Joanna's Highlander (Highland Protector #2)(6)
A delayed flicker of common sense smacked the back of her mind. Dammit. I know. Off limits. The dark blond and big-as-a-Viking blond man was finer than any she’d met in a while, but better safe than sorry. She’d play it smart and give this guy a wide berth—for the sake of the contract.
Besides. As attracted as she was to Grant, he had to be trouble. She always picked the wrong kind of guy and had endured enough malevolent male drama from her father and ex-fiancé to last a lifetime. It had cost her everything: family, finances, and career. She’d be damned if she ever put up with that shit again. I have learned my lesson.
Speaking of male drama, Grant’s face did seem unnaturally red—even under the dark gold dusting of the day-old beard that totally failed at concealing the sexiest little cleft in his chin and the dimple in his left cheek. Well…sexy or not, if Mr. MacHottie’s temperament matched the heat of his smoldering looks, she’d definitely screw their chances at a permanent contract if she got involved with him. Her mouth filters didn’t always stop her smart-ass remarks when she needed them filtered out and deleted the most.
Shit. I’m staring. They’re gonna think I’m an idiot. Joanna smiled and nodded at the men as though she’d just noticed them, hoping she didn’t look like a total ditz spinning around in her chair and staring at them like the nosy kid in church.
“Hi, guys,” she chirped with a friendly wave.
The two younger brothers sitting snug with massive shoulder against massive shoulder on one side of the tiny table smiled back at her and nodded their greetings. Opposite them, Grant fisted a large hand over his mouth, wheezed in a deep breath, then turned aside and coughed.
Coughing. The same coughing from earlier. Joanna grit her teeth and spun back around to face her own table. Well, shit! Grant must’ve been the one hacking and spewing his drink everywhere when he’d overheard the “hooter” discussion.
Just lovely. He’d surely go back and report to the MacDara bunch that a group from Carolina Adventures had been disruptive…again. They’d had a slight run-in just two weeks earlier, when one of the couples in a younger age group had slipped away and been found in the MacDaras’ private area at the strictly off-limits Castle Danu.
If the two trespassers had just been wandering around snapping pictures, Joanna could’ve easily explained away their actions as avid interest in the historically accurate structure. But the self-absorbed couple had decided that the secluded garden tended by CEO Alec MacDara’s wife, Sadie, was the perfect place to try and conceive their first child.
The memory of the resulting unpleasant meeting with the MacDaras’ lawyer and the enraged CEO still stung, spurring Joanna to snap her fingers at the waitress, who was still maintaining a safe distance on the other side of the dining room. “Mary! Could I please have the check? Now? I have to get my group settled in their rooms for the evening.”
Mary scurried over, a relieved smile plastered across her face. She quickly ripped four of the pages free from her dog-eared notebook and plopped them on the table in front of Joanna. “There you go. I’ll leave some mints up at the register for the ladies. I just opened a fresh box.”
“Thanks.” I’d rather have tranquilizers to knock these grannies out, she silently added as the herd of seniors made their way back to the table much faster than they’d left. Apparently, the trip to the restroom had filled them with renewed energy, and from what Joanna could see also super-charged the ever-present spark of devilry in their eyes. “All set, ladies? How about if we just go over tomorrow’s schedule at the B&B before you retire to your rooms. Okay?”
“Oh, we can’t go just yet,” Frances said, her fluttering hands and animated flitting back and forth around the table greatly resembling a hummingbird in search of the perfect flower.
Joanna dreaded asking, but she had no choice. She smelled a setup, and it reeked of rosewater and arthritis ointment. She took a deep breath and braced herself for whatever was coming next. “And why exactly can’t we leave now?”
“We have to find the case for Violet’s sunglasses,” Annamae said. “She thinks they must be under one of the tables. Thinks she dropped them.”
“What? I what?” Violet asked, one thin hand clutched to the lace neckline of her print dress with flowers so purple they perfectly represented her name. She peered around as though she’d just awakened from a trance. “Did you see me drop my glasses case?” she turned and asked Irene, confusion knotting her sparse gray brows.
“?’Course I did,” Georgetta interrupted as she rounded the table. “Matter of fact, isn’t that it over there?” Georgetta bent and vaguely motioned toward the floor under the MacDara men’s table. “Joanna, you’re closest and have younger eyes than the rest of us. Crawl under there and see.”
All three hunky Scots at said table grinned.
Seated with his kilt draped across his muscular thighs and the hem hitting just above his broad knees, Grant scooted his chair back, slowly planted both feet shoulder-width apart, and held out a hand as if to usher Joanna under the table at his feet. What an invitation! That was one way to answer that age-old question about what a Scot wears under his kilt.
“By all means, lass. Have a go under there…if ye like.” Grant’s smile was bold and the glint in his eyes just dared her to take him up on the offer.