The Accidental Scot by Patience Griffin

attraction he felt for her, but now the mouse-and-cat game between them felt too powerful. He was on autopilot and stepped closer.
    She ducked past him. “Meet me downstairs in the morning. Eight, sharp.” She slipped out the door and was gone.
    He was satisfied that he’d unnerved her. But a shiver passed through him, a reminder that he better get his head back in the game and quit messing around. Ross may not have a claim on her, but neither did Max. Nor should he.
    That night, his sleep was erratic, filled with Pippa. In his dreams she wasn’t slipping out the door, but entertaining him . . . in bed. She was teasing, giving, and exciting and . . . she was crazy about him.
    But it was only a dream.
    When he woke in the morning, his nighttime fantasies had put him in a dark mood. Because none of it had been real. Or ever would be.
    As directed, he met Pippa downstairs at eight sharp. He was going to do as she asked, but he wasn’t going to do it without a bit of a fight.
Wrangling me into the Christmas Roundup was damned presumptuous of her.
    He ignored how festive she looked in her red-and-white-striped sweater and how cute her hair was braided with plaid ribbon. “I need details about today. Howmany kids are we talking about?” He might’ve sounded rude, but he couldn’t help it. He really was annoyed.
    She eyed him closely. “Ye’re grumpy this morning. No one likes a grumpy Father Christmas.”
    He backed away, putting his hands up. “No. I draw the line right there. No dressing up as Santa. It’s bad enough you already got me in a skirt.”
    She
tsk
ed. “A kilt is only a skirt if ye’re wearing something underneath.” She raised her eyebrows in question as if she wanted to know. “
Real men
wear kilts.”
    He’d never tell. “Can we go?” His mood was crappy this morning, but he still mustered up some good Texas boy manners and held the door open for Pippa as she strolled through.
    â€œMaybe thirty,” she said.
    â€œThirty what?”
    â€œChildren who are coming to the Christmas Roundup. And I’m sorry you don’t like kids.” But nothing in her words or body language hinted she would give him a pass on today’s activities.
    â€œI like rug rats fine,” he answered, “as long as I’m related to them. I have a nephew and a niece.”
    â€œWhat are they like?”
    â€œLoud. Little Max is a handful. My brother, Jake, keeps him riled up, which drives his wife crazy. Bitsy, my little sister, has a girl, Hannah. She’s two, and a handful like her mother.” He smiled, thinking about the tantrum Hannah had thrown over wearing tights to church the last time he was there. “That little girl knows her own mind. I know better than most that strong women rule the world. There’s something powerful about a female who knows what she wants out of life.”
    He paused for second.
What the hell.
“Like you.” He was only telling the truth.
    â€œWhat makes you think I know what I want out of life?”
    â€œYou’re as easy to read as a schematic,” he said. “You love a challenge. You love figuring things out. You’re starting to see that it doesn’t matter whether you’re in Edinburgh or Gandiegow, that there’ll always be things that need to be fixed. Like North Sea Valve.”
    She stared back at him, horrified, as if he’d used X-ray vision to see clean through to her soul.
    â€œIt’s okay.” He understood why she’d used her given name, Alistair, when dealing with MTech and with him. Engineering, for all its advancements and diversity, was still male-centric. “I’m a pretty intuitive guy. It’s one of the reasons MTech wanted me in the Acquisitions Department. I can see things that perhaps others can’t.”
    â€œOr imagine that ye see.” She stared straight ahead. “Ye’ve