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"That's brilliant, Piper." I pull her in for a one-armed hug and kiss her cheek again. "Congratulations,gràidh. I hope the bairn is just like you and nothing like the growling bear you call a husband."
She gives my chest a light punch. "Don't tease Magnus about this. He's kind of sensitive about becoming a father."
"Oh, aye, that makes sense. The demonic bounty hunter is sensitive."
I pull out the bouquet I had hidden behind my back and thrust it at her. "For the mother-to-be."
"Aw, Errol, that's so sweet." She takes the pink roses and sniffs them. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. Now, let's get started on this exhibition. Everyone will soon get to see the fruits of all your labor, the months you spent convincing larger museums to loan us their artifacts. You should be proud, Piper. You've done an amazing thing."
Since I can tell my compliment has embarrassed her a wee bit, I get to work opening the crates with a crowbar. I insist on ringing my cousins Callum and Logan to get them to help us position all the display cases because a pregnant lass shouldn't be doing that. I also ring my cousin Iain, as well as Alex Thorne, who married my cousin Catriona. They are both archaeologists, which means they're the perfect blokes to assist Piper in placing the artifacts within the cases in a way that forms a cohesive narrative.
Alex and Iain said that rubbish about a narrative, not me.
Catriona is also an archaeologist, but she wanted to stay home with the new baby she and Alex welcomed into the world not long ago.
I donnae see myself ever getting married or having bairns.
We can't get all the exhibits up today, so Piper goes home after lunch. I decide to hang about and open the last few crates in the long gallery. Dùndubhan is quite large, and the long gallery is rather cavernous, which means the slightest sound echoes and seems louder than it actually is. That's why I can hear a visitor approaching before I see the person, before they've even finished climbing the spiral staircase and crossed the threshold onto this floor. The footfalls clap as if the visitor is wearing dress shoes rather than boots or running shoes.
I continue prying a crate open while I wait for the visitor to reach the long gallery.
"There you are," an all too familiar voice declares. "You've been avoiding me, haven't you? That's not very nice, Mr. Murdoch."
Mhac na galla. Won't she ever leave me alone?
I set the crowbar on the floor and face the lass who seems determined to drive me insane. "Good afternoon, Miss Hartman."
She stops near one of the large windows and rests her bum against the sill. "I've told you a hundred times to call me Ashley. May I call you Errol?"
"No. And I only use a person's first name if I like them." I point the crowbar at her. "Donnae like ye, Miss Hartman. Stalking is a crime, you know."
"Stalking?" She smiles and shakes her head. "This is business, not personal. Some people just can't say yes until they've gotten the hard sell."
How does she make that term sound filthy? I donnae want to shag Ashley, so I donnae care if she speaks in a sexy voice. Or if she wears a dress that hugs her sexy figure. The low neckline doesn't bother me either. And her long brown hair does not make me want to fist my hands in it while I—Bod an Donais. She's driving me barking mad.
Ashley rests her hands on the sill, curling her fingers over the edge. "You can make this a lot easier on yourself if you just give in."
I set the crowbar on the crate I'd been trying to open. Give in? What she wants from me is a disaster in the making. I will probably wind up in prison or worse. For months, Ashley Hartman has hounded me, showing up at random times just so she can catch me off guard. She always dresses in a way she must think will make me so randy that I'll do what she wants. I might be a treasure hunter, but I do not chase after phantoms.
Gazing at her voluptuous body, I suddenly have an idea. Can't believe I never thought of it before. Maybe chasing her away isn't that hard after all.
I amble up to her, plant my hands on the sill at either side of her hips, and bend my elbows just enough that our faces hover inches apart. I'm taller than the lass, but that's why I leaned in. I speak in a huskier voice on purpose. "I know why ye keep coming back, Ashley. Ye want me to fuck ye."
Her eyes flare wide for a split second. "This is business, Mr. Murdoch. Nothing more."
"Then why do ye keep coming back? And you always wear a sexy frock or sexy trousers. I think you're trying to seduce me, Miss Hartman."
She's breathing harder, her breasts rising and falling with her rapid breaths. "This is not about sex. You aren't that hot."
"Of course I am." Her gaze flicks to my biceps, which my short-sleeve T-shirt reveals. "If ye donnae want me to kiss you, and then fuck you, best walk away now."
"I never give up on what I want—and I want you, Mr. Murdoch." She seals my lips with one finger when I start to speak. "As a business partner, nothing else."
Standing this close to her, I feel the blood rushing into myslat. All right, I'm attracted to her. But we both know damn well that she uses her body to entice me to participate in her barmy scheme. Even after months of harassment, she hasn't managed to talk me into signing on.
Her eyes have darkened, and I can tell her nipples are tightening. Aye, she wants me. And aye, I want her. But it's pure lust, and I do not need this woman to satisfy my needs. I can find a girlfriend anytime I want.
