Real Men Wear Plaid!

But then what was for him? He didn’t have any problem figuring out what he didn’t like; it was nailing down his preferences which seemed to be the problem. He had no idea what prevented his family from being exasperated with his continued indecision, but miraculously—sometimes irritatingly—they were all behind him, waiting patiently for him to find his true course.

Truthfully, what Ewan liked to do wouldn’t be of any help to the family business. Somehow he didn’t see going into war-torn countries or natural disaster–affected areas—like New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina, where he’d volunteered with the Red Cross—or any other place he was needed—just his two hands and a willingness to work—contributing to MacKinnon Holdings’ bottom line. Just the opposite, really, because in seeing the need, one also saw how much capital was required to truly make a difference.

Foolishness, Ewan told himself, scowling. He needed to be figuring out what skill he could bring to the company, something profitable his father would be proud of. MacKinnon Industries had many diversified holdings, from woolen goods to boat-making—his youngest brother’s calling—and all services in between. His father had given him a list of their interests and had told him to look it over, to see if anything struck his fancy. Because he’d wanted a more organic epiphany, Ewan had avoided looking at it. He glumly suspected he’d be perusing it soon.

While he’d anticipated that she’d stop at the first B&B they came to, Gemma inspected the garden and moved on. For reasons he couldn’t explain, B&B number two didn’t make the cut, either. Dusk was settling and though he had out a torch, he wasn’t sure if she did. Sure enough, she paused and began rummaging through her bag. She set it aside and started rifling through another—Jeffrey’s no doubt—and the sound that emerged from her throat when she didn’t find what she was looking for made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

It also made him grin. She had a bit of a temper, that one. For some irrational, crack-brained reason, he liked that.

“He took the damned flashlight!” she exclaimed to no one in particular in a voice that brought the phrase “last straw” immediately to mind. Another growl of frustration. “Why would he need a flashlight? He’s not here. He left.” She kicked his bag with her little booted foot.

Ewan was so startled, he laughed aloud.

“He’s sorry,” she said in mocking tones, gesturing wildly. She gave it another kick and when that didn’t satisfy her irritation, to his astonishment, in a fit of pique she started jumping up and down on the backpack. She continued to mutter under her breath and, though he couldn’t make out everything she was saying, the occasional word came through.

Traitor was the running theme.

Ewan sidled forward and with a flick of his finger, trained the beam on her delightfully startled face. Big green eyes rounded and a sharp inhaled gasp wheezed through her soft, pink lips. She stopped jumping at once, which was good because it made it easier to stare at her.

And stare was really all he could do.

Every muscle in his body had decided to atrophy, with the exception of the one in his chest, which was pounding harder than ever; a rush of heat swept over him, followed by an immediate cold sweat. Something happened to the air in his lungs—there seemed to be less of it—and a whirling sensation tugged behind his navel, making his stomach pitch in an expectant roll. Ewan didn’t have to be a psychologist to know that he was on the brink of something—insanity, probably—yet something about this moment—this particular instance in time—was oddly more important, more singular than any other. And for reasons he couldn’t explain and would sound completely irrational to any right-minded person, he knew without a shadow of a doubt, with absolute unwavering certainty, that whatever his purpose, this girl was a part of it.

His legs wobbled, startling the voice out of him.

“Any particular reason you’re abusing your cargo?” he asked, his voice more normal than he would have imagined given his recent revelation, an epiphany of epic proportions.

Bloody hell. This was so not what he’d been looking for.

3

“GOOD GRIEF! You scared the hell out of me!” Gemma panted, clutching her hand to her chest to keep her heart from bursting through. One minute she’d been in the middle of a good old-fashioned bucket-kicking fit—or in this case, backpack-kicking fit—and the next, he’d startled the life out of her with his flashlight.

