Prologue

Jack
Las Vegas
Two years ago

Alarms clang and wail, announcing that some lucky person has won a jackpot on a slot machine, but I couldn’t care less about that. Everyone back home in Scotland thinks a holiday in Las Vegas, Nevada, is like hitting the jackpot without the extra money in my pocket. I’m meant to be excited by this city, but all I want to do is go home to the Highlands. Inverness seems like a sleepy hamlet compared to Las Vegas, but the little village of Loch Fairbairn, where I grew up, is a flea circus in comparison.

Of course, this is not a holiday for me. It’s a business trip.

I wander past the slot machines and the roulette wheels, headed for a conference room where I will sit among a crowd of other bored professionals. Does anyone think lectures and roundtable discussions are fun? Not me, that’s for certain. I stop just outside the doors to the conference room where a large sign announces, “International Alliance of Licensed Psychologists, Therapists, and Counselors: Annual Conference.”

Aye, that’s a mouthful to say, so I won’t even try. And aye, these conferences are always as dull as the title makes them sound.

Why do mental health professionals hold their annual meeting in a city that thrives on all the things we try to talk people out of doing? Gambling, drinking to excess, indulging in illicit drugs, and engaging in generally reckless behavior.

I miss my wee apartment in Inverness.

No, what I really miss is home—Ballachulish and Loch Fairbairn, the villages where my family lives. But my job is eighty miles away, and somehow, I never find the time to go home.

While I stare at the sign, I rub my neck. I’d come here for the conference, but now that I am here, I can’t make myself walk through the doors. Maybe I’ll skip the opening remarks and the introductory discussion that doubles as a drinks party. Those things are aimed at less-experienced therapists, anyway. Not attending the opening events wouldn’t be too awful, would it?

I veer away from the conference room, heading for the bar across from the casino. This hotel is enormous, and not the sort of place where I would’ve wanted to stay. My cousin Lachlan had insisted on paying for me to have a room in this expensive hotel—not just any room, but a suite that’s too large for one person. Lachlan has plenty of money, though, and he’s very generous. I would’ve felt like an erse if I argued about it.

Once I reach the bar, I want to order Ben Nevis or Talisker, but the hotel doesn’t stock Scottish whisky. I settle for Jack Daniels and perch on a stool to sip my drink while I observe the other people here. They all look either depressed or so drunk they’re almost euphoric. A large bloke sits on a stool three seats down from where I am, his bulk blocking my view of the other people who sit at the bar.

Maybe I’m depressed like all of them, though I can’t pinpoint why. I have a good job and a large extended family I love. When had I last taken a lass out on a date? Cannae remember. If it’s been so long I’ve forgotten, then it’s probably been too long. The occasional poke with a willing lass hardly counts. No dinner or conversation. Poke and go, that’s it.

I swallow the rest of my whisky and order another.

The large bloke slides off his stool and leaves.

And I finally get a look at the people further down the bar. My attention stalls on the closest person, a beautiful woman with blonde hair. She takes a sip from her glass, which holds some kind of amber liquid, and her lips curve into a smile of deep satisfaction as she closes her eyes. She sets her glass down, and her lids part, though they stay half-closed.

Bod an Donais, that woman is bonnie. More than bonnie. She has the most beautiful face I’ve ever seen, with a perfect nose and a small but enticing mouth. Her shapely figure offers curves and taut muscles, a fact I know because her dress clings to her body like she painted it on. The lass has small breasts that are no less mouthwatering because of their size and lips that I’d love to kiss.

She turns her head in my direction.

Our gazes collide, and I can’t stop myself from smiling at her.

The lass smiles back, waving her fingers at me.

I want to go over there and talk to her, but I shouldn’t. Should I? Approaching a stranger has never been my strong suit, but something about this woman captures my focus and refuses to let go. So I walk over to her and take a seat on the adjacent stool.

“Hello,” I say, because it’s the only thing I can think of.

She smiles again, and her eyes sparkle in the subdued lighting. “Hi. Want to have a drink with me? It’s more fun with company.”

“Love to.” I hold my hand out to her. “I’m Jack MacTaggart, by the way.”

“Autumn Flowerday.” She takes my hand but doesn’t shake it, just holding her palm against mine. “That’s my name is what I mean. Some people get confused about that since my name sounds like it should be painted on a flower shop window. I’m not a florist, though.”

“Your name is bonnie, just like you.”

“Thank you, Jack. What a sweet thing to say. Where are you from? I love your accent.”

