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She grimaced. But she did know that her position at the bank, where she worked as a loan officer, wasn’t doing it for her and if she didn’t make a change soon—the right one—she was going to suffocate under her own skin.
Initially Gemma had imagined that she would have rather traveled the country in a car or luxury coach, but she had to admit she was happier making the actual walk. There was something about knowing that her feet were walking the same ground as her mother and grandmother, that they were seeing the same things—albeit generations apart—and that, while the actual journey was the same, their experiences were wholly unique. She’d met a host of interesting people, all of them of the same mind with the same ultimate goal—reaching the end of the journey—and the breathtaking views of moors and lochs were something she knew she’d never forget.
Though there were several people who were camping along the way—in designated areas, of course—most were like her, looking for an open room at a bed and breakfast or hostel. It was nothing to pass someone at one juncture of the journey and later have them pass you, sling-shotting across each other’s path over and over again. That’s what had happened with Willem and Jenny, which was probably why Jeffrey had entrusted them with his message and pack. The traitor, she thought again. She still couldn’t believe that he’d actually left her. That he’d bailed in such a cowardly fashion, gallingly, via proxy.
They’d also been crossing paths with a beautiful, bold Scotsman she wished she hadn’t noticed. Ewan MacKinnon had first caught her attention on day one from the corner of her eye and her heart had given a strange sort of jolt. Before she could get him properly in her sights, he’d vanished behind a small crowd of people, leaving her curiously dejected, as though she’d had a present snatched out of her hands. By the end of day two she’d been covertly watching for him with a keen sort of unprecedented anticipation, she’d been gratified to catch him watching her. Jeffrey’s gimlet eyes hadn’t missed it, either, and he had tried to get her to act on her obviously mutual interest.
An incurable romantic, Jeffrey had cited the once in a lifetime opportunity to “bag a Scottish hottie” and had reminded her entirely too helpfully about her non-existent sex life. She and her last boyfriend had parted ways eight months ago—oddly enough, she didn’t like sharing and fidelity turned out to be beyond Andrew’s grasp—and, despite Jeffrey’s insistence that she needed a little orgasm therapy, she simply hadn’t been in the mood.
Until now.
Until him.
She’d been having fantasies about Ewan, dreaming of him at night and daydreaming about him come the dawn. Wicked, depraved scenarios which had involved lots of heavy breathing and copious amounts of clotted cream. It was insane and yet completely undeniable. Her belly clenched, remembering, and she felt heat sizzle over the tips of her breasts. The need was secondary to the strange expectation she felt, though, this bizarre sense of destiny all tangled up with the desire.
Neither of which she had time for, especially now.
With effort, she pushed his distracting image aside and told herself to focus. She’d just been abandoned by her best friend, quite unceremoniously, on foreign soil. She grimaced.
Clearly she had bigger issues.
A quick inspection revealed that Jeffrey had left her a first-aid kit, a package of granola and quite a bit of cash. Guilt money, she thought, but it would spend just as easily and now that she’d be footing the bill for her room by herself she was going to need it.
No doubt he’d be seeing Scotland the way he’d wanted to see it to start with—in grand style, touring all the places she’d like to see as well. Rosslyn Chapel and the Royal Mile, Sterling Castle, Culloden Battlefield, Loch Ness. Though she hadn’t had a chance to talk to him about it, she’d planned on asking him about changing their return tickets and spending another week in the country. It seemed a shame to leave when there was still so much she wished to do. And curiously, the idea of going back to Jackson, Mississippi—even to the quaint little farmhouse she called home—filled her with varying degrees of dread and panic.
Bizarre.
Regardless of anything, she refused to become Willem and Jenny’s third wheel. Though she and Jeffrey had started on the trail early in the week, planning ahead so that the end of their walk would fall on the more congested weekend, there were still plenty of people along the way. Sticking strictly to the path, she would be safe. Or as safe as she could be, at any rate.
Perhaps this was for the best, Gemma told herself. Neither her mother nor her grandmother had taken a friend along when they’d made their walk. Maybe this was a journey she was meant to make on her own. Her gaze took in the beautiful, lush green landscape—the shaggy highland cows in the field across the street, the enormous rhododendrons—they were more like trees here than the decorative shrub variety she was used to seeing at home, the lovely thistles bobbing in the breeze—and a little sigh slipped past her lips.
Determined to think of the glass as half full, she couldn’t imagine a better setting.
2
NO DOUBT ABOUT IT, Ewan decided. The animated hand-talking American guy had left her. Gemma—he’d overheard her tell someone in that lilting southern drawl. Something about her name conjured a soft warming in his chest. Caused a bizarre shift that made the balls of his feet tingle and his heart race.
Ridiculous.
He muttered a few choice expletives under his breath and passed a hand over his face. This was not his concern. She was not his concern. He shouldn’t care that her happy-go-lucky boyfriend had abandoned her and yet…
He couldn’t seem to overtake her, had purposely hung back so that he could make sure she was okay. His lips curled. Which sounded chivalrous, until one considered he’d been ogling her ass for the past six miles.
