“I hate Christmas,” she said.
A slow smile curled his lips. “Well bah humbug to you too.” He motioned for her to come inside.
“My sister Mairi’s in Canada.” She followed him into the warm interior of the shop. “She’s freezing her backside off under mountains of snow. Here, we get icy rain and endless darkness. In New Zealand, Christmas is in the middle of summer. Why can’t we have Christmas in summer? Nothing happens then anyway.”
“This is Scotland,” Logan said. “We’d still have rain for a summer Christmas, it just wouldn’t be icy.” He grinned. “Probably.”
She found his grin irrationally annoying. “I hate Scotland. And I hate rain. Cold rain. Warm rain. All rain. I hate all rain. And I particularly hate Scotland because all it does is rain.”
“Oookaaay.” Logan studied her long enough for it to become uncomfortable.
“What?” Hadn’t he cottoned on to the fact she wasn’t in the mood to be annoyed? Did he have a death wish?
“Have you eaten?” he asked, after what felt like an eternity of him staring at her.
“What’s that got to do with anything?” She was there to pick up some cameras. That was it. Then she’d head back to her hotel room and spend another night alone, staring at the tartan carpet.
“I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess you haven’t. When was the last time you ate?”
Now that he mentioned it, she wasn’t sure. “Breakfast?”
“Figures. Come on, Suzy Sunshine. Let’s get some food into you.” He snagged his jacket off the back of a chair as they headed through the shop and into the back of the building. Like a numpty, Agnes followed.
Before she knew it, they were in the alley behind the shop, and Logan was unlocking the car. “I don’t want food,” Agnes whined. “I don’t want to go out. There are people out there, and I hate people. I just want the cameras, and then I want to return to Fawlty Towers and continue my sad existence.”
“I know you do.” He patted her shoulder. “But everything will look much better once you’ve eaten.”
She glared at the hand on her shoulder. “If you pat me again, I’ll rip off your hand and smack you with it.”
“Right.” He opened the passenger door for her. “Get in and stop talking while I still like you.”
“I especially hate men,” she snarled as she climbed into the car.
Five minutes later, they parked outside a huge stone building that must once have been a church. Now it sported a sign proclaiming it Invertary’s spa and restaurant.
“I’m not dressed for this place.” She was wearing jeans and a sweater. This didn’t look like the kind of place that had Casual Tuesday.
“Nobody will care. Stop making excuses and get out of the car.”
“Fine. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can get back to the hotel.”
“That’s the spirit.”
Like a recalcitrant teen, she stomped up the steps to the front doors, frowning as she went.
Logan held the door for her. “Try not to terrorize anyone before they feed us.”
Agnes attempted to incinerate his brain with the power of her mind, but it didn’t work. Meanwhile, he asked the woman who greeted them for a table for two. As she followed him through the old church, she realized he was right—the place wasn’t exactly hopping, and no one turned to look at them. There were only three other people in the dining room.
After they settled at their table, their waitress approached. The middle-aged woman looked like she’d seen life and then some, but she smiled cheerily enough. “Have you had enough time to look at the menu? Can I get you drinks while you wait? Our soup of the day is roasted butternut squash with toasted pine nuts and crispy bacon. And today’s special is confit belly and braised cheek of pork, truffle and cauliflower purée, and roast carrots with toasted nuts and brown butter jus. Tonight’s dessert is warm pistachio souffle with chocolate sauce.”
And just like that, Agnes’ hunger made itself known—with a huge stomach rumble that the waitress pretended she didn’t hear, but that made Logan chuckle.
She cast him a frown before answering their waitress. “Yes. I’ll have all of that. And bread. It comes with bread, right? I really need bread.”
To her credit, the waitress politely replied, “Yes, it comes with bread.”
“I need wine too,” Agnes added. “Red. Lots of it.” She knew nothing about wine, so there was no point in asking for it by name. “Something rich and smooth, with no tangy aftertaste.”
