“Stop.” There, she’d said it aloud.

And Memphis froze.

Two heartbeats passed. He had her at quite a disadvantage, and knew it. He flicked his forefinger and she nearly came undone. She forced her mouth closed, gently removed his hand, pulled down her sweater, and slid off the wall.

She could hear the ragged breaths that escaped from his mouth. She was panting as well. She put her hand over her mouth to try and calm herself.

He whispered the words. “‘Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear, and the rocks melt wi’ the sun! And I will love thee still, my dear, while the sands of life shall run.’”

When she didn’t respond, he put on his Scottish brogue for her. “Aye, Burns is a bonny poet.”

“Aye,” she whispered. The moment was gone. Over. Her lips were raw, her skin felt like she’d been brushed from head to toe with sandpaper.

Hand still over her mouth, she met his eyes. They were deeply blue. She realized his changed colors when he was aroused. And he was most mightily aroused. The outline in his pants was hard to miss.

She’d owed him more than this. She just didn’t know how much of herself she had to give.

“I’m… It’s… I can’t… I don’t…”

Shit. She took a deep breath, still staring into his bottomless eyes, and forced the words out.

“I’m sorry.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Memphis looked out over the rushing water. “These lands were important. You needed to cross through here to get to Inverness. My family controlled the land. Simple as that. They didn’t live here, they just owned it. They owned a lot of it. From here all the way back down to the estate. But as the years passed, and allegiances changed, the lands were stolen, or taken legally, or traded for women. We still own about five thousand acres up here.”

Neutral territory. He had the decency to turn and look away. She took advantage of the moment to hook up her bra. She wasn’t quite sure what to say, decided to stick with his lead. Her notebook had fallen in the dirt by the wall. She retrieved it, brushing it off before writing.

So this is Highsmythe country. You should put up a sign.

“Stop your teasing. I just thought you’d think it was pretty.”

I do. God, Memphis, if you only knew. It’s lovely.

He pushed off the wall, held out a hand as if nothing had happened, as if that very hand hadn’t just been making rather indecent proposals against her body.

“Excellent. Let’s go see if we can find Nessie, shall we?”

We’re going to Loch Ness?

She couldn’t help herself; she knew her smile went from ear to ear. It seemed wrong to be so excited to leave this place, but she couldn’t wait to get away.

“What, did you think I drove you all the way up here to look at a bridge?”

She had to make this better.

I think you drove me up here to take advantage of me, that’s what I think. Lovely area, pretty bridge, private waterfall, love poems. You’re a naughty boy, Memphis.

He smiled at her again, showing his teeth this time. They walked back to the car. It was as if nothing had happened. He was back to his normal tone of voice, and her heartbeat had finally slowed.

Memphis turned the engine over and slid the shifter into gear. “We should have just enough time to have luncheon at the Dores Inn before we take a drive down the loch. Fish and chips suit you? They have some of the best in the Highlands.”

“Mmm.”

They drove back out to the main road in silence. She was starting to sense Memphis’s moods, and noticed that they were mercurial, at best. There was something bothering him. The joking, jovial, sensitive man from the bridge was gone. Not that she was surprised. It was probably her fault. She’d given in to temptation, then yanked it away. Maybe that wasn’t fair, but had he any right to be upset about it? He’d taken advantage, too.

The silence grew too loud for her to bear.

Are you mad?

“At you? No. Of course not.” There was no sarcasm in his tone, but he didn’t look at her, kept his blue eyes firmly forward on the road.

You’re awfully quiet.

He sighed deeply, both hands gripping the steering wheel of the Aston. “I don’t know if I should tell you this.”

Tell me what, Memphis?

He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was strained, and he wouldn’t look at her.

“Taylor. I am hopelessly, desperately in love with you. Everything about you. And I know you feel something for me as well. You can’t deny that.”

She didn’t bother. Her body had given away all her secrets when they kissed. Yes, she did want him. But love? No. Not that. Not ever that.

She shook her head. He took that as a sign that she was agreeing with him, reached over and took her hand. Damn Brit, misinterpreting everything.

“If this was a mistake, I’m very sorry. I hadn’t planned it at all, to be honest. We had tickets for the noon ferry tour around Loch Ness. I was driving by the roundabout and stopping at the bridge seemed like…the right thing to do.”

She sensed he was telling the truth, that he hadn’t planned to make a move on her. She didn’t care what he said, he wasn’t over Evan, not by a long shot. And she was afraid he was going to try to make her a substitute. She’d be a poor one, at that, but safe. And very much alive, as she’d proven less than a quarter hour ago.

You’re forgiven. But Memphis, I’m engaged. We can’t do this.

God, she was going to have to burn these pages as soon as she got back to the castle.

“You’re wrong, Taylor. We most certainly can. But it’s not right for me to take advantage of your situation, either. So you’ll accept my apology, my lady. Please.”

Of course.

She touched him on the back of the hand, briefly, amazed at the shock that ran through her body.

You stupid, stupid girl.

Memphis changed the subject as they drew closer to Inverness, talking of the history of the land they were driving through. The Jacobites had fought and died here, on Culloden field, which appeared on her left. Taylor knew the sad history of that battle. The last stand of Bonnie Prince Charlie’s men, ragged, wounded, starving. They fought for their freedom on the moor, died there, nearly all of them, and were buried where they lay. She saw the blue and the red flags from the road—the lines demarking where the British and Scots had stood, facing one another across Drumossie Moor in the cold dawn, before the final charge that would end so many lives.

She felt her skin crawl, goose bumps parading up and down her arms. She was surrounded by death. All she wanted to do was get back to the castle, away from this sadness.

But Memphis was determined, and fifteen minutes later, they pulled into the parking lot of the Dores Inn, on the northernmost tip of Loch Ness. It was eerily beautiful, mist rising off the water, the gray skies lending themselves to her introspection. A rosebush outside the door still sported the remnants of heavy pink roses.

The building was warm and cozy, a fireplace pouring out heat. The staff was obviously happy to see them; it was certainly too chilly to be doing much besides staying inside, warm by a fire. This wasn’t exactly high tourist season, though there were people out sailing the loch—Taylor could see the tour boats powering down the murky water. It must be freezing out there, especially with the breeze.

Taylor needed a little something to take the edge off, so she ordered a Guinness. Took a Percocet. Let the edges blur. Tried to stop watching his hands. Tried to forget the bridge.

Memphis made an effort to be cheerful, but he too was distracted. They ate in silence, a strange veil of discomfort surrounding them. The food was delicious, though she couldn’t finish it all. After an interminable thirty minutes, they bundled up and went back into the cold to drive down the loch a bit then head home. Taylor was more than ready for this side trip to be over.