And intermittently and hungrily over the first forty they’d traversed.
There was nothing bloody noble in the way his dick had been straining against his drawers, that was for damned sure. Over a plump-reared American female whose laugh made his pulse leap.
It boggled the mind.
He’d first noticed her when they’d left Milngavie, just a fleeting glance as she blended in with the initial crowd, but there’d been something…significant, for lack of a better explanation, about that small glimpse that had stuck with him and made him purposely continue to seek her out despite the fact that she was obviously attached. But not too attached, he thought, smiling. Because inasmuch as he seemed to be insanely fascinated and attracted to her, she appeared to be equally affected by him. Bad form since she clearly wasn’t alone, but gratifying all the same. Hell, who didn’t want to be irresistible?
Nevertheless Ewan was supposed to be taking this opportunity to figure out just exactly what it was he wanted to do with the rest of his life. This journey was supposed to be about inner reflection, getting away from the noise—the expectations of his family—and simply discover what his true path was meant be. He’d jumped around from job to job within MacKinnon Holdings, his family’s business, and hadn’t been even marginally satisfied with any of them. Sales, marketing, web innovation…they’d all left him feeling bored and unfulfilled. He needed to be moving, to be making a difference on a larger, global scale. To make matters worse, his father had made no bones about the fact that he was ready to retire and, as the oldest, Ewan was certain his father wanted him to step in and fill his shoes.
The mere idea made him physically ill.
Holed up in an office all day, wearing a suit and tie to work, making decisions which would impact the family’s bottom line and the ultimate income of hundreds of people, decisions that, despite having a business degree, he felt no confidence in making.
At least he was in good company, Ewan thought, because none of his younger brothers wanted to take over for their father, either. In fact, his little sister was the only one who’d ever been interested in the workings of the family company and certainly had a better grasp of it than any of the rest of them did. Surely their father would see sense soon and realize that putting Genevieve in charge would be best for all of them.
It was disconcerting that this journey was more than half through and he still didn’t have a bloody clue what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. The only thing he could confidently say he wanted to do was…her. He chuckled low, pulled his water bottle from his side and took a healthy drink. Gemma trudged on ahead of him, her shapely rear making those horrid cargo pants she wore look impossibly sexy. He could tell she was tiring. She’d slowed a bit and paused every once in a while to stretch and gaze at the scenery. He wasn’t fooled, of course. She needed the break.
Though he hadn’t spoken a word to her, he’d be willing to bet that she’d never attempted a hike of this sort, or any other, for that matter. Her boots were new—no doubt her feet were killing her—and he’d glimpsed the top of a plain cotton tube sock when she’d paused to retie her shoe. Tube socks? Seriously? He’d thought, smiling. Newbies always underestimated the value of a good sock. He’d paid fourteen pounds for the pair he was wearing and didn’t regret a single cent of it.
Self-preservation told him that he needed to avoid her, that her misfortune didn’t mean he had to be her hero. He didn’t have time to be anyone’s hero, reluctant or otherwise. Just because she was an inexperienced hiker alone in a foreign country didn’t make her helpless. After all, she’d pressed on when her boyfriend had left, right? Definitely ballsy. But could determination, irritation and stubbornness get her up Devil’s Staircase and down into Fort William? Unharmed?
Shit.
They were nearing Crianlarich and he fully expected her to find lodging there. He had planned to do the same thing, but had hoped to have enough daylight to press on to the other side of town before stopping to get a jump on the next day’s hike.
He’d lagged behind her instead and now that was no longer an option. Because he’d abandoned any semblance of objectivity or good sense, Ewan knew he would “conveniently” find lodging where ever she stayed and would continue to “conveniently” mother duck her along the rest of the journey, following behind to make sure that she didn’t come to any harm.
And, of course, he would stare at her ass. His lips quirked.
One had to find perks where one could, after all.
He slowed as she stopped to take another picture of another cow. How this animal could possibly look any different from the sheep and cattle they’d passed up until this point, Ewan had no idea, but she seemed determined to document every bit of wildlife between here and their final destination. It was irritating as hell and he briefly wondered if she were doing it on purpose. He didn’t recall her taking so much time before. But she’d had to keep pace with Jeffrey then, and now she could move along as she saw fit.
He wasn’t opposed to taking pictures—he’d snapped a few himself, particularly when they were walking the Loch Lomond stretch. Beautiful land. The mountains, hills and valleys, the taste of the loamy air. Ewan was sure the rest of the world was just lovely—and had even seen a great deal of it on various trips—but nothing could ever compare to this splendor. Cities held no appeal for him whatsoever. Too crowded, too loud, too…much. A man couldn’t see the sky for all the buildings—and the smell? The combination of car fumes and concrete? No offense to urbanites, but it wasn’t for him.
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.