“I’ll get you some Malbec.” the waitress asked. The name meant nothing to Agnes. “Would you like a bottle or a glass?”
Agnes glanced at Logan. “You drinking it too?” He nodded, so she said, “A bottle, please.”
When the waitress looked at Logan, he said, “Make it two of everything, thanks, Joyce.”
“Sure thing, Logan.” And with that, she gathered their menus and hurried away.
Leaving Agnes with a grinning man.
“What?” she demanded.
“Never heard anyone order wine like that before.”
She couldn’t help the burn in her cheeks. Sometimes her poverty-ridden roots showed through, no matter how far she managed to distance herself from them. “I know what I want to taste. I just don’t know names and types.” She should have done the wine course when she was at college, but it didn’t count toward her degree, so she’d deemed it non-essential. And there’d been no room in her budget for anything that wasn’t essential.
“There wasn’t anything wrong with it.” His face softened. “I just haven’t heard it before.”
They lapsed into silence. Agnes wasn’t in the mood for idle chitchat and, thankfully, Logan was smart enough not to attempt it with her. After what seemed like an eternity, their soup arrived, and Agnes fell on it like a lion who’d chased down an antelope, moaning in delight when she tasted it.
Catching Logan’s eye as she reached for the bread, which was warm and baked to perfection, she stilled. He was looking at her the same way she imagined she was looking at the bread—like she’d died and gone to heaven.
“It’s good?” he said in a low, gravelly voice.
All she could do was nod. Suddenly, the atmosphere in the restaurant seemed far more intimate than she’d noticed. There were candles on every table, soft music playing in the background, and a large open fire roaring on the back wall. In the bay window, a white Christmas tree decorated in rose gold sparkled at them. From the rich hues of the wooden floor to the exposed brickwork and the crisp white linen, it was clear the place was designed for romance. None of her dates had ever taken her somewhere quite so lovely.
But this wasn’t a date.
As if reading her mind, Logan said, “It was either eat here or at the pub, and I figured you’d seen enough of the hotel.”
Agnes didn’t quite know what to do with his thoughtfulness, so she concentrated on finishing her soup, and when the waitress arrived with their main course, she switched her focus to that. It was definitely worth her attention. The confit melted in her mouth, the carrots were deliciously sweet, and the creamy cauliflower made her taste buds sing the ‘Hallelujah Chorus.’
Although she actively kept her gaze from Logan, she was painfully aware of his every move. And it distracted her from her food. Honestly, his sexiness should have been a crime. From the way his bicep flexed as he reached for his wine to the way he patted his lips with his napkin. It was all overtly sensual. As though he’d been designed to make every movement an enticement. And it was annoying.
“Stop it,” she said. “You’re distracting me.”
His eyebrow shot up. “Stop what? I’m just eating.”
“I know. But it’s the way you’re doing it. Maybe you should eat over there.” She pointed to the other side of the room.
“Am I chewing too loud? Did I slurp the soup?” His eyes twinkled at her, which was also sexy and therefore rubbed her up the wrong way.
“You’re being too…sexy. It’s seriously irritating.”
That slow, panty-melting smile of his lit up his face. “Too sexy?”
“You need to tone it down. This isn’t a date, but you’re still oozing sex appeal. I’m embarrassed for you.”
“We can’t have that.”
They stared at each other for a moment, and Agnes could have sworn the temperature in the room shot up.
“You’re still sitting here,” she said, her voice sounding strangely husky. “Shoo. Go sit over there.”
“Agnes, I’m not sitting on the other side of the room because you find me irresistible when I’m not even trying.”
“I didn’t say I found you irresistible, just distracting.”
“And embarrassing,” he added helpfully. “Maybe you should eat with your eyes closed and solve the problem that way.”
She shook her head. “I’d still hear you and smell you.”
“And I sound and smell sexy too?”
