Chapter 4

Chapter Four

The woman was a menace, mostly to herself. Of all the tourists he'd ever rented the old crofter's cabin to, he couldn't remember anyone requiring as much help as Chloe so obviously did.

"But–" her plaintive little voice said in hurt confusion from the check-in counter. "B-but I bought a ticket."

For the second time, she held up her ticket confirmation receipt for the male attendant to see.

And for the second time, the man said sympathetically, "I'm sorry, lass. But your ticket was for yesterday's charter. It's expired. Did you get the trip insurance?" When he reached for her receipt, she handed it over. "If you did, I can reschedule you–nope, see right there?" He pointed to a line on her receipt. "Looks like it was declined."

Taking the receipt back, she looked at it again. Her shoulders slumped. "I didn't have enough money for all the things that required trip insurance."

"Och, love. I'm sorry. I truly am. My hands are tied."

Clapping a hand over his eyes, Hamish scrubbed his palm down his face to his chin. He shook his head. Where in the world would she be now if only he weren't here? He shook his head again. Hamish to the rescue once more.

Strangely, that didn't annoy him half as much as it should have.

Turning from the desk, Chloe looked up from her receipt, her forlorn eyes meeting Hamish's way-too protective gaze. Sighing, he pushed off the pillar where he'd been leaning to give her the privacy to talk finances and take care of business, and went to her.

"I missed my charter. I'm going to have to drive," she said sadly once he'd reached her. Raising her bowed head, she looked reluctantly from him to the ocean of rental cars spread out around them. "I'm so going to crash this car."

Without a word, he took her hand again. When he started walking, she fell into step beside him.

When they crossed back out of the carport shadow into sunlight again, she finally asked, "Where are we going?"

"Long-term parking. We're going to the same destination, anyway," he replied, careful to keep his internal irritation in firm check. Littles had a tendency to think his normal grumpiness directed at them. None of this was her fault, faulty plans notwithstanding. It was all him, and he knew it.

"You don't have to drive me." She glanced up at him.

He kept his eyes locked on aisle numbers, already knowing what he did and didn't need to do. He'd never offered another guest a ride to or from the airport. He had no idea what his problem was.

Except that, yes, he did, and it was absolutely Chloe's fault.

She was hitting every one of his Daddy buttons. Her tentative body language, her Little voice when things went wrong, her gorgeous blue, blue eyes so wide and uncertain. He just wanted to grab her up and hug all that uncertainty right out of her, setting free the little lassie inside her.

Just what he needed, to be some American's vacation fling.

Where the hell was the car? Digging his fob out of his pocket, he pressed the honk button until he finally heard the navigating chirp of his Sorento calling him home.

"Hope you peed on the plane," he said. "It's an hour drive without a lot of public bathrooms along the way." Popping the trunk, he dropped both their carry-ons and his luggage inside. "Consider yourself warned."

"I'm fine," she chirped.

He walked her around the car to the passenger side, opening the door for her.

She blushed, making him wonder if American men no longer did this for their lasses. Shame on them.

Sliding into the black leather seat, she tugged her skirt down over her knees. Modesty. He liked that. He liked her pretty knees too. Not that he had any business admiring them. Or her breasts for that matter. Pert and round, they were the perfect handful. Just the way he liked them.

"Seatbelt," he said gruffly and quickly shut the door.

He had no business comparing her to what he liked. Old soldiers, like him, with violent PTSD tendencies avoided relationships for a reason. Especially not when Littles, the most vulnerable of all submissives, were involved. He'd rather stay single than traumatize Chloe.

No. No, not Chloe. Chloe wasn't his and never would be. She lived an ocean away, but whoever he took to be his next Little girl, he didn't want to traumatize them either. Which he wasn't going to do, because he knew how dangerous he was. Relationships were out of the question for him.

Get your head on straight, Hamish, he angrily told himself. She doesn't even live in the same country.

Maybe that wouldn't make such a big difference if she lived in England or Ireland. But she didn't; she lived all the way across the pond. Long-distance relationships were hard as hell, never mind long-distance relationships between Daddies and Littles.

Haud tour whisht! What relationship? She was on vacation; he had a cottage to rent. That wasn't even remotely close to a relationship. Or at least not one that would give him leave to scold her naive irresponsibility, or haul her into his arms for a reassuring embrace when things like canceled tickets, missed flights and buses, and unreasonable Karens on planes were concerned. Or paddle her little bottom when she stepped blindly out into the street. Or kiss her senseless when she looked up at him with those big, wide, helpless eyes that begged for rescuing.

She wasn't helpless. Maybe he'd find a way to prove that to her before she went home again.

Clicking her seatbelt into place, she wiggled in excitement. And why wouldn't she? She was starting her vacation. Her first ever, he remembered her saying. He was glad for her. Especially since he was sure this drive back home was going to be pure hell for him.