon. The whole hotel is booked.”
Ian groaned and muttered something under his breath. “I forgot,” he said. He closed his eyes and squinted as she threw open the drapes. “Lord help me, you’re a cruel woman.”
“Up, Larrimore. Now.”
It was all she could do not to swoon like a Victorian maiden when he tossed the sheet aside and rolled to his feet, buck naked. How in the world had she ended up in bed with this man? She was more accustomed to skinny, pasty-complexioned doctoral students. Males she could understand and control.
While she fretted and dressed, Ian took his time. The more she hurried him, the slower he moved. Finally, she put her hands on her hips and pointed at the door. “Go to your room.”
“Kinky schoolmarm. I like it.” He waggled his eyebrows.
She flushed. “Quit driving me nuts, would you?”
“All we have to do is move to another hotel,” he said mildly.
It was tempting. So. Very. Tempting. But good sense prevailed. “Too much trouble. Besides, I want to go home and see my brother and McKenzie.”
* * *
An hour later, they were on the motorway headed north. Neither of them had eaten much breakfast. Bella’s stomach was queasy. Ian had gone incommunicado, his mood borderline surly.
Unlike the trip down to Edinburgh, today there were no leisurely stops to exclaim over the view or to explore ruined churches. The man behind the wheel drove steadily at five kilometers over the speed limit. He barely stopped for lunch, and even that was a quick sandwich at a small grocery store with an old-fashioned lunch counter.
At three o’clock, they were still an hour and a half away from Portree. Without warning, Ian steered the car onto the side of the road, turned off the engine, and rotated his neck. “I have to sleep for a few minutes,” he said. “Do you want to drive?”
She shuddered. “On the wrong side of the road? Not even a little bit. We can both nap.”
He nodded curtly and lowered the windows. The afternoon breeze was pleasant. He reclined his seat and was unconscious in seconds.
Bella was equally exhausted, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the night before. The marathon sex had been incredible, but her fascination with Ian went far beyond that. He challenged her… made her laugh. It was a guilty pleasure to watch him while he slept. Thick eyelashes shielded the sharp intelligence in his wicked gaze. He hadn’t bothered to shave in their mad dash to leave the hotel. His sculpted chin carried the shadow of stubble that made him both wildly attractive and less domesticated.
She closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat, but she was jumpy and unsettled. Quietly, she retrieved her phone from her purse and began to scroll through e-mails. Some of them were completely disconnected from her present circumstances. Her life back in North Carolina seemed like a fondly remembered dream.
Even sleep-deprived, she knew such an impression was dangerous. Portree wasn’t her life; it was Finley’s. Visiting her brother was all well and good, but she had to make her own choices, follow her own path.
Suddenly, her throat tightened as she read the subject line of a very official-looking e-mail from the university. She clicked on the box and read the lengthy communication. When she was done, she exited the app and stared out the windshield, her hands cold and her brain awhirl with scattered thoughts.
It had seemed as if she had plenty of time to decide what to do about Ian Larrimore. Apparently, not as long as she thought.
* * *
They arrived back in Portree hungry and tired and more than ready for the delicious meal McKenzie and Finley had put together to welcome them home. As Ian watched, Bella threw herself into her brother’s arms. “I’ve missed you,” she cried, kissing his cheek. Then she turned to her new sister-in-law with a shy smile. “I’m especially happy to see you. I thought you might have come to your senses and abandoned ship by now.”
McKenzie, as blond and beautiful as Bella was dark-headed and lovely, beamed and rested her cheek against her husband’s shoulder. “He’s a handful, but I’ll keep him. No one else would put up with his nonsense. I suppose I’m in for the duration.”
Finley kissed his wife soundly, ignoring their audience. “Damned straight,” he said with the trace of a southern accent Ian remembered. “So how was Edinburgh? How was the queen? We want to hear all about it.”