Page 107 of Gift-Wrapped in a Kilt

Iain raced out to measure the distance. "Twenty-eight point one."

Cheers erupted behind him, and he heard Calli shouting, "Go, Gavin!"

Someone whistled. Probably Aidan.

Gavin hopped off the barrel and spotted Jamie with her fingers in her mouth, preparing to whistle again. Not Aidan after all. Emery's mom had taught Jamie how to whistle that way at Thanksgiving. Jamie gave up whistling and clapped furiously, her face alight with joy.

He winked at her.

Trevor stalked past him, bashing his shoulder into Gavin's on his way to the barrel. He threw Gavin a nasty glare.

Sir Pissy snatched up the other lump of haggis and flung it.

The barrel teetered, and Trevor tumbled ass-first to the ground, letting out an explosive grunt.

Everyone watched the haggis fly through the air to whump down on the grass.

Iain jogged out to measure. "Twenty-six point three."

Trevor scrambled to his feet, hair mussed, eyes wild. "We do it again."

Jeez, the guy sounded as frazzled and desperate as he looked.

"You lost," Gavin said, trying to sound conciliatory. "Get over it and move on."

By the expression on Trevor's face, Gavin knew the guy understood he'd meant Trevor lost more than the haggis-hurling match.

Trevor stabbed a finger in Gavin's face. Spittle sprayed as he hissed, "We go again. And again. And again. Until I say we stop. A Langley does not lose anything to a bloody American."

"Enough is enough," Gavin said. "I flung a frigging sausage to make you happy. I don't owe you anything, Langley, and I'm done playing your juvenile games."

"Langleys do not accept defeat or degradation."

Rage distorted Trevor's perfect features.

With an epiphany that hit him like a bolt of lightning, Gavin finally got it. Trevor had never tried to woo Jamie, though he claimed to want her back. He'd harassed her even after she told him off — more than once. The jerk had done everything he could to make both Jamie and Gavin miserable, to drive a wedge between them. Splitting them up had seemed way more important to Trevor than winning back his so-called lost love. When he'd called Jamie a slag, that should've tipped Gavin off. Part of him just couldn't believe anybody could be such a slime.

Wrong. Trevor Langley was made of slime. The putrid, puke-green kind.

"You're not trying to win Jamie back," Gavin said. "You want revenge on her for having the nerve to dump your ass five years ago."

Trevor glowered at Gavin, teeth grinding, breaths gusting out of his nostrils.

"Go home," Gavin said. "And find a good therapist."

A roar erupted out of Trevor. The man hurled his own body at Gavin.

With one arm, Gavin deflected the Englishman's assault and sent him tumbling to the ground.

Trevor lay there flat on his back, dazed.

Aidan piped up. "With all the work you've been doing for me, you've got more than enough muscle to skelp that scunner."

"I don't want to beat him up," Gavin said. "He's not worth it."

Trevor pushed up onto his elbows, brows furrowed. His attention swerved to Aidan, and the Englishman flattened his lips.

Gavin scrutinized Trevor, hit by a sudden certainty the guy was up to something. Nobody got that kind of look on his face unless he was plotting.

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