Joanna's Highlander (Highland Protector #2)(37)
“You don’t understand.” Joanna pulled her hands away and picked up her phone. “We don’t have the money to cover a night of revelry for the gangster grannies. It wasn’t included in their tour fee and there’s no way we can charge them for it now.”
Grant plucked the phone out of her hands. “It’s you who doesna understand. Máthair holds herself responsible for the condition of yer ladies. If she hadna took them to the dyein’ barn, they ne’er wouldha got so wicked pissed.”
“What?”
Leaning against the kitchen island, Grant folded his arms across his chest. “D’ye ken a thing about yarn dyein’ or the processin’ of wool?”
Joanna thought back to the pamphlets about Highland Life and Legends. Nothing about dyeing came to mind, and she sure as hell hadn’t paid attention to the reenactors during any of the other tours. “I’m not familiar with the process,” she said, wishing she could grab her phone away from Grant and get the call to Lucia over and done with.
“Piss sets the color in the yarn. Indulgin’ in a great deal of drink helps ye make the piss ye need t’set yer dye.”
“That’s disgusting.” Joanna suddenly had this mental image of Hazel, Georgetta, Annamae, and Frances chugging shots, then squatting over metal buckets.
Grant nodded. “Be that as it may, the method has worked for centuries to produce some of the finest fabrics ye’ve e’er seen. Yer ladies wanted the authentic experience. I was assured that’s what they got.” Grant shrugged as though everything had been all wrapped up in a tidy little package. “Máthair feels responsible for the condition of yer ladies. There’ll be no charge for their evening at Highland Life and Legends.”
That made her feel somewhat better. At least their emergency fund was safe. For now. Joanna held out her hand. “I still need to call Lucia and let her know what’s going on. I’ll also need to call Miss Martha at the bed-and-breakfast so she won’t be wondering where we are.”
“I spoke to yer Mistress Lucia and Mistress Lydia called her sister, Mistress Martha. All parties concerned know that ye’ll be in my care this evenin’.”
“Oh really.” Joanna didn’t know whether to kiss him or kick him. How dare he pull off such a stunt as if she didn’t have a choice in the matter! “Did it ever occur to you that I might not want to spend tonight with you?”
Grant slid the phone out of her reach and gathered her into his arms. Walking her backward and pressing her against the counter, he cupped her ass with one hand and pulled her to his chest with the other. Nuzzling his way to her neck, he tickled light kisses up and down her throat. “I feel sure I could change yer mind,” he murmured against the skin beneath her ear.
Damn you. Joanna shivered, snugged into his hardness, and curled one leg around him. She slid her socked foot up and down his muscular calf and thigh, wishing they were skin to skin. “You’re not fighting fair,” she said, her nipples pebbling so tight they stung with a delicious throb.
“I fight to win.” Grant lifted her up and sat her on the counter. Pressing his forehead against hers, he teasingly smoothed his hands up and down the outside of her thighs. “And as soon as I’ve gotten some food into ye, we’ll retire upstairs for another fine battle.”
He expected her to eat? Now? When he already had her libido shifting into second gear and humming toward orgasm overdrive? “I don’t need food just yet. I need you.”
Joanna locked her thighs around his torso and crossed her ankles behind his back. She unbuttoned his shirt and yanked it free of his belted kilt with an impatient jerk. Slipping both hands inside his shirt to slide it off his shoulders, she breathed in the heat of him. A delightfully expectant shudder washed across her with the memory of those hard pecs and abs sliding against her body.
“Joanna,” Grant said in a scolding tone. “Ye’ve no’ had a thing but whisky and coffee all day.” He kissed her long and hard, then finally raised his head. “Ye’ll need yer strength for what I have in mind this evenin’.” Rubbing his lips back and forth across hers, he slid a hand up under her shirt and cupped one of her breasts. “I swear it. Ye willna be disappointed.”
“But I need you now.” She hadn’t meant to groan out the words, but she just couldn’t help it. Maybe she was light-headed from no food, caffeine, and the latent effects of alcohol, but all she really knew was that she was on fire and needed release. Badly. She reached down and cupped the hard ridge outlined at the front of his kilt, massaging and pulling. Before Grant could react, she flipped the kilt out of the way and rhythmically stroked the prize she was fighting to win. “Please…don’t be selfish and leave me like this. It feels like you’d enjoy a little release too.”
“When ye say it like that, ye leave me no choice.” Grant slipped his thumbs under the waistband of her sweatpants and before she realized what was happening, he jerked hard and yanked them and her panties down around her ankles. The cold countertop against her heated flesh nearly took her breath.
Smiling, she stripped her shirt and bra off over her head and lay back on the counter. “Now, this is the perfect appetizer.” A shiver wiggled her across the countertop.
Grant pulled a condom packet out of the sporran hanging at his side, ripped it open, then slid it on. Leaning over her, he licked her from her belly button all the way up to her throat, then nibbled his way to her mouth. “When I had this counter built t’suit m’height, I had no idea what a boon it would truly be.”