Her cheeks burned when she realized he’d obviously seen the whole thing. Which he would have, because he’d been following her since lunch. She’d just gotten so irritated over the fact that Jeffrey had taken the flashlight—which she knew he wasn’t really going to need, since he’d gone off with his friend and was probably in a cozy hotel room by now—that she’d forgotten about Ewan being there. Truth be told, though she’d tried to embrace the whole zen approach to her friend abandoning her on this journey, the more she’d walked the more irritated she’d become. Hell, this wasn’t a party or a ball game or some other social event he’d left her at—this was in the middle of a foreign country. Furthermore, the more time she’d spent in her own head the more she’d been forced to realize two things: One—other than wanting to make a profound difference of some sort, she was no closer to knowing what the hell she wanted to do with her life than she had been during the first mile. And two—if she didn’t stop thinking about/lusting after/burning for the sexy Scot who’d been trailing her since midday, there was no way in hell she was going to get any closer to what she was looking for.

Unless of course, she was looking for him…

Nonsense, Gemma thought before the idea could take hold. Leave it to Jeffrey to plant ideas in her head. This was supposed to be a spiritual experience, one with true meaning.

Although staring into his eyes—a warm hazel that put her in mind of sunlight through lacy cedar leaves—she could see where being with him, in any capacity, could have true meaning. Her heart gave a sudden lurch in her chest and the air thinned in her lungs, leaving her momentarily breathless and light-headed. She felt like she was floating, tethered to the earth only by his gaze and the longer she looked at him, the more the sensation strengthened. Her palms tingled and her heart vibrated faster and suddenly it was all too much.

He blinked then, thankfully severing the strange connection.

How on earth had she forgotten that he’d been behind her? Especially when she’d been keenly aware of him all day? Though she didn’t have any proof, per se, she seriously suspected he’d been staring at her ass a good majority of the time. Wishful thinking? she wondered, but secretly hoped not. Truth be told she was quite vain about her ass. It was by far her best feature. Though she wasn’t the president of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee, she was a card-carrying member who was especially thankful for the padded push-up bra. False advertising? Possibly, but she preferred to put her best boobs forward, as it were.

“My apologies,” he said in a voice that made her insides shiver. It was slightly husky, deep and masculine. “I’d only thought to help.” He gestured to the flashlight. “I take it you were looking for one of these?”

She chewed the inside of her cheek as renewed irritation rushed through her. Damned Jeffrey. She was so going to make him pay for this. “Yes, I was.”

“And your boyfriend took it?”

She snorted, picked up both packs and dusted them off before putting them back on her shoulders once again. She wasn’t at all herself and talking to him was only making it worse. “Jeffrey was not my boyfriend.”

“He’s definitely more boy than man, that one,” Ewan said, an unmistakable chord of anger in his intriguing Scottish brogue. She loved the accent, the rolling lilt to it. It was so different from what she was accustomed to hearing. And the misplaced irritation on her behalf was quite nice, she thought, suppressing the urge to preen.

She started forward and he fell into step beside her, lighting their path. She felt the air crackle around them, wishing vainly that she’d gone ahead and stopped at the last B&B. Her feet were aching, she was hungry and it was getting darker and darker by the minute. She wasn’t exactly certain why she’d pressed on, been so reluctant to stop, but imagined it had something to do with the long lonely evening that stretched ahead of her. She was supposed to have shared this experience with her best friend. They were supposed to have sighed over hot tea, salivated over scones, clotted cream and jam and then bitched about their respective blisters.

Instead he’d answered a cock call and she was all alone.

Her gaze slid to the imposing presence beside her and she felt a knife of heat slice through her.

Okay, she silently amended, not all alone.

“So he just left? The boy you were traveling with?”

Gemma released a long-suffering sigh. “He did.”

Had Jeffrey really been her boyfriend, this could have been potentially as humiliating as the time she’d walked out the bathroom with her skirt tucked into the back of her pantyhose at church. The choir and pastor had gotten quite a little peep show as she’d made her way down the central aisle of the sanctuary. Thankfully, Ms. Betty Billings had come to her rescue, jerking her into the pew beside her before Gemma’d been able to go any farther. Ms. Betty had had quite a grip for someone so old and frail, Gemma remembered.

“You seem more angry than heartbroken,” Ewan remarked.

“I’m extremely pissed, a bit disappointed, but not the least bit heartbroken.”

