A Howl for a Highlander

Page 23

“Are you speaking to me?” Duncan asked, rising to stand at his full height. His voice was deep and gruff, and he stood at least four inches taller than this man.
Kenneth looked up at Duncan’s height and took two steps back from the table. That was the first halfway smart thing that he’d done. The waitress who had started over to the table stopped abruptly, order pad and pen in hand.
Everyone else nearby sat quietly watching the confrontation. Duncan was clearly in charge.
Shelley tried not to drop her jaw at the way Duncan commanded everyone’s attention with his very presence and the darkness in his voice. He looked like a Scottish laird, even if his oldest brother was actually the laird. He looked like he could have commandeered battlefields or led one wolf pack against another. He was intimidating, despite the fact that the other man was the one who had cursed at Duncan.
Now the man looked like he was about to pee his pants. His girlfriend looked like she was, too.
Shelley wondered if he’d tell Silverman how badly he’d botched confronting Duncan in a restaurant. She wondered if word of Duncan’s behavior would scare Silverman into running, if Kenneth did tell him what had happened.
The waitress broke the impenetrable silence with a half-squeaked question, “Is there anything wrong?” She was young. Shelley doubted the girl had ever had to deal with a situation like this. The best thing she could do was butt out.
Duncan cocked a brow at the man, putting the question to him.
Shelley suspected that he tried to get the words out so that he sounded more gruff and scary like Duncan, but he didn’t have the ability. Under his breath, the man said, “Just watch yourself.”
“Are you threatening me, laddie?”
Oh. My. God.
If looks could kill, the man would have struck Duncan dead. It wasn’t the threatening tone to Duncan’s voice, despite how cold and utterly dangerous he sounded, but the way he called the man “laddie” that irked the guy. Shelley felt like she was watching a reenactment of a Western gunfight in Texas, except that neither of the men had a gun, thank heavens. Or at least Duncan didn’t. She glanced back at the man. Maybe he did. That wouldn’t be good.
The guy wasn’t a lad; yet in werewolf years, he was definitely a green lad. But he wouldn’t understand the reference.
At two of the nearby tables, a couple of men chuckled. No one else said a word.
Maybe the guy didn’t back down because he was dumber than dirt. Or maybe he was packing. He finally said, “You stay away from my boss.”
“Who is your boss?” Duncan’s eyes sparkled like fire as he put the man on the spot.
The man looked around, finally aware that all eyes were upon him and he wasn’t getting anywhere with his paltry attempt at intimidation. “Hell,” he muttered under his breath, his face scarlet. Without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the place, leaving his girlfriend behind.
“Kenneth!” She started to leave when a waiter hurried over and stopped her.
“You haven’t paid your bill, miss.”
She looked like she could kill. But Shelley wasn’t sure who—Duncan? The waiter? Or Kenneth, her long-gone boyfriend, who had stuck her with the bill?
***
Duncan was quiet through the meal, while other customers talked among themselves, wondering what that had been about, with all kinds of scenarios popping up and their voices low as if they didn’t want to stir up the Highlander. But if they had been betting during the showdown, all of their bets would have been on Duncan.
Shelley had been equally quiet, eating her mushroom burger, watching the time on a big clock on one wall to make sure they set sail on the pirate ship, and listening to the conversations around them. She didn’t like Duncan being so quiet, though. She knew he was making plans and doing a lot of soul searching. All of a sudden, she felt that after the brief time she’d been part of his life—almost the center, in fact—she was once again no one to him.
She couldn’t believe how much she enjoyed being with him, taking part in his life, and sharing time with him. Even though she could see his dark, protective warrior side, he always let her choose how far she wanted to take their relationship.
“Duncan,” she said, trying to get his attention without garnering everyone else’s. She felt as though they were still the center of the world as far as the other diners were concerned. The scene in the restaurant was probably the most exciting thing that had happened to these tourists while visiting the island.
They wanted to know more. Wanted to know what had brought the man to Shelley and Duncan’s table and why he had said the things he had. Why the Scot had stood towering over the man in battle mode. Why the man had threatened him, then left his girlfriend behind with the bill.
Duncan finally looked up at Shelley. His brown eyes were nearly black. He was not happy. “You’re going home,” he said firmly, allowing no argument.
Several looked in their direction, waiting to see what she had to say about it.