“I don’t think you’re taking this seriously. I’m not attracted to you. I’m just embarrassed for you. You need to rein it in.”
“I appreciate the advice.” But he still didn’t move.
With a grunt of frustration, Agnes attempted to focus on her meal.
Logan honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much fun having dinner with a woman. She was priceless, and she wasn’t even trying. She genuinely wanted him to move away because she found his ‘sex appeal’ annoying. Agnes gave the word hangry a whole new level of meaning.
“So.” Logan leaned back in his chair as he toyed with the stem of his wine glass. “Tell me about yourself.” Now that she’d gotten some food into her, she didn’t look quite as feral as she had when she’d first turned up on his doorstep. The woman wasn’t taking care of herself. And for the sake of everyone around her, she really should.
“What is this? A job interview? I’m already employed,” she said with a frown as she dug into her meal.
“This is what most people call polite conversation, Agnes. It generally occurs between two people who’re sharing a meal, and it doesn’t mean anything other than we’re civilized. You can do this. I have faith in you. We’ll start with something simple. What’s your favorite color?”
He fought to stop from laughing when she rolled her eyes. “Can’t we talk about politics or religion instead? Something where we can have a decent debate.”
She meant an argument. It seemed the food hadn’t quite kicked in enough to mellow her out, and she was still looking for a fight. The whole thing was so damn funny. “No, we can’t debate. We’re keeping this light. It’s called small talk.”
“I don’t like small talk.”
“I’m going to take that as a sign you’re feeling better just because you didn’t say you hated it.”
Her lips twitched as though she wanted to smile but wasn’t quite ready to give up her mood just yet.
“Okay, I’ll start. My favorite color is green. And yours is?”
“Did you know that’s the favorite color of most serial killers?”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “Is that true?”
“No.” Forgetting she was irritated with him, and the world in general, she flashed a mischievous smile. “It’s orange. And my favorite color is cornflower blue.”
His heart thudded loudly in his chest at the sight of her. She was gorgeous when she was in a bad mood, but a playful Agnes was breathtaking. As the waitress swapped out their plates for dessert, he kept his eyes on the woman opposite him, watching her mellow as her belly filled. Feeling an irrational pride at being responsible for her mood.
“Okay then, what’s your favorite food? Mine’s haggis.”
The horrified expression on her face was priceless. “Nobody’s favorite food is haggis. We just eat it because we’re Scottish.”
“Cross my heart.” He made the gesture. “I love haggis. Your turn. What’s your favorite?”
“I can’t answer. I’m too traumatized over finding a Scots person who loves haggis. Please tell me you hate bagpipes. At least give me that.”
“No can do. I’ve been to the Edinburgh Tattoo three times.”
“That is my worst nightmare.” She shuddered. “Being stuck in an enclosed space filled with bagpipe players. Or fighting cats. They’d both make the same noise.”
“How can you not like haggis and bagpipes? It’s in our DNA.”
“Not mine. I don’t like black pudding, Scotch pies, or oatcakes, either.”
“I don’t understand it—you sound Scottish, you look Scottish, and you definitely have that special Scottish charm… Wait! I’ve got it. It’s because you grew up so close to the English border. Their proximity’s infected you.”
“And you’re the poster boy for every Scottish cliché in the book. You’ve got a kilt, haven’t you? And I bet you don’t just wear it to weddings.”
“I’ve been known to wear it while fishing…or to the odd football game…” He leaned forward and folded his arms on the table.
The candlelight brought out the golden streaks in Agnes’ white-blonde hair and made her green eyes shine like emeralds. Her skin, damn her skin, looked like the surface of the palest pink rose petal. It made him want to touch.
“I knew it,” she said triumphantly, flashing a wide grin.
Damn, she was stunning.
He cleared his throat. “Here’s the thing about kilts. They’re made of heavy wool, which is perfect for winter, but then you have the whole draft issue to contend with. So, that makes you think the built-in ventilation system would make the kilt a good summer option, but then the heavy wool makes you sweat. Really, we need a summer kilt and a winter kilt. And the winter kilt should probably come with thermal shorts.”