“I was born and raised in Scotland, the Highlands. What about you?”

“Native Nevadan. Born in a tiny desert town, moved to Vegas for college and never left.”

“This must be an odd place to live. It’s so…loud and bright.”

“Let me guess. It’s your first trip to Sin City.”

I shrug one shoulder. “First trip outside the UK.”

She settles a hand on my arm, leaning closer. “Everybody gets overwhelmed on their first vacation in Vegas.”

“Aye, it is a bit much.” I hesitate to ask the question I’ve been wondering about since I first saw her, but I decide to go on and do it. “What is a bonnie lass like you doing in a hotel bar on a Friday evening all alone?”

“Same thing as everybody else. Trying to drink my troubles away.” She picks up her glass like she’s about to swallow the rest of her drink, but sets the glass down. “What about you? What’s a sexy Scotsman doing here in this bar?”

“Avoiding…things.” I don’t want to tell her what I do for a living, which is barmy. I’m not ashamed of being a psychologist. But it isn’t the sort of job that arouses the lasses.

I want this woman. Her smile, her sparkling green eyes, and her alluring body affect me in ways I’ve never experienced before. My cock is stiffening just from her smile and her voice. My pulse has accelerated, and all my senses seem heightened, like I’ve taken a drug, but I haven’t. With her hand on my arm, I swear I can feel her skin on mine even with my shirt between her palm and my flesh. And she smells good, though I can’t describe the scent. I want to kiss her. Touch her. Shag her.

Does she feel the same attraction? Christ, that word doesn’t seem strong enough for what I feel right now. Lust is more accurate. Pure, hot lust.

I lay my hand over hers on my arm. “Autumn, you are the bonniest woman I’ve ever seen. I know we’ve just met, but I would love to kiss you.”

“Yes, I’d love that too.”

My pulse races even faster, and a sort of electricity sweeps over my skin. I slant closer to her, thrusting a hand into her hair. It feels so bloody soft that I long to bury my face in that hair and suck in the scent of her for hours, with those silken strands brushing my skin.

She tips her head back, leaning toward me. Her lips open a sliver, just enough to let me dive deep into her mouth.

I touch my lips to hers. Electricity sizzles through my veins and over my skin, and the softness of her mouth makes me crave more of her. When she exhales, her breath teases my lips. I slip my tongue inside and groan at the sensation of her warm, slick flesh on mine. I explore her mouth slowly so I can revel in every second of the kiss, but still, I hunger for more, for everything. I want to spend all night exploring her mouth and loving her body.

Though I break the kiss, I keep my lips almost touching hers. “Will you come to my hotel room? I want to spend the night with you. Never done anything like this before, but…”

Her lips curve into a sultry smile. “Yes, I’d love that. And I’ve never done anything like this before either. It feels right, doesn’t it? I know that sounds crazy, but it’s true.”

“Aye, it does feel right.” And aye, it is barmy, but I don’t care. “Would you like to have a drink first? Or we could order champagne once we get to my room.”

“Let’s do that. And order strawberries with whipped cream too.”

My mind conjures an image of this woman spread out naked on the large bed in my suite while I drop whipped cream onto her skin and lick it off.

I take her hand, leading her out of the bar. We kiss during the long ride up to the eighteenth floor in the lift. No one else is in the car, so we have no need to hold back. By the time the lift stops moving, I have my hands under her skirt, gripping her erse, while she has her leg hooked around my hip. We separate our bodies only long enough to hurry down the hall and into my suite, then we start kissing again like we want to devour each other. And we do want that. Desperately.

We’re naked inside of two minutes and fucking inside of five.

Twelve days later, we’re married.

Six weeks after that, she walks out the door—and our marriage is over.

Chapter One

Autumn

Never marry a man you’ve known for twelve days, no matter how fantastic he is in bed, and especially not if he’s a MacTaggart. I learned that lesson twenty months ago when I walked away from Jack MacTaggart. Twenty months and three days, to be precise. I moved to Scotland for him, but when I practically begged Jack to move to America for me, he wouldn’t do it. So I left. Did my heart break? Yeah, it did—more than I expected. Do I wish I’d turned right around and flown back to Scotland? Maybe. Sometimes. When I’m lying in my bed at night, alone, remembering the good times we had.

But it could never work.

Today, I’m wondering why on earth I let my friend Rika talk me into not only taking a vacation in Scotland but also agreeing to a blind date. I never wanted to come back to this country. I don’t hate Scotland, but I’ve had this ridiculous fear that if I ever did come back, I’d bump into Jack. What are the odds of that? We’d lived in Inverness, and I’m currently sitting in a cafe in the village of Loch Fairbairn, three hours away from Inverness. Jack probably still lives there. I hope he still lives there.

