Joanna's Highlander (Highland Protector #2)(14)
“So what?” Grant asked quietly, relaxing his stance and closing the distance between them.
“So…nicely,” she finally forced out. Or at least she thought she said the words out loud. It was hard to know for sure with Grant this close. All it would take was tiptoeing and leaning forward a little bit more and those fine Scottish lips would be hers.
“M’lady,” Grant whispered low and sweet, then encircled her with his arms and pulled her to him. “M’lady,” he whispered again, his lips brushing across hers, making her ache for more.
I can’t take this anymore. “My, Grant,” Joanna responded, then slid both hands up his chest, traced her fingers up and into the back of his hair, and gave herself to the kiss she’d worried about far too long.
Chapter 4
Grant kept his hands folded and pressed down atop his sporran to keep his hardened cock from liftin’ his kilt out like a flag. The kiss before the ride to the park had nearly undone him. If not for the gaggle of old women about to descend upon them, he would’ve swept Joanna up into the tour bus and christened the day proper.
Joanna stood beside him at the back of the herbal shop, gaze locked forward, and close enough so that he easily breathed in her delicious scent over that of the dried lavender and rosemary bundles hanging from the exposed hand-hewn oak beams overhead. Every time he caught her stealing a covert glance at him, she gifted him with a smile and made his hard-on even worse.
“…and this can be infused into a massaging oil that’s quite helpful for stiffness.”
Joanna’s group of bawdy old women, scattered among the other tourists seated in a semicircle before an oak-planked counter at the far end of the wide herbal shop, snickered and tittered in their seats, then turned and looked back at Grant and Joanna.
“Minds in the gutter. Every damn one of them. Worse than a bunch of teenage boys.” Joanna gave a sharp shake of her head at her group and made a “turn back around and pay attention” motion with one hand. “I don’t know where Lucia managed to find these ladies, but I’m gonna choke her if she ever does this to me again.”
“Aye, well…” Grant shifted in place, spread his feet wider apart, and readjusted his sporran for the nth time. For sure and for certain he was proud of his man parts, but his damn cock was a ravenous beast right now that refused to be ignored. He needed relief. Soon. “Perhaps Mistress Lucia is too distracted with MacClendon’s attentions t’be aware of much else.” He understood Joanna’s friend’s folly completely. Since he himself had decided to concentrate on properly wooing Joanna, he’d had little time or desire t’do anything else.
“You mean Taggart?”
“Aye. Taggart MacClendon, chieftain to Clan MacClendon.”
“Really? Him and Lucia?”
“Aye.” Grant faced Joanna, searching her face for a clue to her sudden tone. “Why d’ye sound so surprised?”
Joanna shrugged. “I know he seems to be around all the time, but he’s so quiet and Lucia’s never said anything about…well…them. Are you sure?”
“The man is bein’ careful. Takin’ his time and givin’ Mistress Lucia time t’properly mourn the loss of her husband.” Grant took in a deep breath, then slowly blew it out. Might as well add a bit about me own tactics t’see what she says. “He doesna wish t’rush her and make her feel as though he doesna respect the pain she’s going through. Choosing the proper moment t’woo a woman and make her yer own can take quite some time. It takes a great deal of plannin’, as well. Wooing is much like wagin’ a war or liftin’ cattle.” He gave Joanna a decisive nod. “To rush into such things is foolhardy.”
Joanna looked up at him. Slowly, she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Her cheeks grew rosier by the minute and moisture gathered in her eyes.
“Have I upset you, lass?” Grant glanced back at his mother behind the counter, barely shook his head, and shrugged. Máthair made a furious scowl at him and launched into what he knew was an exaggerated narrative on the use of some herbals and oils in love potions to keep her audience detained a bit longer.
Joanna pressed her fisted hand against her mouth and coughed, her shoulders trembling as she turned away.
It suddenly dawned on Grant that the woman was doing her damnedest t’keep from laughing out loud. “What the hell d’ye find so amusing?”
Clearing her throat, then swallowing hard, Joanna quickly shook her head. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“Ye lie, Joanna. I’ll thank ye t’tell me right now.”
“Oh…come on,” Joanna playfully backhanded his arm. “Don’t get your kilt in a knot. I just found it amusing that you compared romancing, or ‘wooing’ as you called it, to waging war or ‘lifting’ cattle—which, by the way, makes no sense. Do you pick up cows for fun in Scotland? They call it cow-tipping in the United States, but I don’t think that’s real. Sounds more like a joke somebody made up to fool city dwellers.”
A loud snort escaped Grant before he could help it. Now it was his turn to laugh. “Liftin’ cattle means stealin’ them. Clans oft take one another’s cattle—sometimes for sport, sometimes for profit.”
She gave him a confused, wide-eyed look, then held up one hand to pause Grant’s explanation of the age-old custom of cattle lifting. “Anyway…cattle lifting aside…you’re sure Taggart is interested in Lucia?”