Page 24 of Joanna's Highlander (Highland Protector 2)

Grant stepped around the coffee table and joined Joanna at the windows. Before she could squeak out a protest, he pulled her into his arms and turned her to lean back against his chest, pointing them both at the rain-spattered glass and the soggy world beyond.

“I havena been celibate.” He rested his chin on top of her head and tightened his arms around her. She felt damn good against him. He hadna realized just how badly he’d craved the return of her warm, soft body against his. “But yer the first woman in sixteen years that’s made m’heart ache when I fear I’ll ne’er see her again.”

Joanna shifted in his embrace, taking in a deep breath and slowly letting it out with a sigh. She didn’t speak. Just slid her hands over his and hugged his arms tighter around her.

They stood that way for what seemed like hours, but Grant didna care. As long as he had Joanna in his arms, he was happy.

“So…where does this leave us?” Joanna took in another deep breath and blew it out, hard and impatient, between lips pulled so tight the air nearly whistled.

Grant turned her in his arms and tilted her face up to his. “Thisbrings us to the beginning of our journey. Are ye willin’ t’join me? Come t’know me even better for the man that I am and disprove the man of the rumors?”

“Give you a chance, you mean?”

“Aye, sweetness. Give me a chance.” Grant leaned down and grazed a slow, tender kiss across her lips, reveling in the whisky-flavored softness of her mouth. “Are ye willin’?”

Joanna shifted in his arms and barely touched his face. She refused to meet his gaze; instead, she kept her eyes focused on the mesmerizing movement of her fingertips tickling along his jawline.

“I’m afraid,” she finally confessed in a small voice as she tucked tightly fisted hands back to her chest and ducked her chin.

Grant pulled her closer, tucked her tight to his chest, and held her. “I’ll ne’er give ye cause t’fear me,” he said. “I swear it on all that’s holy.”

“I want to believe you.” Joanna snuggled tighter against him, nuzzling her face up against his throat and pressing a tender kiss just below his jawline. “You have no idea just how badly I want to believe you.”

Grant scooped her up into his arms and strode over to the bamboo reading chair hanging in the turn of the porch. He steadied the slowly spinning seat that looked a great deal like a hollowed-out egg lavishly fitted with richly colored pillows and cushions. He backed into it, sank into the comfortable chair, then settled Joanna securely in his lap.

“Whene’er this time, this world, becomes nearly too much for me t’bear, I sit here and look out across the land and the river. I listen to the quiet of the woods and allow it t’soothe me.” He gently shoved against the floor with the toe of his boot, barely swinging the chair back and forth in front of the window. He kissed Joanna’s forehead, then scooped up her hand and pressed the silky backs of her fingers to his lips. This felt right. The warmth of her in his arms. Safe. Just the two of them. The rest of the world could just be damned.

“I swear I’ll ne’er give ye cause t’fear me,” he repeated as he tightened his arms around her. “And I promise I’ll always protect ye.”

Joanna snuggled deeper into his arms, pillowing her head on his chest as she wrapped her arms around his waist. “Unfortunately, you can’t protect me from myself. I’m my own greatest enemy.”

“Aye, lass, I can guard ye against such demons.” He gently pushed the swinging chair in a hypnotically slow swaying motion. “And I’ll be holdin’ ye tight until all the broken pieces of yer soul bind back together and make ye whole.”

“And what about my heart?” Joanna asked in a voice trembling and soft.

“Aye, then. Yer heart, ye say?” He gently cupped her chin and lifted her face to his. “Yer heart I’ll be claimin’ and bindin’ to m’own.”

Chapter 11

The soft sound of a steadily cycling gurgle accompanied by a rich, welcoming aroma coaxed Joanna to open her eyes. Other mouthwatering smells pulled her up to a sitting position on the couch. She glanced out the windows.It’s dark? Shit! How long did I sleep?The last thing she remembered was Grant holding her in the swinging chair on the porch.

