Gift-Wrapped in a Kilt (Hot Scots #4)

Chapter Ten

Jamie shuffled down the hallway into the gallery. Her knees felt wobbly. Her breaths shortened, coming faster. She stopped a few feet inside the huge room, paralyzed by the sight of everyone she knew and loved enjoying the party. They had no idea what she and Gavin had done in the bedroom. Could anyone tell she'd been ravished moments ago? No, of course not. Right?

Bloody hell . She'd begged him to take her.

Cool air tickled her legs and arms and chilled the wetness still gathered between her thighs. She moved her hand as if to tug her dress down, but it had no more coverage to offer. Going without panties had seemed naughty and fun before she enticed Gavin into following her into the bedroom. Now, her lack of undergarments seemed like a shame she'd dumped on herself. And she'd suggested casual sex. I'll call you when I want you . She'd said that.

She'd turned into a flipping tart.

But he had agreed to a sex-only arrangement.

A little shiver of arousal tingled through her. Sex with Gavin. Whenever she wanted. It sounded like the perfect situation, but only if she ignored the fact she was in love with him and he'd offered her a credit card.

Jamie drew in five deep breaths, slow and easy, her muscles slackening with each exhalation. The jittery sensation lessened, and her knees solidified. She would excuse herself from the party. No one would mind.

She took two steps toward the crowd and froze again.

A man had nailed his gaze to her. Short curls of his sandy hair framed his face, a boyishly attractive face, the face she'd once held in her hands and kissed.

Trevor Langley smiled, his gray eyes squinting almost as if he'd forced the expression.

Jamie couldn't move. Her feet had mutated into lead. Even her heart seemed to have grown sluggish as if it couldn't acclimate to this new situation. Her ex-fiancé, the one she hadn't seen or spoken to in five years, was striding toward her.

He halted an arm's length away, still smiling.

She gaped at him, rendered speechless by his very presence here, at a family gathering. He wore an outfit from the eighteenth or nineteenth century, like something out of a historical romance novel. His black pants fit snugly over all his muscles and disappeared inside a pair of shiny, knee-high black boots. His hunter-green coat hung long in the back but stopped at his waist in the front, while some sort of frilly scarf draped down from his throat.

Like a Victorian gentleman — or maybe Edwardian, she didn't know the difference — he bowed from the waist and clasped her hand to light a feathery kiss on her knuckles.

"Jamie, what a pleasure it is to see you." Trevor straightened but kept his fingers loosely around hers even as his attention flitted to her bosom where her nipples remained stiff. "And my, you are a vision this evening."

His English accent used to thrill her. Tonight, his voice and his dashing attire had no effect on her except to leave her awash in confusion.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, twisting her fingers free of his.

"Rory invited me." Trevor hooked a thumb inside the ascot around his waist. "I rang him to say hello and to see if he'd help me with a legal matter. I'm buying an old distillery, thinking of turning it into a tourist attraction."

Of course. He'd come to the Highlands on business, not to see her. Not that she wanted to see him. But telling a woman he'd sought her out as an afterthought wasn't the cleverest idea.

The full import of what he'd said caught up with her then, and her mouth fell open. "Rory invited you? To the party?"

"Yes." Trevor took hold of his lapels. "When he offered, I couldn't say no. The chance to see you again was irresistible."

Footsteps clomped behind her.

She glanced over her shoulder, knowing who would be there.

Gavin's brows cinched together over his nose, etching a crease that spawned more lines across his forehead. He shoved his tongue against the inside of his cheek, making it swell outward, his attention glued to the other man positioned in front of her.

The clock in her head banged out the seconds. One, two, three…

Jaw set, Gavin swiveled his gaze to her. The question in his eyes was unmistakable.

"A friend of yours?" Trevor said. He barreled past Jamie to offer his hand to Gavin. "Trevor Langley. I'm an old friend of Jamie's."

Gavin shook the other man's hand, but he watched her as he spoke. "Nice to meet Jamie's old friend ."

