The Accidental Scot Page 9

  He cringed. If she’d asked him to be the Easter Bunny, St. Patrick, or the damned turkey at Thanksgiving, he would’ve willingly obliged. But Mr. Christmas was the last person he wanted to channel.

  He didn’t budge from his seat.

  Pippa speared him with a withering glare. He refrained from returning her look with his own eye roll. She had no idea how much he hated the holiday.

  “Come, now,” she tried again. “Show us yere Christmas cheer.”

  To appease her and the others, he stood, super-glued a smile in place, and waved to everyone. “Ho, ho, ho,” he said with little enthusiasm.

  “Everyone, let’s say good morning to Mr. Christmas together.”

  Pippa raised her arms like a symphony conductor.

  “GOOD MORNING, MR. CHRISTMAS,” the chorus of children and adults rang out.

  He gave another wave and sat down. Oh, Pippa will pay for this. When he got hold of her and that saucy little mouth of hers . . . His thoughts were too X-rated to entertain while sitting with a bunch of children.

  The vixen glided over and began explaining the project to the kids at their table. Pippa wouldn’t meet his eyes, but her less than innocent smile said she was still whooping it up on the inside over putting him on the spot. Max pushed back his cap, tried to stop focusing on her lips, and did his best to listen to the instructions.

  Max’s table was making welcome mats from small ocean-polished rocks found on the beach. A pile of used floor mats sat at the end of the table, along with glue. A large box of pebbles sat in the middle. Pippa held up an example of what the finished project should look like and the kids stood to get a better look, oohing and aahing. She also had to stop a few hands from reaching into the box while she explained how to make the mat, but soon she was done and the kids dove in.

  “I have to go help the other tables.” Pippa pointed to his chest. “Mr. Christmas, ye’re in charge.”

  He wanted to complain, but Pippa was gone. Then he noticed the blond-haired girl at the other end of the table, sitting by herself, looking lost. He glanced around for backup, but Pippa had her hands full now with a four-year-old who was already covered in glitter.

  Crap. He peered at the sad-faced girl again. He moved down the table and sat directly across from her.

  “Hey,” he said.

  She turned sad green eyes on him.

  “Hi there,” he tried again. “What’s your name?”

  “Glenna,” she said, but her voice was quizzical, as if she might be processing his words.

  His accent. “I bet you think that I talk funny. I’m from Texas. In America. My name is Max.”

  “I thought yere name was Mr. Christmas.”

  “Yes, well, so it is.” He motioned to the other adults. “Which one is your mother or father?”

  Her eyes welled up with tears, but she didn’t cry.

  “Mama and Papa have gone to heaven. I live with Cousin Moira and Uncle Kenneth. ’Cept Uncle Kenneth died, too.”

  Moira was the one who’d clued him in about Mattie. “Is Moira helping with the quilt retreat this weekend?”

  Glenna nodded.

  Okay. He really had to man up now, whether he wanted to or not. “Since Moira can’t be here, can I help you make your welcome mat?”

  She gazed up at him with big innocent eyes and nodded again.

  “All right then. What do we need to do first?”

  “We need one of those.” She pointed to where the stack of used mats had diminished considerably.

  “Well, Glenna, pick one out for us,” he said. “I’ll gather some pebbles.”

  He glanced up and found Pippa staring at him, a look akin to gratitude. He nodded to her and began picking out pebbles. Glenna returned and they got to work, gluing the polished rocks into position.

  Thirty minutes passed before Pippa glided over. Was it his imagination, or did her hand brush his hair? An accident or on purpose? Either way, it had a powerful effect on him.

  She sat down beside Glenna but directed her comment to Max. “Do you want me to take over here so you can have a break?”

  Panic crossed Glenna’s face.

  He winked at the little girl. “No break. But I believe Miss Glenna and Mr. Christmas need some refreshments. Do you mind getting us some cocoa?”

  Glenna smiled at the pebbles she was gluing to the mat.