She was certain she looked like a fish, her mouth opening, then closing, then opening again. She frowned at him and took a drink of her water, trying to get her annoyance under control. He might be worried about her, but she was on a business trip, not a vacation, and she had work to do. She was not going home until she was scheduled to. He had no say in what she was going to do.
Even though she did not want to see him go while she was on the island, he could do whatever he wanted. She wasn’t leaving. That wasn’t his decision to make. She’d paid for the villa, and she was seeing this trip through to the end.
He watched her, his eyes holding her gaze, his posture saying she would not disobey him in this. He was a man descended from Scottish nobles, and he would tell her where to go. Just like in the old country from which her family had been sent packing.
She shook her head and felt hot tears sting the backs of her eyes as she held them in check, gritting her teeth so she wouldn’t say anything to upset herself further.
“Shelley…”
“No, Duncan,” she whispered hotly, afraid that if she spoke any louder, everyone would hear. Already the place was damned quiet again. This was surely more interesting than any soap opera could have been.
“I want you someplace safe.”
She sat up taller, chin up, eyes narrowed. “I’m fine here. I’ve got a job to do. Which I should be doing.” She rose, but he reached across the table, seized her wrist, and shook his head.
“We leave together. I’m not done eating.”
She scowled at him and sat back down. This was the warrior side of him that she hadn’t seen yet. The macho, controlling part. He let go of her, and finished his hamburger and the rest of his milk.
Women narrowed their eyes at Duncan, probably not liking that he was controlling her. Men looked a little like they wanted to speak to him on her behalf, but no one was alpha enough to make the effort. Even if they were alphas, she was sure they weren’t certain they’d win in a confrontation with him. He was intimidating when he had the notion to be.
She was glad that he had stopped her, though. She hadn’t wanted to create any more of a scene or depart the premises without him. But she wanted to get this issue of her leaving settled between them. She was not leaving the island. Period.
Duncan motioned to the waitress. She hurried over, not because she expected a big tip but because she didn’t dare dawdle, Shelley thought.
Shelley folded her arms and glowered at Duncan.
The waitress looked from Duncan to Shelley, who was so intent on scowling at Duncan that she didn’t spare the waitress a glance. But Shelley did see out of her peripheral vision that the waitress’s head turned so that she looked at Duncan again.
“Do you want your bill now, or would you like some dessert?” the waitress asked Duncan.
She must have asked because she had been so indoctrinated about having to mention dessert to restaurant patrons. Couldn’t she see that they were leaving? Like now?
Duncan finally shifted his hard gaze from Shelley, softening it when he spoke to the waitress and saying, “What do you have for dessert?”
Shelley couldn’t have looked more surprised as her eyes widened and her lips parted again. He couldn’t be serious.
To her shock, Duncan ordered an old-fashioned bowl of ice cream buried in hot fudge and whipped cream, with a sprinkle of pecans and a cherry on top. Shelley didn’t want anything further. Just to leave and do her work. She’d known that getting tangled up with him would be a mistake.
The dark green bowl of hot fudge sundae and another glass of milk arrived. He told Shelley that the milk was what did wonders for his skin, muscles, and bones. Two women at another table ordered glasses of milk after that.
Shelley eyed the damned sundae.
“Want some?” he asked, poking his spoon into the whipped cream and hot fudge and vanilla ice cream.
He offered her the spoonful but she snatched the cherry off the top, licked off the hot fudge topping, and popped the cherry into her mouth.
His mouth curved up. “I love your cherries more.”
His comment caused a couple of men nearby to chuckle under their breaths. Her face heated as though she’d just been exposed to several hours of hot sunlight.
“I liked the way you licked that cherry and took a bite,” he added, grinning.
Not that she wasn’t still upset with him, but she had no reason to let her irritation get the best of her.
“Fine, Duncan. Get your own bowl of ice cream.” She took his spoon and bowl to her side of the table and began eating every delicious bite. Chocolate had a way of dissolving grudges.
Duncan waved to the waitress, pointed to Shelley’s commandeered bowl of ice cream, and motioned for the waitress to bring him another.
But Shelley still wasn’t going home, damn it, no matter what he wanted.
Chapter 10
Shelley called him a stubborn Scot, but she was damned stubborn herself. Duncan was only thinking of her protection, but she wasn’t going along with it. In no uncertain terms, he would make sure she wasn’t staying here.