CHAPTER ELEVEN
BONNIE
Beers consumed: Feels like at least twenty-five.
Days since last male-induced orgasm: Who’s counting anymore?
Hairy chests hand is playing with: One.
Uhh . . . why is my hand on a hairy chest?
What is that delightful smell?
Why am I so warm?
Am I petting a chinchilla?
I squint my eyes open. The sun is too bright, and my head is trying to crack itself open. But despite the scrambled eggs my brain is transforming into, I notice one thing that isn’t right . . . there is a man in my bed.
Not just any man . . .
*Whispers*
Kilty McGrumpyshire.
*Gasp*
My hands quickly fall to my body—I feel my breasts first.
Exposed.
Oh my God, why am I naked?
“Why am I naked?” I shout, sitting up in bed and startling the hell out of Rowan. He rolls off the bed, just as I realize I’m not naked—I’m still wearing my dress. My boobs have just fallen out of it like little escapees.
Just as Rowan pops his head up, I clap my hands over my boobs and turn toward him. His shirt is unbuttoned, but the rest of him is covered.
Did I unbutton his shirt?
Ugh. I forgot about his tattoo.
And his perfectly proportioned nipples.
Even in the morning, fresh off the booze train, he’s gorgeous.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asks, pressing a palm to his eye.
“Why are you in my bed?”
He glances around. “Hell if I know.” He blinks a few times. “Why are your tits out of your dress?”
“They went rogue last night. It has nothing to do with you.” I turn away and stuff the stubborn ladies back in. Dignity and all. Once I’m tucked away, I turn back around to find the smallest of smirks on his lips, and good God, my loins practically throw themselves at him.
Deadly. He is positively deadly with a smirk.
Trying to control myself, I say, “Your chest hair is really soft. What little chest hair you have, that is.”
He glances down at the small patch between his pecs and then back up at me. “I put leave-in conditioner in it.”
“Really?” I didn’t take him for a leave-in conditioner kind of guy, although his hair is luscious.
“No.” He stands, and that’s when I see his jeans are unbuttoned, revealing a peek of his black underwear.
Of course he’d have black underwear. I don’t know why that’s a turn-on for me, but it is. So are the abs carved into his taught stomach and the little patch of hair right above his waistline.
“Checking me out, Bonnie?”
I cross my arms over my chest and look away. “I’d rather burn my eyes out with acid.”
He chuckles, and just like that . . . my nipples are hard.
“Good to know.” He grabs his shoes and moves around the bed, through the cramped room, and down the stairs.
“Where are you going?” I ask, chasing after him—for God knows what reason.
“Home. I need to wash your stink off me.”
“I don’t stink,” I scoff as we make it into the living room. He sits down on the couch and puts his boots on, his fingers flying through the laces. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone tie their boots that fast.
Why is that something I’m noticing?
I blame the hangover.
When he stands, he tilts his head to the side, studying me as he slowly buttons up his shirt—a total detriment to society. He might drive me crazy, but his body was made to be naked at all times.
“You look sad. Do you not want me to leave?” he asks in a teasing tone.
“Oh, I def—”
“Uh . . . good morning,” I hear Dakota say behind me.
I quickly spin around to find her standing in her bedroom doorway, a sly smile turning up her lips.
Oof, how could I forget Dakota was here? I probably assumed she went home with Isla. Although not everyone works like I do—bringing an orgasm producer home but failing to receive said orgasm.
Not that I would want him to give me one.
Yeah, I know, I didn’t believe that last sentence either, but I figured, you know . . . to save face and all.
“Morning, lass,” Rowan says casually, as if standing in our house with his shirt half-undone and jeans open is completely and utterly normal. “How was your date with Isla?”
Dakota frowns and glances cautiously between us. “It was nice.”
“Did you kiss?” I ask, clasping my hands together at my chest, momentarily forgetting my predicament.
“No.” Dakota’s face brightens. “We did hold hands, though, while we went for a walk.”
“Oh, be still my heart,” I gush. Turning to Rowan, I grab the lapels of his shirt and shake him—or at least attempt to. “Did you hear that? They held hands.”
“Which pales in comparison to whatever you two did last night,” Dakota says.
