Free Some Like It Scot by Donna Kauffman Page A

“There. All set.”
    She fumbled and reached behind her, then struggled to sit back up. He helped her by all but lifting her from him and settled her back in her seat. The way one might a stuffed doll. Albeit a doll one had affection for, as he’d done it as gently as possible.
    â€œThank you,” she said again. “I can—” She paused, breathed, and realized she didn’t feel nauseous anymore. “Thank you,” she repeated.
    â€œAre ye all right?” Graham asked. He had one steadying hand on her shoulder. And it was steadying. Also distracting.
    â€œI’m sorry for the drama there. I thought I was going to…you know.”
    â€œAnd are you?”
    She shook her head. “I just wanted to.” Right before curling up into the fetal position and doing her damndest to forget the entire day had ever happened. “I’m good now. It was the dress, I guess.”
    Graham tapped on the divider window with his free hand, and the town car pulled away from the curb and resumed their journey. He lifted his hand from her shoulder and pushed the tumble of hair from her face. “I’m certain it was more than the dress. But I’m glad that much has been resolved.”
    He pushed the last wayward strand from her cheek, which was such a soothing gesture, she caught herself pressing lightly against the palm of his hand. It was hard, and callused…but also warm, and gentle despite being broad enough to cup most of the side of her head in his palm alone. The acid wave in her gut was gone. Instead she had to contend with a sudden burning sensation behind her eyes. No. She was not going to get emotional. McAuleys didn’t get emotional.
    Though she’d always thought that rule was restrictive bordering on cruel, especially when she’d been a youngster, all that training should be good for something. Right then, crying was not going to do her any good. Later, when she was alone, it was going to be the sobfest of the century, accompanied by a gluttony of chocolate if she had anything to say about it. And possibly large quantities of whatever adult beverage she could get her hands on.
    But not yet. She’d done the hard part. Okay, so part one of the hard part. Certainly there was worse yet to come. She could not allow herself to fall apart at the first sign of someone showing concern or caring. She’d just claimed her independence, literally in front of God and everyone. She was on her own, her own woman. Hear her roar.
    And though she hadn’t been in that new stage of her life very long, she was pretty sure being independent precluded leaning on anyone. Certainly not inside the first five minutes, anyway.
    â€œI’m okay,” she said, forcing the words past the lump in her throat, then forcing that down, too. She removed herself from his warmth and care and concern. It would be her undoing if she allowed herself even a second more of it. It was all catching up to her in a giant rush of reality and she wasn’t prepared to deal with that part yet. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready.
    â€œWhere to, sir?” The driver’s voice crackled through the intercom. The glass partition between them was smoked, making the driver nothing more than a shadowy figure on the other side.
    â€œAirport,” Graham said. “Baltimore.”
    Katie didn’t argue. In fact, hearing the word airport helped yank her brain back to the matter at hand. She had not a prayer of figuring out what to do with the rest of her life, much less the catastrophic ramifications of what she’d just left behind—especially during a hell-for-leather limo ride in her half undone wedding dress, with a gigantic, mad Scotsman who claimed he owned her, as her only support system. That would not be happening. All she really had to do, right that very second, was figure out what to do next. The rest would work itself out in time.
    An eon