  “Aye.” Pippa stood. “Glenna, would you rather have hot cider?”

  “Cocoa, miss,” Glenna said softly.

  A few of the other kids must’ve noticed the attention being paid to this end of the table. A group of them wandered over and started engaging Glenna in conversation. Who was her mat for? What did she want for Christmas? Did she want to go sledding later?

  Pippa came back with their drinks. Max took his and stood. The kids scooted closer to Glenna.

  “That was a nice thing that you did,” Pippa whispered.

  Sure, a nice thing letting Glenna believe a little longer that Christmas was her friend. Because reality would come soon enough. Maybe not as dramatically as it had in his life, but something would eventually ruin it for her. There was no way to sustain the magic of Christmas forever.

  Pippa eyed him, waiting.

  “I didn’t do anything,” he finally said.

  “Humble, too,” she said to herself as if she was cataloguing him. The thought made him uncomfortable.

  Pippa motioned to Freda to take their place. “Come with me, Max. I need muscle to transport some boxes.”

  He assumed she meant from the car to the factory. Instead, she led him to her office and held the door open while he walked in. The door shut behind him and the lights went out. He spun around, only to see her hand on the switch. Light through the office windows illuminated the determined look on her face. Before he could say anything, Pippa had wrapped her arms around his neck and was giving him one hell of a kiss.

  Chapter Six

  Pippa couldn’t breathe. This kiss wasn’t the warm cocoa kiss she’d expected, tender and sweet. Max’s kiss was a shot of whisky, hot and intoxicating. They were revving like a well-oiled machine at top capacity, and she could’ve gotten lost in it.

  “Oh, God,” Max groaned, pulling her closer.

  Pippa hadn’t meant for this to happen. Kissing him was supposed to be only a thank-you for what he’d done for Glenna. Or maybe she’d wanted to kiss him to test the waters, find out if the chemistry between them was real. Perhaps she wanted only to prove to herself—and to the town—that she wasn’t promised to anyone. But if she didn’t break the kiss soon, she was afraid she’d let him take her right here behind the closed office door . . . inside her da’s factory.

  “Whoa, Yank.” She pulled away, reverting to chief engineer in three seconds flat. He is the enemy. The one who’d come here to steal their subsea shutoff valve. She smoothed down her red sweater that he’d pushed up.

  He looked as flushed as she felt.

  “I just wanted to say thanks for all the help. Now grab the boxes over there.” She was going to be all business now.

  He grinned at her, and it was almost more than she could handle.

  He stepped forward and kissed her—a short, quick promise that whatever was going on between them wasn’t over—not by a long shot. She patted his chest, and then he stepped away and grabbed the largest box.

  “This weighs a ton,” he complained. “What’s in here? Bricks?”

  Her branded lips hadn’t quite recovered. “C-canned food.” Stuttering? God, could she be any more of a lightweight? “Take it to the car.”

  She followed him out, trying to pull herself together. The cold breeze outside helped considerably, making her focus on potential frostbite instead of him.

  Afterward, they rejoined the Christmas Roundup, and fortunately the children made excellent chaperones. The kids attacked
Max, peppering him with questions as he made his way back to their table. Glenna looked to have acquired several more friends while they were gone. One little boy was smitten with her, which was evident when he helped slide her mat onto a heavy piece of cardboard and insisted he carry it for her.

  All the kids looked proud of their upcycled gifts, and thrilled when Pippa handed each of them a goody bag to take home. “Ye wait to eat your sweets until after ye have yere lunch. Do ye hear?”

  But some were already breaking into their sacks as the parents and workers walked the kids out to the waiting vans.

  Pippa, her workers, and Max cleaned up the factory floor. There was safety in numbers, keeping her from being alone with the Yank. But it didn’t take long to clear the tables from the floor and get everything back in order. Pippa’s stomach reeled as the group of them walked to the front entrance together. She wanted to slip out first, but she had to lock up. One by one, she thanked her employees and said good-bye as they left. She wished Taog or Murdoch had offered to take Max back to town with them, but she had no such luck. Suddenly, she and Max were the only two remaining in the factory. She fumbled as she pulled out the keys.