I wave my hand at her. “Nothing happened.” To Rowan, I whisper, “Nothing happened, right?”
“Her tits threw themselves at me, and she told me my chest felt like a chinchilla.”
“I said that out loud?”
“Mumbled it,” he says, awkwardly patting me on the back.
“What a . . . thrilling night,” Dakota says, still looking confused. “So is this . . .” She wags her finger between us. “A thing?”
“What? No.” I shake my head. “Nope. No . . . no.”
“If you didn’t get that, it’s a solid no,” Rowan chimes in.
“Okay.” Dakota rocks on her heels. “Would you like to stay for breakfast, Rowan?”
“Oh, he has to get going—”
“Would love to.” He pats me on the back again and then makes his way to the kitchen, shirt and jeans still undone. “Shall I cook us up some eggs and toast?”
“That would be great,” Dakota says, smirking at me.
Why does it feel like they’re on the same team—one I am forbidden to join?
“So, tell us about your date,” I say, sitting down at the dining table with Dakota while Rowan moves around in the kitchen.
“It was really good.” Dakota plays with a napkin on the table. “She’s pretty awesome, but Rowan already knows this.”
“I do,” he says, his perfectly deep voice adding to the conversation. “She’s quite the catch.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Everything. Our childhoods, how different they were. Spoke about our friendship, and how even though I don’t have siblings, you’ve always been a sister to me.”
“True. I have no problem fighting you for the last piece of cake.”
“Claws out and everything,” she says, and we both laugh. “But it was also nice to have someone actually look me in the eye while I spoke. It felt like she cared about what I had to say. Isabella was never like that. Maybe a little at first, but then . . . I don’t know. I felt more like a puppet to her than anything.”
I nod, remembering just how toxic that entire relationship was. “Tell me about the hand holding.”
“Well, she asked if I wanted to go for a walk, and of course I wanted to since you and Rowan were starting to get rowdy and loud.”
“Were we?”
Dakota laughs. “Uh, yeah. It was quite the sight to behold.”
I cringe. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay, you were having fun. You need fun.”
Rowan glances over his shoulder at me from the stove, and I quickly look away. I don’t want him to see any ounce of vulnerability, because yeah, I did have fun last night—at least from what I can remember.
I had one of the best times I’ve had in a long time that didn’t involve Dakota. He helped take my mind off my nagging need to prove something to myself, to find anything that shows I’m on the right track, that I’m worthy. It’s a feeling that’s been plaguing me for what feels like every second of the day, and he erased that. He helped me relax, chill, just enjoy life for a moment rather than focus on what I could have done differently the last few years.
Yes, we might bicker and pick on each other, but I know it’s all in good spirit. I like a guy who doesn’t hold back, and Rowan doesn’t. He says whatever is on his mind. It can be terrifying at times, but also thrilling. And that realization is startling because I think . . . oh God . . . I think I might be having some sort of affectionate feelings toward the man.
No . . .
Right?
It must just be indigestion from the beer last night.
At least, that’s what I’m going to tell myself, because there is no way I want to face these feelings right now. I’d rather lay down the denial card, thank you very much.
“So, the hand holding.” I nudge her under the table, a sign I want her to move on.
“Yes, well, we started walking through town, along the loch. I was telling her about LA when she slipped her hand into mine.”
“Smooth,” Rowan says, and I detect a hint of pride in his voice.
“I was a little surprised at first, but then it felt so right, and we wove our fingers together. It was perfect. I had so many butterflies take off in my stomach that it almost felt like I couldn’t breathe.”
“Gah, my heart can’t take this.” I reach over and take Dakota’s hand. “I’m so excited for you. So, does this mean you’ll go out again?”
“If she asks, I will.”
“Why don’t you ask her?” Rowan chimes in, bringing two plates of food to the table. He sets them in front of us with silverware and then returns to the counter, leaning against it and picking up a plate for himself. He grabs a fork and starts to dig in, and I realize something—he might drive me crazy and he might be the grumpiest person I’ve ever met, but underneath it all, he’s a very kind and caring man.
A protector.
Someone who likes to serve others.
I don’t think I’ve ever met a man like him. It’s scary, yet refreshing.
“I’ve never asked someone out before,” Dakota admits. “What would I even say?”
