She opened her eyes and recognized the beefy fingers from earlier, only now they weren’t attached to her arm but holding out some bills toward the bartender.
“Sorry about earlier, lass,” McDougall grumbled as if the apology pained him. Inflicting more crossed her mind.
Her hearing was perfect, and his apology was worse than a child’s with his momma pinching his ear and holding him in place, ready to whip his ass if he didn’t say the words with sincerity. Quinn smiled down into her beer. “Come again? I don’t think I heard you.”
“You heard me,” he barked.
“Touch me again like that and I can promise much worse.” Had Quinn’s father been here, they would have high-fived. Well, whatever it was that men with class did these days. Maybe raised a bourbon in salute. She wouldn’t know. The last time she’d spoken to him was to announce the formation of Linked Inc., the psychicbusiness she’d started with her sisters. Now she just tried to stay away from her parents as much as possible. Not that she didn’t love them, but the backlash from forming the business had caused the family a bit of criticism.
“Forgive Ian. We were both shocked that you had solved a century-old puzzle,” Menzie said as the bartender placed darker beers in front of both of the guys. “We dinnae formally introduce ourselves. He’s Ian McDougall, and I’m Collin Menzie.”
“That’s great. Enjoy your evening.” Quinn slid off her stool, grabbed her oversized coat, and picked up her beer before motioning to the bartender she was moving to a table across the room.
The two big oafs ignored the hint and followed. If she could figure out the come-hither vibes she didn’t realize she was sending, she’d bottle that shit up and sell it because she hadn’t extended invitations to either man. Each of them took a chair at her newly acquired table. “The missing gem is returned, and your family peace is restored. Why are you following me?”
“I thought Yanks were hospitable,” Ian grumbled over the rim of his pint.
“And I thought all things in Scotland were bigger than in America.” Quinn glanced down into Ian’s lap. “Clearly we’ve both been misled.” She lied. Ian hadplenty of manhood to impress women. But one rude comment deserved another.Why am I letting him get to me?
Ian slammed his fist against the table and rose to his full height. He glared at her with his hazel eyes while running a hand through his dirty blond hair.
“Relax, stud. I was teasing.”
“Collin, control your wench,” Ian said, returning to his seat.
Quinn snapped her gaze to the aggravating Highlander and clenched her fingers around her mug while she pondered if she had enough cash in her wallet to make bail. “Wench?”
“He calls every beautiful woman a wench,” Collin said, resting his palm on her arm. “Careful, Quinn. He likes challenge in his conquests, and you might be next on his list.”
“I knew I should have just mailed the damn thing. Is this part of the curse? You follow the do-gooder and harass her?” She was restless and irritable; her voice sounded hoarse with tired frustration.
“You know about the curse?” Collin’s eyes grew large as his lips turned down at the corners.
Ian spewed his beer and started in a coughing fit, making Quinn smile. She raised her beer. “If you can’t handle your booze, you shouldn’t drink, studly.”
Ian swiped the back of his hand against his mouth. “What doyouknow of the curse?”
“Enough to know there is one.” She took a sip of her beer, watching a range of emotions roll across Collin’s face. His brows dipped in concern as the blues in his eyes swirled and darkened to that of an impending thunderstorm. The bar grew silent as if the other occupants understood the nature of their conversation and were eavesdropping, waiting for answers.
A genuine smile grew on Quinn’s face as she spotted the approaching bartender with her fish and chips.Finally, sustenance. The Miller Lite debacle was forgotten and forgiven like her nagging sister’s lecture about flying to Scotland. “You’re a God among men.”
Her words earned her a wink and a sexy smile. Men were so easy.
The Highlanders at the table stayed pleasantly silent, so she let them stew and studied her food. What Scots called chips were what Americans called fries. The fried greasy goodness made her mouth salivate in anticipation. She popped one in her mouth and moaned in bliss.
“How did you find out about the curse?” Collin asked with quiet but resolute firmness. His playful features and handsome smile had turned intosomething more of a hardened man demanding answers. She wondered which of his expressions she’d see in bed.
His change of demeanor and tone left her curious. She had a hard time believing the big, bad Scot would believe in such things. Would they believe in the truth if she’d told them? There was only one way to find out.
“I’m a medium.” Quinn glanced between their confused faces and shrugged when they didn’t respond. Guess not. Maybe she should have started with that and she would have been left to eat in peace.
“Explain,” Ian demanded.
“You must have found your balls.” He needed another dose in manners, but she silently chastised herself for taunting him. Her mother would be appalled and have a mini stroke from the way Quinn had been acting.
“Normally I donae tolerate a smart mouth on my wench,” Ian exclaimed.
“Good thing I’m not your wench.”