  “Ready?”

  “Not quite.” Max took a page from her book, laying a hand on the light switch. Maintaining eye contact, he flipped it off as he moved in closer. He didn’t dive in right away, like she’d done, but gazed into her eyes for a long moment. The mischief resting there transformed into something more serious and meaningful. He backed her against the wall and leaned in.

  The kiss was more powerful than before, delivering on the promise the short kiss had made . . . and then some. She couldn’t stop herself, kissing him back fervently, wrapping a leg around his ankle to anchor herself to where she wanted to be.

  “Sweet Jesus,” he murmured.

  Amen.

  But what had she started? She couldn’t make out with MTech’s minion.

  Her hormone-induced fog cleared. She pushed at his chest. “Enough.”

  She glared at Max’s mouth. The Yank was here in Scotland only to make the deal for MTech. She had the sinking feeling that his expert kissing was one of many weapons in his deal-closing arsenal.

  And Pippa was an idiot. Once again, she’d fallen for a handsome face and had forgotten how duplicitous men could be.

  “You’re right.” Max was breathing hard. At least she wasn’t the only one who was affected.

  A distressed flicker rolled across his features as if he was only now realizing what line they’d crossed.

  He moved away. “I promised Taog and Murdoch I’d have a drink with them.”

  “Good.” She didn’t want him at dinner tonight anyway, all comfortable in her father’s house, with her feeling the way she did. It would only muddy the waters further.

  He straightened, pulling the Santa’s hat from his head and offering it back to her.

  “Keep it.” Her voice sounded like strangled nerves.

  “You better get home. Your father will be waiting.”

  Had he meant his words to be an ax to split them apart?

  She was numb inside as she exited the building. He followed, but an invisible door had slammed shut between them. The loss was palpable.

  “Try not to get stinking drunk tonight at the pub,” she said flatly. “Ye’ll be expected at the kirk first thing in the morn. Everyone attends church, no excuses.”

  His brows furrowed. “I’ll be there.”

  She felt like a cardboard cutout of herself, not full of life like she’d been in his arms moments ago. “Da will expect you for noon meal tomorrow, though.” There was no way around that one.

  “Fine.” His tone was dead.

  Like a couple of strangers, they got in the car and drove the short distance back to town without a word.

  She’d done the right thing, putting the fire out between them. More was riding on this deal than stealing a kiss or two.

  She had a plan and would stick to it. She would make sure Max got to know the people of Gandiegow through and through. After seeing him with Glenna today, she knew her instincts were right. Max had a soft spot. All she had to do was exploit it.

  But when she glanced over at him and saw how the kindness in his eyes from earlier had been replaced with steel, she second-guessed herself. Her plan might not work. But MTech’s money was the only way to save the town’s economy and her da’s dream.

  But how much would it cost her?

  Pippa squared her jaw. She wasn’t a romantic. She was an engineer . . . architect of her own future. She wouldn’t let her hormones wreak havoc with her determination. She would keep her eye on the prize—stabilize the factory and get her father well. Then and only then, she might think about having more.

  * * *

  Freda Douglas rinsed the last plate and put it in the drainer. It wasn’t her kitchen, but she’d washed more dishes here than at her own cottage. She lovingly adjusted the dish towel over the oven handle and stood back to make sure everything was in perfect order.

  Pippa hadn’t come home for lunch so it had been only her and Lachlan . . . no, the McDonnell. Freda had given up calling him Lachlan thirty years ago when he’d returned home after university with Pippa in a swaddling blanket and his new bride dead. Freda had no right to him, then or now. But her heart had never quite gotten the message.

  She made her way back into the den and pulled the quilt over the man she loved. He needed a haircut, strands standing up here and there. She’d make sure to bring her clippers tomorrow when she came to sit with him. Because he was asleep and wouldn’t know, she reached out and smoothed down the spot.