“Simple,” Rowan says. “Just say, ‘Hey, I had a great time Friday night. Would you want to do it again sometime?’”
“That’s a great way to put it,” I say, though it feels odd to agree with Rowan.
“You think?” Dakota pushes some eggs around. “It makes me so nervous.”
“Think about how nervous Isla was to ask you out in the first place,” Rowan points out. “Being the only lesbian—or gay person—in a small town means that dating has had its challenges, and when she has ventured out, she’s been burned every time. Asking you out was a big deal . . . and probably why she invited the third wheel too.” Rowan nods toward me.
“I was a very charming third wheel.”
“‘Charming’ is a stretch.” I’m about to protest when he winks and then shoves a forkful of eggs into his mouth.
Good God, if he winks like that again, I’ll pop my breasts back out of this dress and shimmy them in front of his face. No shame.
“You think she’d appreciate it if I asked her out? We didn’t kiss or anything—maybe she didn’t think it was a good date.”
“If she held your hand, it was a good date. Trust me, Isla works slow. Ask her out, Dakota. I bet it’ll really make her day.”
“Yeah?”
Rowan nods. “Yeah.”
“Okay, then I’ll do it.” Dakota puffs her chest. “I’ll ask her out. Thanks, Rowan.”
“Anytime.”
Dakota is in the bathroom, getting ready for her big day, while I laze about at the dining table, watching Rowan finish up with the dishes that he insisted upon washing.
He’s so hot and cold all the time. I honestly don’t know how to read him. All I know is that last night and this morning—especially this morning—he’s put a dent in the armor I wear when I’m around him.
He switches off the water, dries his hands, and then turns around, gripping the counter and leaning against it, eyes trained on me. His shirt and jeans are buttoned now, but he still has a fresh-from-bed look, which is doing crazy things to whatever resolve I have left.
“Thank you,” I say before he can open his mouth.
“What for?”
“Well, for breakfast and the dishes, but mainly for giving Dakota the confidence she needed to take that next step—one I’m not sure she’d have made without some insider encouragement.”
“Dakota reminds me a lot of Isla—soft spoken, sweet, and shy when it comes to relationships. They both need a push, a bit of help to make those steps toward creating something they want.”
I rest my chin in my hand and give him a long look. “You’re very thoughtful, Rowan.”
“Not the arsehole you think I am, huh?”
“Never thought you were. Just . . . I don’t know. You know how to press my buttons.”
“Same, lass.” He pushes off the counter and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I’m going to take off. I’ll see you around.”
He’s started to the door when I call out, “Hold on.” I get out of my chair and close the distance between us.
I don’t know what I’m about to do, but I know I need to do something, because there are about a hundred different emotions buzzing through me, bubbling up and needing release.
Feeling awkward and hoping he doesn’t push me away, I reach out and wrap my arms around his waist. I pause for a moment, waiting for a reaction, and when he doesn’t move, I take that as a good sign and give him a hug.
Holding my breath, I wait for what feels like minutes, but is only seconds, before his arms encircle me as well and he pulls me in tight. I press my cheek to his chest, remembering how good this felt when we were up at Corsekelly Castle. And it feels so good now that our hug lasts, stretching on and on.
When I finally pull away, he fixes me with a stare. “What was that for?”
I shrug. “Thought maybe you needed a hug.”
He slowly nods. “Didn’t think I did . . . until you gave me one.”
The air stills between us, despite the fresh breeze wafting in from the open kitchen window. The prolonged anticipation that’s been building between us—the hate, the fights, the curiosity, the attraction—it feels like it’s colliding all at once, in this moment, and it’s almost unbearable.
Boldly, his eyes rake over me, resting a little longer on my breasts and then climbing to my eyes. They flare, entranced, as I lick my lips. The smoldering flame flickering in his eyes, the rise and fall of his thick chest, the clench of his jaw—all signs that maybe, just maybe, the pull I’m feeling toward this man isn’t just me. That he very well might be experiencing the same thing.
He takes a step forward, his hand slides around my waist, and I swear to God I can feel my knees weaken as his strong hand grips my side. His other hand lifts my chin as he wets his lips. I hold my breath.
Waiting, anticipating . . . hoping that his mouth descends on mine. Hoping that, even though we might be at each other’s throats, he finds it as exciting as I do.