“Strange,” he said, giving her a good once over. She felt that perusal slither over her like a caress and had to squelch a shiver. Something hot and achy curled in her womb and she found herself lessening the distance between, curiously longing for any contact, even that of the casual variety. “You don’t seem the least bit drunk to me.”

She felt her eyes widen. “Drunk? I’m not drunk.”

“But you said—” He sighed and shook his head, his beautiful lips curling into an endearing smile. “Sorry. When you said pissed I—”

Understanding dawned and she thanked public television for the many Britcoms she’d watched on Saturday evening TV. She chuckled. “Pissed as in angry,” she explained. “And don’t get me wrong, my feelings are hurt.” She kicked an errant rock out of her path. “Jeffrey and I have been best friends since the fourth grade. He knew how important this trip was to me—” she shot him a glance “—both my mother and grandmother have made the walk,” she explained, “and the fact that he abandoned me in a foreign country for a potential hook-up is a bit disturbing, but—”

His eyes rounded and he gave his head a little shake. “He’s your best friend? A hook-up? You aren’t—?”

“Together?” she finished for him. Gemma grinned. “No, not the romantic sense of the word. I’m not Jeffrey’s type.”

She couldn’t be sure in the failing light, but she thought she saw a little bit of smugness light his smile. “Well, if he’s left you for a hook-up, then he’s obviously not altogether right in the upper-story.”

She laughed. “He’s not right on any level,” she said, releasing a small sigh. “But he is dear and at some point I might even forgive him.” Her eyes narrowed. “But I will make him suffer a bit first, I think.”

A bark of laughter erupted from his throat. “You sound like you look forward to that.”

“Of course. He deserves it.”

“So beautiful women aren’t his type?” he asked, once again treating her to one of those all-over glances that made her middle go all warm and gooey.

“No,” she said, chewing the inside of her cheek. “In fact, women aren’t his type at all.”

A beat slid to three, then “Oh,” he said, shooting her a significant look. “He’s—”

“—gay,” she finished. Coming out hadn’t been a particularly easy experience for him, but he’d had the support of his friends and family and was determined not to live a lie. She admired her friend for that. It took a tremendous amount of courage to be different.

Ewan merely shrugged. “To each his own,” he said, earning golden brownie points for his attitude. Any guy who’d ever been uncomfortable being around her friend went immediately on her Do Not Date list.

They walked in silence for a few moments and she simply enjoyed the kiss of the breeze on her face, the sound of music ebbing in and out of a pub farther up the street. The shop fronts were smaller here—she hadn’t seen a single big box store—as were the cars and streets. Odd when one considered the vastness of the land, the sheer size of the mountains, burns and lochs. Stone houses with roses climbing their faces and spilling over the fences marched in cozy rows along the street, reminding her of Thomas Kincaid paintings. She was hammeringly aware of Ewan—he towered over her, making her feel quite dainty as he walked beside her, adjusting his longer stride to accommodate her shorter one, and a smooth woodsy fragrance accompanied his heat.

Because she’d taken every opportunity to covertly observe him for the past several days, she knew his hair was more brown than red, naturally curly and his ruddy complexion complemented his striking hazel eyes. Those eyes… They simply made her melt when she looked into them—and his smile? Mercy. He had a noble brow and a bold nose and a mouth that was unrepentantly sexy. Beneath it was an auburn soul patch and something about that little bit of groomed hair made him look strangely aristocratic and rebellious. She rather liked it and found herself struck with the urge to rub her thumb over it, to see if it was as soft as it looked.

Furthermore, because she was innately curious, she couldn’t help but wonder what it felt like when he kissed a woman. Gemma had never cared for a mustache or a beard—too abrasive—but she suspected the soul patch would feel different…particularly against the more sensitive parts of her body. Like her nipples. They instantly pearled behind her bra and she smothered a whimper.

She’d bypassed ogling and moved directly into lust.

Not good. Particularly when one considered the way he made her feel, breathless and shaky and expectant.

“I’m Ewan MacKinnon, by the way,” he told her extending his hand in a courtly gesture. “I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.”

