I throw her an irritated glance. "I've spent more than one night with you."
"So, three one-nighters, me, three wives… That's seven. You've had five other lovers."
Why is she havering on and on about this?
"Um, those other five women—"
"Christ, Emery. What the devil is it you want to know?"
"Not sure."
Like hell she isn't sure. I huff and steer the car off the left side of the road, alongside a field lined with trees. Mountains hem in the valleys and the dark, glassy lochs, but I cannae focus on the scenery. My wife wants to know every minute detail of my sex life, and she willnae be satisfied until I tell her.
I grimace and massage my forehead with my thumb and forefinger. "You want my full history? I fucked a girl in high school, but she preferred my brother Aidan, not that he'd have her. Even Aidan was never that callous. I fucked three more girls in college before I met my first wife. After she left me, I fucked one woman, but she threw me over. Satisfied?"
Emery gazes at me with a deceptively calm expression, though the slight puckering of her lips tells me I have upset her. "Listen, if you're trying to make me feel like an idiot for asking, forget it. I'm not that easy to cow. Like I told you, I've had five lovers in my life. One I almost married, another who humiliated me, and two who just didn't give a damn. Oh, wait." She waves a hand in my direction. "Make that three who didn't give a damn."
Ye bloody cacan, MacTaggart.I've hurt her, and that…bothers me. Moaning, I slump forward to rest my head on the steering wheel between my hands. My entire body sags as I mumble curses at myself.
"Didn't catch that," she says. "Take your face out of the steering wheel if you want me to understand."
I hoist my head up, though it seems to have mutated into a granite boulder.
"I don't regret marrying you," I say without looking at her, "but I suspect you'll regret marrying me soon enough. If you don't already."
Silence echoes between us as a sliver of sunlight peeks out through the clouds.
"When was the last time you slept?" she asks.
"Last night."
"For how long?"
I hesitate. "Two hours."
"No wonder you're so testy." She combs her fingers through my hair, caressing my cheek with her thumb. "Let me drive for a while."
"You have no idea where you're going." I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. "And you'd need to drive on the left side."
"If you can handle right-side driving, I can manage the wrong way."
"Driving on the left isn't wrong in the UK."
"But it's unnatural." She tickles my cheek with her soft fingertips. "Why do you think they call it driving on the right side?"
I grumble something that isn't quite a word, then tell her, "I'm fine to drive."
"At least take a nap." She nods toward the dashboard. "The car's got GPS. Punch in the address, and I'll drive for a spell."
Let her drive? The woman who wanted to race a Lamborghini at one hundred miles per hour? But I could use a rest. I grip the steering wheel with both hands. "All right."
She claps once. "Yay, my first driving experience in Scotland."
"You will wake me in twenty minutes. I need your word."
"Fine, I'll wake you up."
"In twenty minutes."