His thumb pulls on my lip, and he lowers just a little bit more—until Dakota opens the bathroom door and walks out, whistling a Taylor Swift song.
Rowan quickly steps away and pushes his hand through his hair, turning his back to me.
God damn it, Dakota. She doesn’t even come into the living room—she walks straight into her bedroom without giving us a glance.
“I should go,” Rowan says, not looking at me but instead ducking his head and moving toward the door.
“Wait!” I call out, desperate. “I . . . uh . . . can you, um . . .” Jesus, spit it out, Bonnie. “Can you help me with something?”
He looks over his shoulder. “Right now?”
“No,” I say, even though I want to say yes. I want to ask him if he can help me with the ache between my legs. Hey-o. “Later, can you stop by the coffee shop?”
“Sure.” His brow furrows. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah.” Not really. I’m nervous, excited. I want to stay in his arms. And I want to talk through my thoughts about the shop, but I’m scared he might think they’re stupid, not worthy of consideration.
“Okay.” He takes a step away, and I hear him exhale harshly before he turns around, grabs me by the hand, and pulls me into another tight hug. With his chin resting on my head, he says, “I had fun last night.”
“I did too,” I admit, feeling those butterflies Dakota was talking about.
He squeezes me and then takes off, giving me a brief wave before exiting the cottage.
A large smile erupts over my face as I watch him walk away.
Oh no . . . this isn’t good at all.
It’s happening. I think I’m crushing on Kilty McGrumpyshire.
“Hey, lasses,” Isla says, walking into the coffee house with a basket of shortbread and Dundee cake. God bless Dakota for snagging the baker in town. “I brought you some replenishments.”
“You didn’t have to do—”
“You’re a doll,” I say, cutting Dakota off and taking the basket. “I was craving shortbread this morning after my walk.”
“Did you do the Hairy Coo Footpath?” Isla asks, leaning against the counter near Dakota.
“I did, and I love it so much. Those hairy coos are adorable. Might be my favorite part of Scotland.”
“Oh, Rowan isn’t?” Isla teases with a wink, making Dakota laugh out loud.
“Did you hear he stayed the night?” Dakota says.
Isla nods. “I did. Caught him doin’ the walk of shame on the way to the bakery.”
“There’s no walk of shame. Nothing happened. We just passed out in my bed. Trust me, if something happened, my lady parts would know about it. Let’s just say it’s been quite a long time since I’ve done the walk of shame.”
“Interesting. He looked like he got some last night,” Isla says, which piques my interest.
“Is that so?” I lean my chin into my hand and bat my eyelashes at her from over the counter. “Please, tell me more.”
She chuckles. “He was smiling, and it’s not very often Rowan smiles.”
I press my hand to my chest, and I can’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. “I did that to him. I made him smile.”
“Aye, something did, and I’m guessing if he spent the night at your place, you played a role.”
“He made us breakfast and did the dishes,” Dakota says. “He was actually really sweet. Didn’t even ask, just started taking care of us.”
“That’s Rowan for you,” Isla says wistfully. “He might have a hard exterior, but he’s quite gentle, and he takes care of his own. I’m starting to guess that he’s seeing you as part of his small inner circle. You two are lucky.”
That’s a good way to put it, because I feel lucky. Rowan seems like the kind of person who doesn’t bring many people into his life, but when he does, he does everything he can to keep them in and take care of them. It’s evident in the way he speaks of Isla and her need to be asked out for a change, or in how he steered me away so she and Dakota could have a night alone. He’s considerate, and I’m wondering if my annoyance with him earlier blinded me to that.
“I can tell he’s a good man. I think Bonnie should go for him,” Dakota says with a knowing look.
“I think so too,” Isla says as both of their gazes fall on me.
“Thank you for your opinion, ladies, but I think you two should just focus on yourselves for now. Which reminds me, Dakota, shouldn’t you be asking Isla—?”
“Isla, why don’t I walk you out?” Dakota cuts me off before I embarrass her.
“Oh aye.” She gives me a wave. “Enjoy the basket. Don’t eat it too fast.”
I shove a shortbread cookie in my mouth. “I won’t,” I say as it melts on my tongue. “I know how to pace myself.” I pick up another cookie and shove it in my mouth. So good.