"I haven't seen Trevor in five years," she blurted out, as if anyone had asked.

Trevor smiled at her again. "Letting her go was the worst mistake of my life. One I hope to rectify."

Something in his voice made her wonder about his true intentions. A sharp edge. One that smoothed out in an instant. Maybe she'd imagined it.

Gavin gritted his teeth, a muscle jumping in his jaw. His gaze drilled into Trevor with the power of a tunnel-boring machine.

"He's joking," Jamie said.

Trevor moved closer to her, claiming her hand. "It's no joke. I want you back, Jamie. No one else has ever measured up to you, and no one ever will."

A wave of cold rushed over her, frosting her skin. Her scalp began to tingle, and she suddenly realized she'd stopped breathing. What in heaven's name was Trevor on about? Five years ago, he'd denounced her as a simple Scottish girl, not posh enough for a man with dreams of grandeur. Her love of the Highlands hadn't meshed with his need to conquer the big city. Her devotion to her family had gone against his desire to whisk her away to London where they'd live the high life together.

He hadn't asked if she wanted those things. He'd assumed she wouldn't go with him, and he hadn't cared about losing her. Since then, she'd realized he'd been right. If they'd really loved each other, they would've found a compromise, a way to merge their lives. He wanted things his way, and she wanted no part of the diamond-studded lifestyle he yearned to achieve.

Now, he turned up at a family Halloween party and announced he wanted her back. He crashed into her life with no warning — invited by her brother.

Jamie scanned the crowd, seeking Rory and Emery. Her brother was deep in conversation with Iain, but she caught Emery's gaze. The vivacious blonde waved to Jamie and glanced away. Jamie, mouth agape and eyes wide, flapped her hand until she recaptured Emery's attention.

Emery gave a sharp nod, rolled her shoulders back, and marched straight toward Jamie.

The kilt-wearing vampire slayer was coming to her rescue.

Her husband trailed after her appearing slightly amused and baffled at the same time. Rory often looked that way around his wife.

Trevor stared at Jamie. Gavin stared at Jamie.

She swallowed hard. All this attention from handsome men should've made her giddy, but instead it left her scratching her arms to chase away an itch that had no physical cause.

Emery wrapped an arm around Jamie, pulling her close in a protective embrace. "What's going on over here?"

"Nothing," Trevor said. "I was talking with Jamie and meeting her new friend."

"Friend?" Gavin all but snarled. "Listen here —"

Rory arrived, and everyone shut up.

Except his wife. Emery said, "Jamie, what happened?"

Jamie shot Rory a sharp glance. "Your husband invited my ex-boyfriend to the party."

Emery compressed her lips into a slash.

Rory had gone stiff and blank-faced. Robot Rory, Emery called him when he was like this.

"Is this true?" Emery asked.

Her husband shrugged one shoulder.

Emery shook her head, part exasperation, part affectionate chastisement. She hugged Jamie tighter to her side and murmured, "Why don't you and I go downstairs and have a chat." In a louder voice, she said, "Rory and I will talk later."

Jamie swore her stoic big brother flinched a wee bit. Only Emery could cow Rory MacTaggart. Well, Emery and Sorcha MacTaggart, their mother.

"What about them?" Jamie whispered into Emery's ear. "Gavin and Trevor. And Rory."

Emery spoke in a commanding voice that made all three men take notice. "Rory made this mess. He can slog through it on his own for a while."

She flashed her husband a smile bright enough to blind airliners in flight thirty thousand feet above their heads. Emery towed Jamie out of the gallery and down the spiral staircase to the vestibule on the ground floor. They hustled through the dining room and out the rear door into the guest wing. Once they'd reached the sitting room, Emery urged Jamie to sit on the sofa. Emery then plunked down on the coffee table in front of Jamie.

Hands on her thighs, Emery sighed. "Tell me everything."