But most of his family lives in and around Loch Fairbairn.

What kind of idiot am I? Agreeing to a blind date? Ugh. And Rika didn’t exactly set it up. She told me about it and hyped the date like it would be a great thing for me, getting “out there” again. The person who actually arranged the whole thing is the cousin of Rika’s husband, Dane. Or maybe she said he’s not technically Dane’s cousin, but some kind of honorary cousin? It’s all very confusing. Anyway, I’ve never met the man, don’t even know his name, yet I said yes to this setup. So yeah, I’m unbelievably stupid.

I’ve never been famous for my good judgment. Case in point: my whirlwind marriage to Jack.

All of this explains why I’m sitting at a table in the outdoor section of a quaint cafe in Loch Fairbairn, gazing across the quaint street that features quaint, historic buildings. After a long and expensive cab ride from the Inverness airport to this village, I hadn’t seen much because it was dark. Today, on the shorter cab ride to the cafe, I had seen a sign for a solicitor, aka a lawyer, called Rory MacTaggart. My anxiety level had ratcheted up a few notches then. Rory is Jack’s cousin, which I know because Jack told me stories about his family, though he never let me meet any of them.

If Rory works in this town…

No, I won’t see Jack. The odds are infinitesimal. He’s in Inverness, anyway.

I swallow the last gulp of my third glass of water and check the time on my phone. My blind date is thirty minutes overdue.

How long should I wait for this guy? Half an hour seems like plenty of time. Plus, I seriously need to pee after guzzling all that water. The cafe might have a restroom, but I’d rather go back to my room at the Loch Fairbairn Arms, where I’m staying. It’s the only inn, hotel, motel, or bed-and-breakfast in this village.

I slap a five-pound note on the table for the waitress. Though I didn’t order anything except for water, which is free, I feel like the sweet teenager deserves a tip. The pound notes they have here in Scotland look different from the ones they have in England, but I remember these funny-looking Scottish notes. I lived here with Jack, so yeah, I have a passing knowledge of the currency.

After leaving the tip, I head inside the cafe and straight to the counter. A young man who can’t be more than a teenager mans the counter and smiles when I approach.

“How can I help you?” he asks.

The boy’s Scottish accent reminds me of Jack. Not because the kid’s voice is like my ex-husband’s. Everyone who speaks with a Scots brogue reminds me of Jack. It’s pathetic, but I can’t help that.

“Do you have a pen and paper?” I ask. “I’d like to leave a note for the man I was supposed to meet here for lunch.”

“Aye, we’ve got those.” The boy reaches under the counter, bringing out a little pad of paper. He hands me that, plus a ballpoint pen.

I scribble my note, fold the paper in half, and give it to the boy. “If my, um, friend should show up, would you mind giving this to him? It’s a blind date, so I have no idea what he looks like or what his name is.”

“Aye, I’ll make sure he gets it.”

“Thank you.”

I decide to walk back to my hotel since it’s only three blocks away. That gives me a chance to admire the historic buildings and see what kind of shops the village has. Maybe tomorrow I’ll explore this place more. I’d planned to rent a car once I got here, but the agency at the Inverness airport was all out. A rental agency in Ballachulish, the town half an hour from Loch Fairbairn, will deliver a car to me tomorrow. Then I can drive around and get to know this part of the Highlands. Jack hadn’t wanted to show me around, always claiming he was too busy with work.

“A therapist is always on call,” he would tell me.

Ten minutes later, I’m back in my room at the Loch Fairbairn Arms. I’ve just shut the door and kicked off my shoes, so I lean back against the door. My thoughts rewind to the note I left for my mystery man. Maybe it had been too forward, but I’d felt like giving the guy one last chance. I mean, maybe he got stuck in traffic. What, did sheep block the road? This isn’t a big city with congestion. Well, he might’ve gotten lost. So now I’ve decided he’s never been to this village before? Why would Rika’s husband’s cousin or whatever set up a date for me in this town if the guy I’m supposed to meet doesn’t live nearby?

My note had said, “You get one more chance. Loch Fairbairn Arms, Room 110.”

Now I’ll find out if I’ve made another horrible judgment call.

Someone knocks on the door. It vibrates against my backside.

Has my mystery date finally shown up?

One way to find out. I push away from the door, turn around, and open it.