A wave of confusing emotions laced with a double dose of panic rushed through her. Had he really meant everything he’d said? She raked her fingers through her hair and re-coiled the bun at the base of her neck. Where were the ladies?Oh holy crap! I’ve misplaced an entire tour group.

She scooted to the edge of the plumped cushions of the leather couch, wiggling forward until her toes touched the floor. It took a bit of a hop to rise from the depths of the overstuffed seat, soft pile of throw pillows, and cozy woven blankets. She looked around. This was definitely a man cave, but the edges had been softened considerably. Grant must’ve given his sister full rein to decorate the inside of his home too.

This space had a vaulted ceiling of cedar planks and oak trusses left their natural color, which glowed an even warmer gold in the light of the black wrought-iron chandeliers and sconces strategically placed all around the large room.

Joanna glanced around the seating area where she’d awakened from her nap. It adjoined the part of the porch closest to the river, overlooking a steep hillside covered in pines and cedar trees leading down to the shoreline. Two walls of this portion of the room were glass, giving the feeling that the area was just a rear expansion of the porch. The remaining walls were multicolored sandstones cemented into natural mosaics, spanning from the hardwood floors up to what appeared to be a loft or gallery with a roughly hewn wooden railing running along two sides of the room. Skylights were built into the slant of the ceiling, angled so that those standing or sitting in the second-floor gallery would have a clear view of the stars. A cheery fire flickered in the hearth at the opposite end of the spacious area, beating back the damp chill of the rainy March evening.

I’ve got to find Grant and get back to the ladies.She took in a deep, calming breath and her mouth started watering.Coffee first. There’s always time for coffee.Joanna followed the enticing aroma of coffee and something baking. She smoothed a hand across the velvet coolness of granite countertops, the earth-toned pattern swirling with warm creams, rich chocolate browns, and flecks of reddish orange to match the rest of the room. Beautiful mahogany cabinetry with stained glass inset in the doors and large commercial stainless-steel appliances shouted that Grant MacDara had spared no expense when it came to building his home.

The shrill beeping of the coffeepot led her to the inside corner of the sprawling kitchen with a massive U-shaped center island that reminded Joanna of the helm of a ship. A mug stand fashioned from a polished branch of driftwood squatted beside the coffeemaker. Joanna took down a chunky ceramic mug and filled it with the black brew of the gods.

“You’re up.” A teenage girl, blond and leggy, buzzed into the kitchen area from an adjoining room partitioned off with a black iron-bracketed sliding door that looked like it had been taken from somebody’s barn. “I’m Esme. Grant’s sister. I brought y’all some supper.” She pulled open the oven door and peered inside. “Miss Lydia said I’m supposed to let it get a crusty-looking brown on top.” She waved Joanna forward and pointed at the black cast-iron skillet of yellow cornbread in the oven. “That’s still kind of pale whitish yellow and kind of gooey-looking on top. Don’t you think?”

“I know nothing about cooking,” Joanna said while still bent and studying the contents of the skillet. “It looks like it’s almost solid on top, but it’s definitely not brown. Jiggle the pan. Maybe if it’s still squishy it’ll wiggle enough so we can tell.” She straightened, searching the room for a clock. “And did you say supper? I know it’s already dark, but what time is it?” Mounting panic dug its claws in and cinched her stomach into a nauseated knot.

“It’s after six. Grant should be back any minute. He had to help Ramsay and Alec get Da calmed down.” Esme frowned, pulling her blond braid to the front and worrying the end of it through her fingers. “A tourist triggered one of his ‘spells.’ ” She tossed the waist-length braid back over her shoulder and stood taller. “Da will be fine, though. He’s the strongest man I know.” She cleared her throat and forced a smile, moisture shining in her light blue eyes. “Miss Lydia sent ham and bean soup, the fixin’s for the cornbread, and peach cobbler for dessert.”

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