Some Like it Scottish Read Online Free PDF

wearing and she dropped her death grip on her sheet. Up top, he had on a crisp white long-sleeved T-shirt pushed up to the elbows. Down below, he sported a khaki-colored utility kilt.
A kilt.
She looked farther down to a nice set of knees and heavenly muscular calves. On his feet he wore army boots and thick black socks.
Holy smokes.
He looked even more masculine today than yesterday. How could that be possible? If she was being honest with herself, it kind of took her breath away.
    Maybe
kilt
should be added to her must-have list for the Scottish bachelors. Hell, all of her bachelors.
    She straightened her shoulders, feeling vulnerable while he towered over her. “That’s not exactly what I had in mind when I asked you to ratchet up your attire.”
    â€œOh?” He looked down at himself, seeming perfectly puzzled and looking as innocent as the mug in his hand.
    She knew he was messing with her.
    Then understanding dawned on his rugged features. “I know the problem. I forgot the best part.” He set the mug on the floor and pulled a cap from his back waistband, slipping it on his head. It was a chauffeur’s hat. And he looked absolutely ridiculous in it.
    She laughed. “Lose the hat and you’ll be fine.”
    He smiled back, and she liked it. Maybe a little too much.
    â€œNow, shoo, so I can get dressed.”
    For a second he stood there, grinning, like he wouldn’t leave for all the sheep in Scotland.
    â€œOut,” she commanded again.
    â€œOkay, okay. Whatever you say, boss. You American lasses sure like to tell men what to do.” Ramsay pulled the door closed behind him.
    â€œYou forgot this blasted tray.”
    But he was gone. She took the tray and set it outside her door. She found her adapter, plugged in her phone, and wrote Art MacKay an explanation and an apology. She grabbed a quick shower and did exactly what Ramsay suggested—dressed professionally for the village quilters in a black tailored pantsuit. She grabbed her day planner, shoved it into her waterproof carrying case, and headed downstairs with the awful tray.
    Ramsay stood when she came out of the kitchen—her breakfast now deposited in the trash. He picked up his rain slicker and headed toward the door.
    â€œWait.” She grabbed his arm—one of the strong arms that had carried her over the water last night. “Is there a store in town where I can buy a pair of wellies, too?” She shivered—with what might have been regret. With her own wellies, she would have no excuse to cling to him again.
    â€œAye, ye’re right. I can’t be lugging ye back and forth from the boat. I think ye hurt my back.” He rubbed his backside like he was in terrible pain.
    She rolled her eyes. “Poor, fragile, wee man.”
    He shoved his arms into his slicker. “You don’t havetime right now to shop, but the General Store has them. I’ll point it out on the way.”
    She pulled the hood up on her trench coat. From the sound of the storm, they were going to get wet.
    When she stepped outside, she found she was wrong. She wasn’t going to get wet; she was going to get drenched. A gust of wind hit her and she fell back into Ramsay.
    â€œWhoa.” His arms came around her and he spoke in her ear—loud enough to be heard over the storm and close enough that it made her shiver. “I’ve got you. But ye have to be careful, lass.”
    â€œI can see that.” The town sat right on the water’s edge with the retaining wall serving as the boardwalk. With the sea churning violently, the waves crashed onto the walkway. One misstep or rogue wave, and a girl could be pulled out to sea before she had the chance to say
Ramsay, save me.
    He righted her but held on to her arms as he guided her down the boardwalk through the village. She wanted to ask him about the quilting ladies, to prepare herself, but the gale-force wind prevented it. They passed several