And I gasp, gaping at the man before me. My pulse revs into overdrive, making me feel lightheaded and a touch nauseous. I must be hallucinating. But no, I recognize that chestnut hair, those blue eyes, his muscular build, and that face—the one that can convey empathy one minute and sheer lust the next. Oh no, no, no, no, no.

Of course I recognize him. Like I could ever forget the face and body of my ex-husband.

Jack stares at me, not blinking, frozen in place like he’s suddenly morphed into stone. “Autumn? What are you doing here?”

The shock of seeing him again still has me reeling too. “No, this can’t be—You can’t be—No, no, no.”

“I, ah…” He shoves a hand into his hair and shakes his head. “It’s been a long time. You look…bonnie. I’ve never seen hair that color before.”

Why does my hair color unsettle him? So what if I dyed it ice blue. Colors like this are chic these days, and I think it looks good on me. “That’s all you can say? You set me up for this, didn’t you? Humiliating me doesn’t seem like your style, but—”

“I didn’t set this up. My friend Alex Thorne did.” He grits his teeth and mutters something I can’t quite understand, probably one of those Gaelic curses he loves. “I’m sorry. This was not my idea, and believe me, you are the last person I expected to see.”

No shit. I shut my eyes, squeezing my lips together. “Ugh. This is a mess. I flew all the way to Scotland for a vacation because my friend Rika suggested it. A blind date was supposed to be fun.”

“I’ll go. Again, I’m sorry for this mix-up.”

He turns to leave just as I open my eyes.

For some unfathomable reason, I grab his arm to stop him. “You don’t have to leave. Since we’re both here, maybe we should have lunch and try to bury the hatchet.”

Why am I convincing him to stay? It must be the shock inspiring me to behave like a lunatic. Plus, I still really need to pee. It’s hard to think when my bladder is about to explode.

“Lunch sounds good,” he says. “How long are you in Scotland?”

“Two weeks.” I step out of my room and shut the door. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll become friends.”

“Last time we saw each other, you told me I’m a shameless huckster.”

“Are you going to hold that against me forever? Time to get over yourself, Jack. I might think your job is dumb, but you think the same thing about mine.”

He sputters. “You quit medical school so you could become a blackjack dealer in Atlantic City. How is my profession a sham, but yours is noble? And you didn’t even discuss it with me. You announced you were moving to New Jersey, with or without me.”

Not quite how it went down, but if I truly plan to bury the hatchet, I shouldn’t get too uppity with him. “You could have come with me. If you really loved me, you would have.” I wave a hand like I don’t give a hoot about anything, which is baloney. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s have a nice lunch and go from there. You’re paying, right? I mean, you did stand me up.”

“I was late. I didn’t stand you up.”

“Whatever. You’re paying.”

“Aye, fine, I’ll pay.”

I stop, abruptly realizing just how much I need to relieve myself. “Um, give me a minute. I need to use the bathroom.”

“Am I meant to wait in the hall?”

“Yes, you are.”

I hurry back into my room, do what I need to do, and then pause to glance at myself in the bathroom mirror. Does my hair look okay? Of course it does. I just fixed my hair and makeup before I went to the cafe, and all I did was sit there for half an hour. I look fine. And besides, why should I care what Jack thinks of me?

When I open the door to my room again, he’s standing there with his arms crossed over his muscular chest, tapping the toe of one boot on the floor.

“Are you ready now?” he asks, sounding peeved.

“You’re the one who made me wait for so damn long at the cafe. Don’t get snippy because I needed to void my bladder.”

“Bod an Donais, Autumn. Does everything need to be an argument with you?”

“Does invoking the devil’s penis have to be your favorite curse?”

“I am sorry,” he says, pronouncing each syllable with knife-like precision, his gaze boring into mine. “How many bloody times do I have to say it?”

“Let’s just get to the cafe and try to calm down. We’ve both had a shock, right? So we’re arguing because of adrenaline or whatever.”

“That does make a kind of sense.”

He moves out of the way so I can exit my room, then he lays a hand on my lower back as we leave the hotel. Jack hails a cab, the same one I’d taken earlier. Maybe this town only has one cabbie. We don’t speak during the brief ride to the cafe, though he keeps glancing at me sideways. I see that because I keep glancing at him sideways too.

This is beyond weird. I’m having lunch with my ex-husband, who I haven’t seen in twenty months and three days. Maybe the fact I’ve kept count, down to the day, means something. But I refuse to think about that.

Because it absolutely does not mean I still have feelings for Jack.