“You’ve spent way too much time thinking about this.”
“A man’s balls are no laughing matter, Agnes. They must be kept at the optimum temperature. Otherwise, his ability to think is seriously affected.”
She burst out laughing, and damn if the sight didn’t make his blood rush south and his heart soften just a little. He wasn’t sure why, but he got the feeling that Agnes didn’t laugh much, and that life had been far too heavy and serious for her.
“Come on,” he said. “We’d better get those cameras and install them.”
Just like that, the light in her eyes faded. “I should probably run it past Dougal first.”
“No, this time, I’m putting my foot down and saying that, as a security specialist, I highly recommend you help Dougal to get out of his own way by not telling him what we’re up to.”
The look she gave him was so weary and earnest, the weight of it drilled right to his soul. “I’m trying to be good.” A pretty pink blush colored her cheeks. “I mean, I want to do well in this job. My future depends on it.”
Logan got the impression she’d meant exactly what she’d said the first time. “You’ll have done a good job if you get to the bottom of the hotel’s thefts and put a stop to them. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about when I say we need cameras. I’ll deal with any fallout. Now, what time does he go home?”
“I deal with my own problems, Logan. If anyone’s dealing with Dougal over fallout, it’s me.”
She was wrong, but he let it go. For now. “When does he go home?” he asked again.
“After the pub shuts, about eleven.”
Logan glanced at his phone. It was almost ten, meaning they had some time before they could install the cameras. He signaled for their waitress, who looked up from clearing another table.
“You want it on the Benson account?” Joyce asked.
“Aye, thanks.”
“You’re putting this on a business account?” Agnes sounded incredulous. “Normally, I’d be impressed, but like I said, it’s important Dougal doesn’t think I’m taking advantage of him or the people he hires, so I’ll pay.”
“Believe me, no one will think badly of you because Benson Security paid for dinner.” Wavin
g goodnight to Joyce, he led Agnes out of the restaurant. “And don’t worry, I’ll tell Lake about our dinner in the morning. We don’t keep secrets.” Lake would have his head on a spike outside the Benson Security office as a warning to anyone else who dared try. “Now, we have an hour to kill before Dougal leaves the hotel, and it will only take five minutes to pick up the cameras, so how about I show you the sights?”
“In the dark?”
“They have lights. It’ll be fine.”
“And…Invertary has sights?”
“Well, there’s the castle, but anyone can see that from the road. And the loch, but you live facing it. You can’t visit the old mine at night, so that leaves the folly and Betty’s gravestone.”
“But Betty isn’t dead. She was in the pub just yesterday, hassling Dougal about something.”
“No, she isn’t dead, although there are many who wish it was otherwise. She just commissioned her gravestone years ago. Trust me, you’re going to love it.”
“This town just gets weirder and weirder.”
“Wait until you’ve been here for years, that’s when the really crazy stuff comes out.”
“I don’t plan on being here that long. One year. That’s all I’m giving Invertary.”
Pushing down the strange urge to try to talk her into staying longer, he opened the car. “Do you want to see the sights or not?”
“Fine.” She climbed in. “Let’s go out in the cold and dark to see gravestones for people who aren’t even dead.”
“Now you’re getting into the swing of things,” he said as he closed her door.
Chapter 4
MacGregor’s folly turned out to be yet another homage to the erect penis.
“Men really don’t have any imagination when it comes to architecture, do they?” she asked Logan as they stared at the phallic structure.
“I think the guy who built it might have had some issues. If they’d had Viagra back in the day, this would probably have been a bandstand.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and grinned at her. “We can go inside if you like. It isn’t locked.”
Can't Buy Me Love: Romantic Comedy (Sinclair Sisters Trilogy Book 3) Page 3