So freaking good.
Together, they walk out of the coffee shop, and, being the nosy friend that I am, I tiptoe up to the door, ready to eavesdrop. Just as I reach the threshold and lean an ear out, a large body blocks me.
My mouth still full of shortbread, I slowly move my eyes up the broad frame and find a curious pair of green eyes looking down at me.
“Care to tell me what you’re doing?”
“Eavesdropping,” I say as crumbs fall from my mouth. “Care to join me?”
Rowan nudges my shoulder, moving me out of the way. “No. Give them space.”
“But what if she’s doing it wrong?”
“She won’t.”
“But—”
“Give them space,” he says a little more sternly.
“Ugh.” I back away. “You’re taking all the fun out of my friendship. We intrude on each other’s lives. That’s what we do—it’s what keeps us alive.”
“Aye, well, not this time.” He runs a hand down my shoulder, and his large palm connects with mine—which distracts me just long enough for him to pull me deeper into the coffee shop, where we both take a seat at one of the tables. “What do you need help with?” He releases my hand, and I kind of want to ask him if he’d hold it again.
“I need help listening in on my friend.”
“Bonnie.”
“What?” I smile widely at him.
“Let them be.”
“You’re really annoying.”
“So you’ve told me. Now, unless you actually need help with something, I’m going to leave.” He starts to stand, but I quickly grab his hand and tug him back down.
“No, I do need your help.” I nod toward the coffee maker. “Can I get you some ordinary coffee?”
He shakes his head. “I’m good.”
“Okay.” I cross one leg over the other. I catch his gaze land on my freshly shaved legs for a brief moment before they travel up to my face, sending a shiver of lust straight up my spine.
One look—that’s all it takes where this man is concerned.
One look, and I’m ready to bounce up and down on his lap.
I clear my throat. “Have you seen the reviews for the coffee shop on the tour bus websites?”
“There are reviews?” he asks, looking confused.
“Yes. All the tour bus companies provide information for each stop, and in Corsekelly, almost all the reviews say not to bother with the coffee shop because there’s nothing special about it.”
“That’s not . . .” His voice fades as he looks around the empty space. “Well, it wasn’t always like this.”
“But it is now, and something needs to be done. We’ve been here for over two weeks, and I think I’ve served coffee a dozen times. We’ve had days where the only visitor was Fergus.”
“My maw couldn’t take it all on. It was too much.” He runs his hand down his face. “Still don’t understand why my da retired. I really think . . .” Rowan bites the side of his mouth. “Hell, I think my da might be sick, and he’s not telling me. He insisted he was just tired and they had enough in savings and retirement for him to be done. But it was too hard for my maw to let go. She loves being in town, talking to everyone, but she doesn’t know how to keep up or how to create any grand ideas to actually improve the shop.” He chuckles to himself. “The only grand idea she had was to blast the job advert on social media, and look what that did.” He nods at me. “Brought two nosy and irritating Americans into town.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment, because I know for a fact that I’m growing on you.” I fluff my hair.
“Aye, and how do you know that?” he says, nudging my leg playfully.
“Uh, do you not remember the hug before you left the cottage, confessing you had fun with me?”
“I think I was still drunk.” He smirks, and I melt.
“Nice try, Grumpyshire. You’re totally into this.” I motion my hand up and down my body and watch his teeth tug on his lower lip while he takes me in.
Dear Jesus, please help me keep my shirt on right now.
His eyes return to mine. “So, what’s your idea?” he asks. “I know you have one brewing in that head of yours.”
“I was hoping we could overhaul the coffee house. Freshen it up, bring back the butteries, and add more coffee choices—real ones. Make it cozy in here, a place where tourists want to stop in. We could sell merchandise that centers on the Boaby Stone and Fergus, the things that make this town unique. Even the hairy coos. We don’t even have any pamphlets that direct tourists where to go. You could do so much—like a town bingo. You’d distribute the cards to the tour buses ahead of time, and in the half hour they’re here, there’d be a few things the tourists have to do, have to visit, and then they’d get a free shirt or something. I don’t know, I’m just spitballing here, but there’s so much potential, especially with the popularity of Iron Crowns, which I saw online—just signed on for three more seasons.”
