Page 23 of Joanna's Highlander (Highland Protector 2)

“And the cur lost his temper and attacked ye,” Grant stated quietly, his voice calm but deadly.

Joanna nodded, still staring at her whisky, entranced by its golden glow as the liquid caught the warm, flickering light of the candles. “I guess in all fairness, I started it—the physical part of the fight anyway. But when he kicked me into the entertainment center and my arm snapped, things got uglier a lot faster.” Joanna took another deep swallow, inhaled to fan the alcohol burn, then lifted her glass up in a silent toast. “You know what? That broken arm, black eye, and dislocated shoulder didn’t hurt nearly as much as finding out that the son of a bitch had a wife and two kids.”

Chapter 10

She was a warrior. A battle-scarred warrior. Plain and simple. Yet the poor lass had no idea of her own strength.

“Young Tyler said ye contacted the police,” Grant gently prodded. She’d not reached the end of the brutal memory. She was struggling. There was more pain t’be shared. He felt it as surely as he felt the heat of the whisky burning in his gut.

“I didn’t.” Joanna finished her drink, slid her glass to the coffee table, and dropped down into the corner of the couch on which he sat. She scooped up a nearby throw pillow and hugged it across her middle as if trying to hide behind it. Her vacant stare was numb and cold. Weariness of battling the pain etched dark shadows across her pale features.

“More?” Grant reached for the glass, stopping when Joanna shook her head.

“No. I’ve had enough for now.” She crossed her legs and stared off into space, just barely bouncing her foot up and down in midair. “The neighbors called the cops. They heard me scream a few choice words at him when he broke my arm. But when the police showed up and forced their way into my apartment, I didn’t hesitate to file charges.” She looked at Grant with a thoughtful, forlorn smile. “I’m not my mother—but that’s a pathetic tale for another time.”

A combination of burning rage and the gnawing urge to chase away Joanna’s painful demons sparked in Grant’s core, smoldering like glowing coals ready to blaze. He ached to pull her into his arms and hold her. Instinct stayed his hand. Joanna was a wounded animal cornered by her pain. She needed to come to him.

“Wee Tyler said the man caused ye to lose a well-paying job.” Grant picked up the empty whisky glasses and took them to the wet bar. He reached into the small built-in refrigerator and retrieved two bottles of sparkling water. Returning to the cushioned settee, he placed the bottles on the coffee table. “I take it your boss sided with his cur of a brother?”

Joanna picked up one of the waters, unscrewed the cap, and took a long drink. Slowly replacing the cap, she frowned and pursed her lips, staring down at the cobalt-blue bottle. “Most definitely. I was informed that the Tasker brothers always stick together and if I didn’t drop the charges, I’d not only be fired from AP but he’d ensure that no other drug company in Chicago, or for that matter anywhere else in the United States, would hire me.” She looked up at Grant and smiled a cold, bitter smile that reflected the pain in her eyes. “After all, Matthew was a respected OB-GYN to the Chicago upper crust. If word got out that he not only cheated on his wife but also abused women, it could ruin him.”

“I take it ye didna drop the charges?”

“No.” Joanna leaned back, pinching the bridge of her nose and massaging the inner corners of her eyes. “And my CEO and Matthew had enough contacts to make good on their threat.” She folded her arms across her chest and stared across the porch at the rain pelting against the windows. “Their smear campaign was very effective. I became unhireable in Chicago. So, I called Lucia and ended up here. Between our pooled resources, mediocre credit, and our pain, we came up with Carolina Adventures to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table.”

Words couldna express the admiration he felt for Joanna. He just wished she could see all she’d done and look at herself as a brave survivor—not a…what had she said?…not a loser magnet. He decided then and there that somehow, he’d open her eyes to the courageous woman she was. He took a swig of his own water, replaced the cap, then rolled the wide-bellied bottle between his hands. “Well…at least the bastard ended up in jail.” Such a less-than-adequate punishment. If Grant had had his way about it, the son of a bitch wouldha been horse-whipped.

Joanna snorted out a bitter noise that sounded like a cross between a sob and a laugh. “Uhm…no. The rich asshole paid off the judge and everything disappeared as though it had never happened.”

Grant clenched his fists so tight all his knuckles popped. He wouldha made the bastard pay. Women were to be cherished. Protected. Women were the life-givers. They were t’be respected even if they nettled ye ’til ye felt like railin’ against all creation.

“So now you know what an idiot I am,” Joanna said as she straightened, scooting to perch on the edge of the sofa while defensively lifting her chin. “I’m a poor judge of character, I have no self-control, and if there’s a loser within a five-mile radius, I will find him and make him mine.”

That last part stung. Was the woman callin’ him a loser?

“Beggin’ yer pardon?” Grant leaned forward, balanced his arms on his knees, and laced his fingers together. “Are ye sayin’ I’m a loser?”

Joanna’s dark green eyes flared open wider and her pale cheeks flushed a rosy pink. “Uhm…no…you’re not a loser—” She weakly flipped one hand in the air and shrugged. “It’s just that…” Her voice trailed off and her face grew even redder. “It’s just…”

“Just what?” He took a bit of solace in her obvious discomfort, but ’twas damn small solace indeed.

Joanna took a deep breath, then blew it out with a quick shake of her head. “It’s everything I’ve heard about your moodiness, how you can be a real jerk, your…odd ways. After what I just told you, I’d think you’d understand why I have no interest in hooking up with another bipolar…asshole.”

“Aye.” Grant took in a deep breath and slowly blew it out, sorting through his thoughts carefully.Use yer words well. Words are weapons, son.His mother’s advice played over and over in his mind. “I do understand yer reasoning but I would ask ye a question, if ye dinna mind?”

Joanna squeezed the pillow she still held across her lap until her knuckles whitened. “Go ahead,” she finally said with a jerking nod.

“Ye said ye became ‘unhireable’ in Chicago after the heartless bastards spread their lies about ye. All rumors, aye?”

Joanna nodded, shifting the pillow and hugging it until the seams strained with the pressure. The threads showed white against the plaid print, threatening to rupture.

“Did ye feel it unfair that ye’d been blackballed by hearsay alone?”

Joanna bit her lip, her reddened cheeks paling a bit. She dropped her gaze, refusing to look Grant in the eye. Slinging the pillow back into the corner of the couch, she stood and walked over to the wall of windows. “I know where you’re going with this. Just stop.” She turned and looked at him. “Stop it. Okay?”

“Nay, m’love, I canna stop.” He slowly rose from his seat, keeping his voice soft and low, barely louder than the sound of the rain. “Yer the first woman in sixteen years…” His words stalled. Was he really ready to reveal his scarred heart and his painful history to an outsider, to a woman? A twenty-first-century woman who more than likely had ne’er heard of the MacDara druids or the druid clans?Nay. Not yet. She’d ne’er believe me.

“You expect me to buy the fact that you’ve been celibate sixteen years?” Joanna glared at him. Gone were her innocently blushing cheeks and startled doe-like eyes—replaced by a cynical look that clearly said she was about to call him a liar.

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