  The front door slammed. Freda dropped her hand and stepped back. She busied herself, straightening the cushions on the love seat and rearranging the magazines on the coffee table.

  “Hey,” Pippa whispered from the doorway. “Has he been asleep long?”

  “Drifted off right after the noonday meal.” Freda moved closer. “Can I warm you up some cauliflower and bacon soup?”

  “That would be grand. I need to run up and change.” Glitter coated Pippa’s shirtfront.

  “Yere food will be waiting when ye come down.” Freda watched as Pippa left the room, fascinated by the determination on her face. With a smile, she wondered what was coming next. When the lass got that look, anything and everything could happen.

  Feeling both elated and a bit sad, she gazed over at the McDonnell. The two people she loved most lived in this house, and they had no idea that they were everything to her . . . her whole world.

  * * *

  The next morning, Max’s head felt like a front loader had dropped on it. He was sure he hadn’t gotten stinking drunk at the pub last night, but the hangover begged to disagree.

  Taog and Murdoch had been no help. Those two kept shoving drinks at him until Max lost count. Maybe it was his own fault. He should’ve eaten more for dinner at the town’s restaurant before meeting up with Taog and Murdoch at the pub. But a very pregnant Claire, the co-owner of the restaurant, and her chef-husband, Dominic, insisted on introducing Max to every damned Gandiegowan who came in. Max had wanted time alone to figure out what to do about Pippa, but every villager persisted in bending his ear, especially about the factory. He couldn’t get a bite in edgewise. Life here was the opposite of what he knew back in Houston.

  The problem of Pippa remained. He couldn’t shake her. God, he never should’ve kissed that woman. Granted, she’d kissed him first. But this wasn’t playtime. His career was on the line and he was letting a nice piece of lass get in the way of closing the deal.

  But Pippa didn’t seem like the kind of girl to have a fling with. He envisioned her as a forever kind of woman, the marrying type.

  And he wasn’t a forever kind of guy.

  He had time only for his career. He’d never been in love. Lust, yeah, sure, many times.
Max had to remind himself that his attraction to Pippa was only that—attraction. Okay, explosive chemistry described it best. But it wasn’t love.

  Max’s phone dinged with a text message from Miranda.

  Call me with an update, whether you’re well or not.

  But he couldn’t text Miranda back. What could he tell her about the deal? That NSV’s chief engineer kissed like a veritable love goddess, or that she made him as hard as a concrete pier? How about that he’d spent his time making Christmas presents and drinking with the locals instead of discussing the subsea shutoff valve?

  Hell, he was screwed.

  He checked the time, nine thirty. He’d better hurry to church, headache or not. Twenty minutes later, he was bundled up and out the door. He didn’t know what to expect from an Episcopal church. He’d grown up Methodist. In the last few years, though, he’d spent his Sundays on the job, instead of sitting in a pew. Working 24/7 had paid off with recognition and promotions. The problem was that if he didn’t get his brain back to the program and off Pippa soon, or stop cozying up to the locals, his career would be over.

  Max sneaked into the church just as the music for the processional started and the congregation rose. Pippa gave him an exasperated glance as she stepped out in the aisle so he could squeeze in. Yes, he’d cut it close. At least she’d saved him a seat. Barely. She was too near for comfort. His arm had nowhere to go, save up against hers. He could even smell her damned flowery shampoo! He kept his eyes fixed forward. But out of his peripheral vision, she had no warm smile for him, only a coolness that matched the frigid weather outside.

  She elbowed him while handing him a hymnal. “Page seventy-six.”

  As the choir and the blond-headed priest gravitated toward the altar in time with the music, Max remained determined to ignore the woman beside him and sing along as if he possessed some Christmas cheer.

  Pippa leaned up and whispered against him, “That’s Father Andrew.”

  Her breath on Max’s ear brought on sensations not normally associated with church.