He scratches the side of his jaw. “What happens when you go back home? You’ll be leaving my maw to handle it all on her own?”
“Who says I’m leaving? Maybe I like Corsekelly and want to live here. Maybe I’ll find a strapping lad who sweeps me off my feet. Someone like Leith or Lachlan. Or maybe both of them. I don’t mind shacking up with two hot twins who prance around town in kilts and lift logs as their workout.”
“They couldn’t handle you.”
“Oh?” I cross my arms over my chest. “And you think you’re the authority on who can handle me?”
“Aye.” The intensity of his gaze nearly overwhelms me.
I sigh. Now is not the time to get into another heated battle. “If I do end up leaving, I’ll be sure to help your mom find a reliable employee. Hell, she brought in two Americans—I’m pretty sure we could find someone who wouldn’t mind staying in a storybook cottage in Scotland’s cutest town. Not a hard sell, Rowy.”
“Don’t call me that,” he says quickly, and I chuckle.
“Come on.” I nudge his foot. “Think about how this would help your mom, your parents. Maybe there’s something they always wanted when it came to the coffee house. We could make it happen.”
He mulls it over as he takes in the shop, really giving it a good look. “It is shite in here,” he admits, which makes me laugh again. “I remember when this place was full of life.” He looks at me. “Why do you want to do this?”
“Truth?”
“Aye.”
“I relate to this coffee house more than I care to admit. Once had all the potential in the world, but over time, lost its luster . . . its purpose. Making it shine will give me something to do, something that actually makes me feel like I’m contributing rather than just living a mundane life.”
“You have purpose, Bonnie,” he says, and even though it’s a sweet statement, it rings false.
“I thought I did.” I shake my head. “It’s been hard to find lately. I feel like this will give me purpose, something to focus on and a way to apply myself. I need . . .” I let out a heavy breath. “I need to feel like I’m useful, Rowan. Right now, I couldn’t think any less of myself.”
“Hey.” He lifts my chin so I see the crinkle in his brow. “We all have our low moments. Trust me. Not all of us are living our truth. Not completely.”
“Are you talking about yourself?” I ask, and it feels like some barrier between us just broke from this one confession.
“Aye.” He looks away and stands from his chair, pulling on the back of his neck. “The plan was to leave Corsekelly, to do something better, something I really wanted, but that plan changed in an instant.”
“What happened?” I ask.
He’s opening his mouth to answer just as Dakota comes barreling through the door. “Isla said yes!” She tosses her arms up in the air and dances in place. “Oh my God, she said yes.”
Terrible, terrible timing, Dakota.
But, oh, I’m happy for my friend. Really excited, actually.
“That’s great,” Rowan says, giving me a quick look before patting Dakota on the shoulder.
“Thank you for encouraging me.” Dakota wraps him up in a hug and squeezes him tight. When she pulls away, she turns to me with a grin. “I see what you’re talking about, all those muscles.”
Dear God, Dakota. A filter, please.
Rowan steps away and turns toward the door. “I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about. I’ll leave you to it.”
“Wait, Rowan, we weren’t done.”
“Just do whatever, Bonnie.” Before I can answer, he takes off, the door shutting behind him.
Dakota shoots me a confused look. “Did I interrupt something?”
Normally my response would be sarcastic, but I don’t want to take away from her big moment. I shake my head. “So she said yes, huh? Tell me all about it.”
Smiling brightly, she recounts the entire conversation, and even though I’m dying to know what Rowan was going to say, I could not be happier in this moment.
“Hey, Leith,” I say, walking up to the high-top table he’s occupying in the pub.
“Bonnie, you’re looking beautiful tonight.” He pulls me into a tight hug, enveloping me in his woodsy cologne. It’s nice.
“Thank you. You’re very handsome yourself.”
I take a step back as he adjusts the collar of his shirt. “I ironed this myself.”
“Well, you did a superior job.”
“Thank you. Now, what can I help you with? I know you’re looking for something, because you have a little crinkle between your eyes.” He pokes my forehead and chuckles.
“Am I that obvious?”
“Aye.” He nods.
“I was looking for Rowan. I was hoping he’d be here. We have some unfinished business.”
