Page 82 of Wild Scottish Beauty

“Is there a reason he shouldn’t be?” I asked, affronted. I tried to pull my hand from Ramsay’s but he held it tight, keeping me at the table.

“No.” Ramsay’s response was simple and direct. “I’d be too.”

My thoughts scattered at that, and I lost the power for words as he brought my hand to his lips, kissing the spot where Calvin had bitten me. I sucked in a breath, desire pulling long and low in my stomach, and I pressed my thighs together. Ramsay’s music playlist had run out, so the only sounds—aside from my heartbeat thundering in my ears—was the rain pattering against the window and the crackle of flames in the fireplace. Seconds passed.

And then he licked my palm.

A shiver drifted across my body and my breath hitched. A low sound rumbled in Ramsay’s throat, and then he blew a breath across my hand. Lust ravaged my core. It was hands down the simplest and yet most sensual thing someone had done to me. I didn’t know what that said about my sexual experience, but the combination of his hot breath across the dampness of my sensitive palm made my insides go liquid. I dragged my eyes from our joined hands, forcing myself to look up to where his mouth now hovered inches from mine.

My phone buzzed again.

A corner of Ramsay’s mouth quirked, forever cementing this moment in my head, and then he closed the gap between our mouths, capturing my lips with his own. And while I’d imagined kissing Ramsay on more than one occasion, nothing could have prepared me for this kiss.

It wasn’t sweet.

It wasn’t gentle.

Ramsay took.

He feasted on my mouth, angling my head and slipping his tongue inside when I gasped, wet heat making my insides melt. His kiss felt as though he was branding me, making me his own, and I could feel it all the way to my toes. My body lit up, and when he took the kiss deeper, clasping my chin with his hand, controlling my movements, I almost melted on the spot. His tongue was hot against mine, my brain short-circuiting as his kiss eradicated the word “sweet” for Ramsay from my vocabulary forever. When he stepped back, ending it as soon as it had begun, I gasped up at him, my lips burning from his touch.

I didn’t want him to stop.

I wanted to see beneath his rigid exterior, to see what he looked like unraveled and spent, vulnerable as he was with no one else. My body shook with need for him.

“Think of me on yourdate.”

With that, Ramsay scooped up Calvin, muttering something about how he’d watch him tonight, and disappeared up the stairs that led to his rooms over the shop. I raised my eyes to the ceiling, hearing his heavy footfalls above me, and held a hand to my chest to try and steady my breathing.

That jerk.

He’d done that on purpose, hadn’t he? What was with the men in my life who refused to let me just go out and live the way I wanted to? Ramsay knew,he knew, that I’d never be able to sit across the table from a date tonight without thinking of his kiss stealing my very soul. Gingerly, I pickedup my phone to cancel, but then saw the text messages that Andrew was already at the pub.

Damn it. I wasn’t a rude person, and canceling last minute would be rude. I could go, have a single drink, and then leave. There was no reason that I couldn’t have a friendly drink and then later I could try to sort out my complicated thoughts about what Ramsay had just done. Because I swear, if I hadn’t had a date at that moment? I’d be barreling up those stairs and demanding an explanation from him.

Grabbing my bag, and an umbrella from the stand at the front, I flounced out of the shop, refusing to look back to see if Ramsay watched me from the window above. What I needed was a few minutes in the cool air to tame my tumultuous emotions, and then I would have a pleasant conversation with Andrew and enjoy a drink. It didn’t have to mean anything more than that.

Light beamed from the windows of The Tipsy Thistle, a cozy, safe haven on a cold, rainy night. I beelined for it, the pub an oasis for the storm of emotions that raged inside me, and then ducked inside, dropping the umbrella in the bin just inside the door. Music and laughter drifted to me through the hallway as I hung up my coat and pulled a small mirror out of my purse to apply some lip gloss and to make sure that I didn’t look like I’d just been making out with another man.

Because who went on a date directly from the arms of another man? Annoyed with Ramsay for making me feel like I was doing something shady, I ducked inside the pub and smiled when Graham winked at me from the bar. I scanned the room, not recognizing anyone else, until myeyes landed on Andrew far across the room from the bar, sitting at a small table tucked by the fire. Waving to Graham, I crossed the room as Andrew stood to greet me.

He looked handsome enough, I supposed, but now I was comparing him to my towering boss and his impossibly magnetic presence, and while I definitely saw some similarities between the two, hugging Andrew was like hugging a brother.

Not a single blip of excitement on my sexy-time radar.

Nothing.

Andrew was like a tepid cup of tea whereas Ramsay was an icy margarita on a humid summer’s day.

“Sorry for being late,” I said.

“Nae bother, hen. Just glad you came.” Andrew grinned at me. “Can I get you a drink? Irn Bru, right?”

“White wine, please,” I said, tilting my head and smiling at him. Andrew crossed to the bar to order my drink, and I took a moment to settle myself at the table, staring into the flames that danced in the fireplace as I tried to recalibrate my emotions.

“Think of me on your date.”

Was that really why he’d kissed me?

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