They hadn’t, but she’d known his name because she’d overheard him say it to someone else. His hand engulfed hers and the combination of warmth, size and electricity made her fingers tingle and a tangle of sensation snake low in her belly. She felt the reaction to his touch spread through her, setting off a bizarre warning she knew she wasn’t going to heed. He made her ache, made her want, made her need in a way more powerful than she’d ever experienced, as though something stronger than sexual attraction was pulling them together.

“Gemma Wentworth,” she said breathlessly.

“From the States,” he remarked. “The South, I would assume.”

She laughed. She was used to getting the you’re-not-from-around-here speech when she was visiting other areas of her own country, but having people an ocean away remark upon it was a bit surreal. “Mississippi,” she confirmed. “Jackson, specifically. What about you? You’re a native, right?”

“I am.”

When he didn’t elaborate, she didn’t press. “And have you always wanted to make this walk?” Was that a B&B ahead? Gemma squinted. It definitely looked like it. Her kingdom for a scone, a hot shower and a bed.

“Not always,” Ewan admitted with a chuckle. “It was more of a spur of the moment thing.”

For whatever reason, she imagined that Ewan Mac Kinnon and spur of the moment were well-acquainted.

“It was supposed to be a journey of self-discovery,” he confided, shooting her a charmingly wry smile. Her heart gave another jump in response, then a squeeze for good measure.

She inclined her head. “Ah. And what have you discovered thus far?”

He blew out a breath and grinned, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Not a whole hell of a lot, actually.”

She laughed, finding both the admission and the accompanying smile ridiculously endearing. “I know what you mean,” she murmured under her breath, her eyes widening significantly. Her gaze darted ahead. That was definitely a bed and breakfast. The Waterhouse, the sign said. It sounded wonderful. Beyond wonderful. Heavenly. Though she was thrilled to be walking with him and appreciated his company, she quickened her pace.

“In a hurry now, are you?” Laughter lurked in his voice.

“There’s a B&B ahead and I’m beat.”

“You passed two already,” he remarked.

“Did I?” she asked breezily, knowing full well that she had. She cast him a sidelong glance and that bizarre sense of expectancy struck her again. She hadn’t looked forward to the evening alone, but now that he was walking with her—and clearly had no intention of leaving her—her outlook had changed.

Most drastically.

In fact, she might be inclined to forgive Jeffrey more quickly than anticipated because she suspected her friend had, through his own selfish nature, done her a big favor.

And that big favor was walking right beside her.

4

HER CHEEKS PINKENED from the change in temperature, a rosier hue on her especially ripe mouth, Gemma Wentworth was even prettier in proper lighting. There was a stubbornness in the tilt of her chin, and something about her up-turned nose and the slope of her jaw, the creamy porcelain skin, was particularly adorable.

Just looking at her—and he couldn’t seem to be able to keep from looking at her—made an odd sensation swell in his chest. Though he’d only met her, everything about her seemed strangely familiar, new but…not. His hands perpetually itched to touch her—just to feel her skin against his—and though it was counterproductive to what he was supposed to be doing on this walk, he knew that he was going to have to touch her.

A lot.

In intimate places.

Furthermore, though it sounded improbable to his own mind, he felt on a level deeper than logic and intuition that he was supposed to meet her, that their paths had crossed for a reason. He could feel that connection even now—a low thrum between them—and wondered if she sensed it as well.

With brisk efficiency the innkeeper checked them in and assigned rooms. “Dinner’s over, of course, but I’ve got meat pies, bread and cheese.”

Gemma shuddered with unabashed delight. “That sounds marvelous.”

The older lady smiled kindly. “Why don’t you go upstairs and wash up and I’ll put a tray in the parlor for you?”

“Thank you,” Gemma told her.

“Hungry, are you?” Ewan asked her as he followed her upstairs.

She shot him a look over her shoulder. “Ravenous,” she admitted. “I skipped lunch and the granola I snacked on along the way isn’t staying with me.”

She’d likely lost her appetite at lunch, Ewan ruminated, when her friend bailed on her. Best friend or not, that was badly done. Of course, Ewan was reaping the benefits of Jeffrey’s bad behavior, so he wasn’t going to rake the man over the coals too much. Had her friend not left her, no doubt he’d still be watching her from a distance instead of basking in her company. Point of fact, if he ever saw Jeffrey again, he probably should thank him.