“Does this have to do with him walking out of your cottage this morning? Isla told me she spotted the old scoundrel.”
Wow, news spreads even quicker here than in Los Angeles, where people live and breathe by gossip websites.
“Nothing happened.”
“So I’ve been told.” He shakes his head. “If it were me, something would have happened. You’re a fine lass, quite the catch.”
I chuckle and tip his chin. “And you’re quite the ladies’ man.”
“Try to be, but I ken it’s the broody one you’re after.”
I shake my head. “Not after him; just need to talk to him.”
“So you’re telling me there’s still a chance?”
I shrug. “Never say never.”
He fist pumps the air playfully. “I’ll take it.”
“Now, would you be able to tell me where Rowan is?”
“Most likely hunkered down in his cottage.”
Well, that’s not helpful. I purse my lips and look to the side, trying to figure out what to do next.
“I can tell you how to get there if you want. About a five-minute walk from here.”
Look at Leith being a good friend. He very well might be my favorite Murdach now.
“You don’t think he’d get mad?”
Leith gives me a good once-over. “If you showed up at my door, I definitely wouldn’t be mad.”
“Okay, okay, enough with the flirting—you’re going to make me blush.”
He chuckles. “We Scots are quite the charmers. Now, come here.” He stands from his seat and guides me out the front door and around the corner. “See that road over there, Loch Lane?” He points to a street just around the petrol station. “Take that all the way to the end. You’ll come to a cottage on the right—can’t miss it. Navy-blue door. That’s Rowan’s place.”
“That seems pretty easy.”
“Can’t get lost. Good luck, lass.”
With a quick goodbye, I take off down Loch Lane, admiring all the little cottages I pass on the way. I can’t imagine how anyone would want to live somewhere else. It truly feels like an entirely made-up world out here, a world you only see in movies and storybooks. As I come to the end of the lane, I spot a cottage on the right, tucked behind some trees. Its door is painted navy blue.
A stone wall circles the front of the cottage with an old iron gate, potted flowers hang off the house on hooks, and the white walls glisten in the sun. It’s a beautiful little cottage, and I could easily see it serving as his oasis—a place to tuck himself away at night, an escape after a long day in a small town.
Just like where Dakota and I are staying.
Nerves bloom in my stomach as I walk through the gate, which creaks out my arrival. I hope this was a good idea. My determination to get to the bottom of what Rowan was starting to say at the coffee shop wanes, and regret creeps in. What if he truly wants to be alone and I’m barging in on that time?
I look behind me, down Loch Lane. The rooftops of town peek out beyond a grove of trees. I could run away undetected—
The door to the cottage suddenly opens, revealing Rowan, standing in a pair of low-hanging sweatpants and nothing else.
Uh, I don’t think someone could get me to flee even if there was a fire. I don’t mind the prospect of staring at this man all night.
His hand grips the edge of the door, his knuckles whitening from how hard he’s squeezing the wood. I catch a ripple in his forearm as my eyes travel over his intricate tattoo to his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes.
God, angry looks so sexy on him.
“Can I come in?” I ask.
I’m met with silence as his eyes do a slow once-over, traveling up my leggings and plain T-shirt. And just when I think he’s about to say no, he pushes the door open a little more. I duck under his arm and walk into his cottage.
It’s simple, clean, and everything I would expect from him. To the right sits a black leather couch facing a small fireplace. There’s no TV in sight, but instead, an open book is turned facedown on the coffee table. To the left is a small kitchen and a two-person dining table. It’s just like our cottage, but Rowan’s is better organized, with newer wood cabinets and modern hardware. Above the coffee maker is a row of beautifully crafted mugs, hanging from hooks and bringing a sense of color to the white, rustic space.
When he shuts the door, I turn to face him, and his eyes rake over me one more time. He looks like a wolf on the prowl, and I’m the prey. It’s equally terrifying and exhilarating.
“Uh . . . Leith told me where you live.”
He doesn’t say anything, so I keep on going, my pulse rising every second.
“I wanted to finish our conversation from earlier. I didn’t think it had a proper conclusion.”
Nothing. Not a quirk to the brow, not a tick in the jaw. Just arms crossed, staring at me.
