Page 9 of Gift-Wrapped in a Kilt

"Oh, I've already told them. They don't mind. We all know you're a miracle worker, with the way you turned Rory upside down, shook out his nonsense, and set him right again."

Laughing, Emery shook her head. "That's a strange way to describe it, but not entirely inaccurate. I helped Rory work out his own nonsense. He had to want to do it, like Gavin has to want to fix himself."

She squeezed Jamie's knee and strolled out of the sitting room.

Jamie huddled there, feet tucked under her, pondering the embroidery on the pillow clutched to her belly.

A man cleared his throat.

She glanced up to see Gavin in the doorway, his wary gaze on her. His big body filled the doorway. He bunched his shoulders, his entire body taut and every muscle on display thanks to the close-fitting shirt and jeans he wore.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

"Aye."

He shuffled to the sofa, then hesitated again. "May I, uh, sit here? I could go over to that chair or stand —"

"Bloody hell, Gavin." She thwapped the cushion beside her. "Sit, before I change my mind about letting you in the room."

"Okay." He settled onto the sofa, his firm ass straddling the other two cushions as if he thought she might skelp him if he got too close. "I'm sorry, Jamie. I handled this all wrong."

She snorted. "How should you have handled giving me a credit card I don't need or want?"

He grimaced. "That was supposed to be a joke. Kinda."

Kind of a joke? He'd made a fool of her, that was for sure. She had no idea what to say to him now because anger and pain warred for control of her heart. Skelp him or weep? Neither one would make her feel better.

Gavin laid a palm on the cushion near her knees. "I know we can't go on like this. Me flying here, you flying to America. That's no way to live."

She didn't dare look at him. That might lead to either violence or melting into his arms. Neither option seemed useful at the moment. A coldness infiltrated her, borne of a dread she couldn't quite name. What was she afraid he'd say? Or not say? Something worse than his credit-card malarkey.

"Are you asking me to move to America?" she said. "Or are you offering to move here?"

He fidgeted, his mouth twisting into a pained expression. "Neither. I need time to figure out what I want. What's best for both of us."

"Both of us?" She scowled, powerless to keep from looking straight at him. The muted light glistened on his cinnamon hair, and his pale-honey eyes shimmered with… regret? Oh, she would not feel sorry for him. "You're going to decide for me what's best? I make that decision, not you."

"Sorry. I said it wrong again." He bowed his head, scrubbing his scalp with his nails. "Dammit, I can't figure out how to say it right. I need time, that's all I know. Time alone."

"Without me is what you mean." Though her gut churned, and bile tainted her mouth, she had to ask. "Do you still love me? Did you ever love me?"

He fisted his hands on his lap and glared down at them, his brows cinched together. "I — God, I don't know what I feel anymore."

She jerked as if he'd struck her. He hadn't said he didn't love her, but his words implied it. The cold inside her mutated into ice that seemed to coat her skin and penetrate to the core of her being. She would've expected tears, but somehow, none came. They must've frozen along with the rest of her. She could do nothing except stare at him numbly.

"I lost my job," he said, like the statement explained everything.

Jamie couldn't speak. Or move. Or think.

His gaze zeroed in on her. "I've got nothing to give. No money, no prospects, no goddamn clue why I'm so messed up lately. I've gotta get myself in order before I can figure out how I feel about us. I'm not expecting you to wait around forever. Give me a little time, that's all I'm asking. If you get sick of waiting, you can dump my ass all over again and I won't pester you to take me back."

Dump him? Was that what she'd done today? The ice inside encased her heart, suffocating her soul. She loved him. In spite of what he'd done, she couldn't stop loving him at the snap of a finger.

"Take your time," she said, stunned by the flatness of her voice. "And I'll think about how long I can wait for you to sort yourself. Or if I can."

"Fair enough." He leaned in, though not all the way. "Could I… kiss you goodbye?"

Her pulse sped up. He didn't know if he loved her. He didn't know if he wanted to be with her. Still, she wanted his kiss. She wanted him. It made no sense, but then, feelings often ignored logic. One kiss goodbye. If he decided he couldn't be with her, at least she'd have had this one last moment with him.

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