*****

Gavin stood there long after Jamie had left, glaring at the man who'd barged into the middle of his relationship with the only woman he'd ever really loved. Gavin wanted to punch Trevor. Grind his pretty-boy face into the wood floor. He didn't do a damn thing. What if Jamie wanted this asshole back? What if she'd pined for Trevor all these years and Gavin had been second choice?

He didn't know what to believe anymore. Jamie had offered him casual sex. If the sweet girl he'd fallen for could want his body and nothing else, maybe she did have a candle burning for the pretty boy.

Trevor slapped Gavin's arm. "Relax, mate."

Mate? Had the guy seriously called Gavin 'mate'? Like they were good buds. Like they might share a few beers and crack jokes together.

Gavin responded the only way he could. He sucked it up and acted like none of this fazed him.

"What are you supposed to be?" Gavin asked, waving at Trevor's outfit.

"A rake." Trevor grinned, his perfect white teeth bared. "Of the Regency variety."

Regency? Sure, Gavin had a clue what that meant. Not. The other part he understood. "You dressed up like an old-timey gigolo?"

"A rake is a libertine, a freewheeling man in the vein of Don Juan or Casanova."

"Like I said, a gigolo."

Trevor stiffened, grasping his lapels. "In the Regency period, a rake was a gentleman."

Gavin snorted. "Come on. Even back then, a rake —" He did his best imitation of the snooty way Trevor had pronounced the word. " — was nothing but a lousy lowlife who preyed on vulnerable women."

"Preyed on?" Trevor chuckled, his tone as derisive as his nose-up expression. "I'm surprised you have such a wide vocabulary. What are you meant to be, then? A waiter?"

"James Bond." Gavin ground the words out between his teeth.

Trevor shook his head with mock pity and tsked. "Bond was British. You are a lowly American."

"Maybe I am, but Jamie's with me."

"We'll see about that." Trevor leaned toward Gavin. "My bank balance measures eight digits. How many shillings do you have to your name?"

"Do you really think Jamie's so shallow you can wow her with your fat wallet?"

"I can shower her with all the things she could never afford. Women value security. I have the connections to make certain she gets anything she wants or needs. I'd wager I could have you locked up in the Tower of London if I wanted."

"The Tower's a museum. You planning to lock me in the janitor's closet?"

"I'm sure you'd feel comfortable in there." Trevor rocked back on his heels. "The point is, I can fulfill Jamie's every wish. What do you have to offer?"

What did Gavin have to offer? Not much. But dammit, he loved Jamie — and she loved him.

"Your silence speaks volumes," Trevor said. He rocked back on his heels, thumbs hooked inside the ascot of his frilly outfit. "Two months ago, I came across a copy of an Inverness newspaper. In the society section, there was a picture of Rory and his new bride at their wedding. You and Jamie were in the background." Trevor tipped his nose up, radiating superiority. "She did not look happy."

He sauntered away, vanishing into the crowd.

For a few seconds, Gavin pondered Trevor's motivations for coming here. Though he'd said Jamie didn't seem happy, he hadn't sounded disturbed by the idea. In fact, Gavin almost thought the guy seemed… pleased.

Nah, he must've misread Trevor.

Gavin tried to shove his hands in his pants pockets, but the slacks of his monkey suit didn't have any. Why couldn't he ask Jamie to marry him? At the critical moment, he'd choked. And now, all she wanted from him was orgasms. Maybe she would prefer a slick British multimillionaire over an unemployed American with emotional hang-ups.

Why else would she have never mentioned Trevor?

A hand clapped down on his shoulder.

"That was a right massacre," Iain said. "You look like you need a drink."

"Not sure it'll help, but what the hell."

His life couldn't fall any deeper into the shithole.

Iain squeezed his shoulder. "Cheer up, laddie. Trevor's a bleeding ersehole and everybody knows it."

Gavin wasn't so sure Jamie agreed with that statement.

He let Iain shepherd him toward the wet bar, but the gnawing in his gut only worsened.