“Were you, uh, interested in finishing that conversation?” I ask, twisting my hands together, a jittery sensation bouncing inside me.
Rowan is a private person. I know this. Did I just completely overstep my bounds?
Then again, if he didn’t want me here, he wouldn’t have let me in, right?
Motioning to his cottage, I say, “You’ve done a lovely job with the space. I like the subtle pops of color.”
He runs a hand along the side of his jaw, and . . . can I just pause for a second and appreciate the specimen in front of me?
Chiseled, sculpted, a Scottish Adonis with a handsome face and the perfect amount of scruff on his jaw, which seems to never change in length. He’s unlike any man I’ve ever seen in person but have always dreamed up. His carved V borders an extreme set of abs. His large pecs connect to boulder-like arms and large, sexy hands.
And when anger vibrates through him—like it is now—every one of his muscles fires off. It’s quite the sight to behold.
“Are you going to say something?” I ask, feeling myself shrink in his presence, beneath his intimidating stare. “Because it’s rude to invite someone in but not talk. You have company, Rowan—be a good host.”
His jaw works side to side but remains clamped shut.
Well, this seems to have been a huge mistake.
Not in the mood for a blowup, I let out a heavy, defeated breath. I should probably leave—catch him on another day when he’s ready to be human, not a Neanderthal.
“Okay, well, this was a lovely visit. Thank you for the hospitality.”
I push past him, but he reaches out and gently takes my arm, halting me in place. We’re standing side by side—he faces one direction, and I face the other. “Coffee?” he quietly asks.
“Uh . . . sure.”
Slowly, he releases my arm, and his fingers trail over my skin like feathers, sending a shiver up my spine as he pulls away.
He strides to the kitchen, keeping his back toward me. I watch him prepare a simple pot of coffee and then pull two mugs from the hooks. While the coffee brews, he opens a cabinet that’s next to the fridge and pulls out a Tupperware container full of . . . oh dear God.
It’s cake.
Things are about to get embarrassing.
“Is that, uh . . . cake you’ve got over there?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Because if so, you know I would love a piece, big guy.”
He pulls two beautifully made plates off a shelf, the same style as the mugs. Then he cuts two pieces of cake, puts them on the plates with forks, and brings them to the coffee table, just as the coffee maker beeps.
He fills each mug. “Cream or sugar?”
“Both,” I answer, standing awkwardly in the middle of his cottage, unsure of what to do with my hands—or my body, for that matter. Do I sit down? Do I wait for him? Do I snag the cake and sprint out the door?
Option three is looking pretty promising—that is, until he turns around with two mugs and I catch sight of him once more.
Yeah, there’s no way I would be able to leave at this point. I’m dedicated to watching his pecs flex tonight.
He heads toward the couch, then takes a seat and sets everything down on the coffee table. When he looks up at me, he asks, “Are you going to sit down or stand there all night?”
“Well, you know, you’ve made things quite uncomfortable.” I move around the couch and take a seat. “I’m not sure I’m even allowed to breathe in your space.”
“You can breathe.”
“Oh, look at that, you can talk.” He slides a mug over to my side and then leans back on the couch, staring at me.
But he doesn’t just stare. He practically looks into my soul as his arm casually drapes along the back of the couch.
“So.” I pat my lap. “Are we just going to look at each other?” He doesn’t answer, and I can’t take it anymore. It’s probably some sort of Scottish intimidation tactic that I’m unaware of, but there’s only so much silence I can endure before I start to lose my mind.
I’ve hit that point.
I reach out and push against his leg. “What is wrong with you?” I scoot closer, poking him in the quad, determined to annoy him until he says something. “Talk to me. Say something—anything. Just stop sitting there in silence without a word or—”
“You look beautiful tonight, Bonnie.” And just like that, he steals my breath from me. He looks away, clenching his fist and opening it, as if he’s trying to control himself.
“Are you finally admitting you find me attractive?” I ask, hoping that lightens the mood.
The teasing falls short as he reaches out and lifts my chin. “Ye ken I do.”
Okay, then.
Glad we established that.
Annnd . . . why did I come here, again?
My mind draws a blank as my heart rate picks up. My desire escalates to a body-pounding level that I’ve never experienced in my life.
Please, Bonnie, don’t do something stupid.