" She bit her lip and lowered her hands. So what if the gorgeous Scotsman lifted his kilt?
He'd already done it once tonight, and who was she to stop him? It was a free country, after all. Her gaze drifted over to his kilt.
"Ye were saying?"
She glanced up at his face. A corner of his mouth quirked. His green eyes sparkled with humor. Oh no! He suspected she was secretly hoping for a peep show. Her cheeks flooded with heat.
"What are you waiting for, Scottie?" The flasher grinned. He'd achieved impressive proportions and was, no doubt, anticipating an equally sizable victory.
Emma figured he usually won by a head.
"The pretty lady can be our judge," the flasher announced.
She stepped back, shaking her head. "I really don't feel qualified." Or particularly honored.
"Don't worry, sugar. I came prepared." The flasher pulled something round, silver, and shiny from his trench coat pocket. "All you have to do is measure which one of us is longer."
The Scotsman arched a brow. "Ye brought a tape measure?"
"Of course." The flasher huffed. "I keep a daily journal, and I want it to be as accurate as possible." He planted his fists on his hips. "I take this seriously, you know."
"Brilliant," Emma muttered. "Well, guys, it's been… real, but I need to go. Feel free to do your own measuring." She turned toward the tree where she'd left her tote bag.
"No!" The flasher shouted.
Her training had taught her how to anticipate an attack. How to interpret the stirring of air behind her back. As soon as the flasher made a grab for her, she jumped out of his reach and assumed her favorite attack pose. Her reaction time had been as swift as ever, but not nearly as quick as the Scotsman. In a mere second, he'd reached behind his head, pulled out a sword, and pointed it at the flasher's neck.
With a gasp, Emma froze. He had a sword? And not just any sword. This sword was huge.
The flasher halted, his eyes wide with fear. He gulped and promptly wilted down south.
"I told ye mine was bigger," the Scotsman growled. "Make a move for the lass again, and I'll be shortening yers by a few inches."
"Don't hurt me." The flasher backed away, closing his coat.
The Scotsman advanced, his sword only inches from the flasher's fluctuating Adam's apple. "I suggest from now on, ye remember to wear yer knickers."
"Sure. Whatever you say, man."
"Leave us."
The flasher scurried away, disappearing around the bend. The Scotsman lifted the sword over his head so he could slide it back into its sheath. The long blade made a soft scraping noise as it slid home.
Emma was distracted momentarily by the bulge of his biceps, but she quickly came to her senses. "What are you doing with a sword?"
"'Tis called a claymore." He turned to face her. "Doona worry. Ye're safe now."
"I'm supposed to feel safe with a stranger who's packing a humongous weapon?"
He smiled slowly. "I told ye mine was bigger."
What typical male arrogance. "I was referring to your sword. Not your wee willie."
He gave her an injured look. "If ye're going to insult my size, I'll have to defend myself by offering ye proof."
"Don't even think about—"
"'Tis a matter of honor." His mouth twitched. "And I'm a verra honorable man."
"Very drunk is more like it. I can smell the whisky on your breath."
His eyes widened in surprise. "I've had a wee dram or two, but I'm no' drunk." He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Admit it, lass. Ye were wanting a private showing."
"Ha! Of all the… I'm going now. Good night." She strode toward the tree to retrieve her tote bag. Anger pricked at her. Shame on her. She'd had too much training to get distracted by bulging biceps or a broad chest. Or gorgeous green eyes.
"I owe ye an apology."
She hitched the bag onto her shoulder, ignoring him.
"I doona generally discuss private parts, at least until I've introduced myself first."
She stifled a grin. Something about this man was too appealing. Maybe his accent and kilt made her feel homesick. She'd been in America for only nine months. She glanced at him, and his soft smile tugged at her heart. Shit. She needed to go.
She removed the stake from her belt behind her back and dropped it into the bag. Her nerves tingled, every strand aware that he was watching her closely. Instinct told her to leave, but her curiosity was stronger. Who was this man? And why did he carry a sword?