“Ah, here we are,” Gemma said, slipping her key into the lock. She shot him a gratifyingly hopeful look. “See you downstairs?”

“Certainly,” he said. “I’m pretty hungry myself.” He could quite happily eat her up, as a matter of fact. He imagined licking a path up her inner thigh and felt his dick harden.

Damn, he was in trouble.

She smiled then, almost shyly, and then turned and ducked into her room. Ewan released a pent-up sigh and shook his head at his own stupidity. He found his own room, fortuitously located right across the hall from hers, then let himself inside. Single bed, floral wallpaper, local prints. Lacy curtains covered the windows and a door opened to the en suite bath. Though he hadn’t planned on doing any checking in, he pulled his cell phone from his backpack and called Cam, his younger brother.

Predictably, he was busy—a tour bus of happy murder mystery party goers were en route to the castle and a stalking party had just left for a two-day hunt—but also predictably, Cam always had time for a chat.

“I didn’t expect to hear from you,” his brother said. “I take it the road of enlightenment hasn’t been too illuminating?”

Ewan chuckled. “Something like that, yes.”

“Keep wandering, big brother. It’ll come together for you. And if what comes together for you doesn’t coincide with Dad’s plans, then so be it. Sometimes you have to fight for what’s important.”

Cam knew all about that, Ewan thought. He’d certainly bucked the status quo when he’d gone against their father’s wishes and bought his estate. But Cam had always been like that—fearless, always ready for a challenge and never afraid to face life head-on.

“What makes you so sure that he doesn’t think you’ll come through for him?” Ewan asked. “Don’t think that he has given up on the idea,” he warned him.

Cam chuckled darkly. “He might as well,” he said. “I know where I belong and it’s here at Castle MacKinnon.”

He envied him that knowledge, Ewan thought with an inward sigh.

“Alec is dead set against taking over the company as well,” Cam said.

“Even if Dad let him do it from a boat?” Ewan teased. His youngest brother had an affinity for the water that bordered on the mystical. He’d been obsessed with floating things from the time he was a little kid and had studied with one of Scotland’s premiere boat builders. He was happiest, they all knew, when he was on the seas, looking at a horizon. Hell, even when he came home he was taking the skiff out on the loch in front of the house within half an hour of being there. His soul would shrivel up and die if he had to take over for their father.

“Genevieve called me yesterday,” Cam said. “She’s losing patience. Dad told her that when one of us stepped up to do our duty he’d stop relying on her so much.”

Ouch. He could see where his sister, who’d been their father’s shadow since she was old enough to walk, would have a problem with that.

“For such a smart man, he’s been unforgivably stupid, don’t you think?” Cam remarked. “Genevieve is the obvious best choice. Why can’t he see it?”

“Who knows?” Ewan said. “Mom’s going to have to say something, I think.”

“She doesn’t want to interfere and says that it’s better if Dad works it out on his own.”

“But he’s not working it out.”

“When the three of us refuse, he’ll have no other choice, right?” He hated forcing his father’s hand like that because it made him feel ungrateful when, in truth, he wasn’t. He just wanted to do his own thing, that was all.

Of course, his argument would be better if he actually had his own thing.

Instead of coming up with a viable job in the company, what he really wanted was to go to Haiti and help the earthquake victims. According to the article he’d recently read about the need, there were more than fifty-five thousand people still living in tents. He had no idea what he would do—what he could do even—but he was able and willing to do whatever was needed. There was honor in that purpose, a sense of satisfaction from knowing that whatever he did was going to make a difference. Was that too much to ask?

After catching up on a few more things and promising to call when he reached Fort William, Ewan disconnected. He made quick work of unpacking his bag, washed up and made the return trek back downstairs to the parlor.

He was taking his first sip of hot tea when Gemma entered the room. She’d exchanged her boots for pink bunny slippers and had taken her hair out of the ponytail she’d worn all day. Long fawn-colored curls—the exact shade of tablet candy, his favorite, naturally—tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. She’d washed her face, making her nose and cheeks shiny in the firelight. He didn’t know what was more endearing, that glowing button nose, or the slippers.