Joanna's Highlander (Highland Protector #2)(34)
“So now you know what an idiot I am,” Joanna said as she straightened, scooting to perch on the edge of the sofa while defensively lifting her chin. “I’m a poor judge of character, I have no self-control, and if there’s a loser within a five-mile radius, I will find him and make him mine.”
That last part stung. Was the woman callin’ him a loser?
“Beggin’ yer pardon?” Grant leaned forward, balanced his arms on his knees, and laced his fingers together. “Are ye sayin’ I’m a loser?”
Joanna’s dark green eyes flared open wider and her pale cheeks flushed a rosy pink. “Uhm…no…you’re not a loser—” She weakly flipped one hand in the air and shrugged. “It’s just that…” Her voice trailed off and her face grew even redder. “It’s just…”
“Just what?” He took a bit of solace in her obvious discomfort, but ’twas damn small solace indeed.
Joanna took a deep breath, then blew it out with a quick shake of her head. “It’s everything I’ve heard about your moodiness, how you can be a real jerk, your…odd ways. After what I just told you, I’d think you’d understand why I have no interest in hooking up with another bipolar…asshole.”
“Aye.” Grant took in a deep breath and slowly blew it out, sorting through his thoughts carefully. Use yer words well. Words are weapons, son. His mother’s advice played over and over in his mind. “I do understand yer reasoning but I would ask ye a question, if ye dinna mind?”
Joanna squeezed the pillow she still held across her lap until her knuckles whitened. “Go ahead,” she finally said with a jerking nod.
“Ye said ye became ‘unhireable’ in Chicago after the heartless bastards spread their lies about ye. All rumors, aye?”
Joanna nodded, shifting the pillow and hugging it until the seams strained with the pressure. The threads showed white against the plaid print, threatening to rupture.
“Did ye feel it unfair that ye’d been blackballed by hearsay alone?”
Joanna bit her lip, her reddened cheeks paling a bit. She dropped her gaze, refusing to look Grant in the eye. Slinging the pillow back into the corner of the couch, she stood and walked over to the wall of windows. “I know where you’re going with this. Just stop.” She turned and looked at him. “Stop it. Okay?”
“Nay, m’love, I canna stop.” He slowly rose from his seat, keeping his voice soft and low, barely louder than the sound of the rain. “Yer the first woman in sixteen years…” His words stalled. Was he really ready to reveal his scarred heart and his painful history to an outsider, to a woman? A twenty-first-century woman who more than likely had ne’er heard of the MacDara druids or the druid clans? Nay. Not yet. She’d ne’er believe me.
“You expect me to buy the fact that you’ve been celibate sixteen years?” Joanna glared at him. Gone were her innocently blushing cheeks and startled doe-like eyes—replaced by a cynical look that clearly said she was about to call him a liar.
Grant stepped around the coffee table and joined Joanna at the windows. Before she could squeak out a protest, he pulled her into his arms and turned her to lean back against his chest, pointing them both at the rain-spattered glass and the soggy world beyond.
“I havena been celibate.” He rested his chin on top of her head and tightened his arms around her. She felt damn good against him. He hadna realized just how badly he’d craved the return of her warm, soft body against his. “But yer the first woman in sixteen years that’s made m’heart ache when I fear I’ll ne’er see her again.”
Joanna shifted in his embrace, taking in a deep breath and slowly letting it out with a sigh. She didn’t speak. Just slid her hands over his and hugged his arms tighter around her.
They stood that way for what seemed like hours, but Grant didna care. As long as he had Joanna in his arms, he was happy.
“So…where does this leave us?” Joanna took in another deep breath and blew it out, hard and impatient, between lips pulled so tight the air nearly whistled.
Grant turned her in his arms and tilted her face up to his. “This brings us to the beginning of our journey. Are ye willin’ t’join me? Come t’know me even better for the man that I am and disprove the man of the rumors?”
“Give you a chance, you mean?”
“Aye, sweetness. Give me a chance.” Grant leaned down and grazed a slow, tender kiss across her lips, reveling in the whisky-flavored softness of her mouth. “Are ye willin’?”
Joanna shifted in his arms and barely touched his face. She refused to meet his gaze; instead, she kept her eyes focused on the mesmerizing movement of her fingertips tickling along his jawline.
“I’m afraid,” she finally confessed in a small voice as she tucked tightly fisted hands back to her chest and ducked her chin.
Grant pulled her closer, tucked her tight to his chest, and held her. “I’ll ne’er give ye cause t’fear me,” he said. “I swear it on all that’s holy.”
“I want to believe you.” Joanna snuggled tighter against him, nuzzling her face up against his throat and pressing a tender kiss just below his jawline. “You have no idea just how badly I want to believe you.”
Grant scooped her up into his arms and strode over to the bamboo reading chair hanging in the turn of the porch. He steadied the slowly spinning seat that looked a great deal like a hollowed-out egg lavishly fitted with richly colored pillows and cushions. He backed into it, sank into the comfortable chair, then settled Joanna securely in his lap.