Decision made, she plucked a bowl out from a cabinet and ladled a healthy portion for herself. She had to hand it to the old man who lived here. He didn’t skimp on the meat and vegetables.
Charlie had liked soups and stews, but they’d been broth mostly. Not much else. He cut calories that way. He’d always been focused on their diets. Especially hers. She was a curvy girl: her hips, her ass, her D-size cups. That was how she was built. He had wanted all that to change, however. To shrink.
Hopefully Charlie was enjoying his newfound freedom without her. The thing that smarted the most was he had dumped her and not the other way around. She wished she’d had the courage to end it first.
At that regret, she made a sound of disgust as she went in search of a spoon, licking the bit of soup that had gotten on her thumb and moaning in appreciation. She could taste the butter. And what else was in there? Sherry? Whoever lived here, he could definitely cook.
Locating a spoon, she sat down at the kitchen table and dug in. She ate with gusto until the bowl was empty. Too bad there wasn’t any bread around to mop up the last bit of broth. Sighing contentedly, she rubbed her stomach and stood from the table. Taking her bowl and spoon, she washed them out in the sink and put them away.
Moving back to the fire, she let the warmth sink into her bones. She glanced toward the door again. The rain and wind were really picking up. She felt a stab of concern. What could be keeping the man who lived here? He couldn’t have meant to be gone long or he wouldn’t have left a pot simmering on the stove. She hoped he was okay.
Yawning, she settled down on the couch and sank into the well-worn cushions. Blinking, she trained her gaze on the door, practicing in her head what she was going to say. She’d begin with an apology and segue into how she had been stranded and had no choice but to take shelter in his house.
Her lids grew heavy and she gave herself a small shake, determined to stay awake, determined that the patter of rain, crackle of fire, and her full belly not lull her to sleep. She refused to be caught in such a vulnerable position.
With her head resting on a couch cushion, she curled on her side. Tucking her knees to her chest, she pulled the delicious flannel shirt down to her ankles. She would lay like this for a few minutes. No more than that. She wouldn’t close her eyes.
She wouldn’t fall asleep.
~
Tired and warm, her belly now full from her tasty meal, Goldilocks fell fast asleep, unaware that she had taken shelter in the house of a foul-tempered bear.
~
Thea released a startled gasp as a roar ripped her from sleep.
For a moment she couldn’t place where she was. Bewildered, she thought she was back in her apartment in Phoenix and her roommate was playing some kind of trick on her. Gina would do something like that.
But then it all flooded back. She was on a couch. In a strange house in Scotland.
And she wasn’t alone.
The man who lived here had returned and walked in on her asleep on his couch—in his shirt. Precisely what she had hoped wouldn’t happen. She’d wanted to greet him and introduce herself. Explain her situation.
She froze, feeling like prey caught in the sights of a predator. She stared straight ahead. Directly at a pair of denim-clad legs in front of her.
Mortified, she popped up in a sitting position and dropped her feet to the floor. Her blonde hair sprang into her face. She dragged the out-of-control mass back. Her hair had mostly dried, and she could only imagine the bird’s nest it looked like. Her gaze shot to the stranger’s glowering face.
Not an old man. Not by a long shot. Crap. A young man. She processed this with her quickly waking mind.
He was young. Maybe only a few years older than herself, but that was hard to know for certain. The scowl on his face undoubtedly aged him. Too bad it didn’t detract from his hotness factor. Gina would call him lickable. His dark hair and close-cropped beard glistened wetly. He wore a slicker that dripped water onto his floor. He hadn’t bothered to take it off yet, and he didn’t seem to care. He must have spotted her right away when he entered the house.
The longer she stared at him, that scowl of his seemed to deepen.
“Hello,” she greeted, wincing when the word slipped out sounding like a question.
Typical this would happen to her. She would have to get stranded in some hot Scot’s house when she was at a low point in her life and looking her absolute worst. Gina would think this was hysterical.
She futilely tried to twist her wild hair into a ponytail. It was useless without a hairband to help. The instant she let go of the mass it sprang loose all around her in wild waves.
“I said: who the hell are you?” His words were heavy with a brogue she felt right down to her toes.
He’s asked her a question before? It must have been the bellow that woke her.
She moistened her lips. “I’m Thea.” She paused for his reaction although she didn’t know why. She didn’t expect her name to make a difference to him. She was no one to him. “I was on a tour bus and got left behind. I started walking and it started pouring, but I-I found your house and—”
“Let me guess,” he snarled. “They took you out to visit some magical faerie glens.” He spit out the word faerie like it was the ugliest of epithets.
“Y-yes.”
He whirled away with a stinging curse. He continued to mutter under his breath as he moved about in such a rage that she eyed the door, wondering if she should take her chances with the cold Scottish night. God knew this strapping, virile man could snap her like a twig if he chose.
Standing, she inched that direction, stopping when he whirled on her, blocking her path.
She yelped and took a hasty step back, craning her neck to look up at him. God, he was tall.
“Did it ever occur to ye that those faerie glens are a bunch of shite? Something drummed up for numpty tourists from America?”
“Numpty?” she echoed blankly. “What is that? A candy bar?”
“Numpty,” he repeated, his tone much harsher. Rolling his eyes, he clarified, “Idiotic. Stupid.”
“Oh!” Offended, she squared her shoulders. “Tourism is good for the economy, sir. I would think that—”
His blue eyes widened. He looked fit to kill, and she knew she had said the wrong thing. She didn’t know what could have been the right thing to say, but clearly she had missed it.
“Good for the economy?” He advanced on her.
She retreated until the backs of her legs hit the couch and could go no farther.
He continued, glaring down at her. “Tour buses tearing through my land? Tourists traipsing all over my property with their cameras, dropping their candy wrappers and terrifying my sheep? You call that good for the economy? Whose? No’ mine!”
Her stomach bottomed out. “The faerie glens are on your property?”
He nodded once, his blue eyes cutting and deep. “And I can assure you there is nothing magical about them. I’ve lived my whole life here. It’s simply land. Simply my farm that’s been in my family for generations.”
She nodded again, feeling wretched. “I didn’t know that.” She moistened her lips. “The tour guide never mentioned we were trespassing—”
“It’s no’ trespassing. It’s called freedom to roam—one of my country’s least ingenious ideas. Two years ago a couple hikers happened upon my property. They took some video and posted it on YouTube and proclaimed the glens magical. And there you have it.” He snapped his fingers. “My family’s farm is invaded nearly every day of the year by you locusts.” His top lip lifted in a sneer.
She flinched. Heat burned her face. She was a locust. “I’m sorry. I did not know.”
He looked her up and down. “And now I have one of you in my house. The one place I thought myself safe from you people.”
He stared at her a long moment, raking his gaze over her as though seeing her for the first time. “And you’re wearing my shirt. Is nothing sacred?” he bit o
ut the words, his straight white teeth a striking contrast against his dark beard.
“My clothes were soaking wet.”
“So you just helped yourself to my clothes?” He shook his head. “Typical.”
“I was on the verge of hypothermia!” she said hotly, finally getting angry. She wasn’t to blame for every wrong done to this man. How was she to know her tour bus was one of an army driving through his property?
“Maybe you should have taken a trip to the Bahamas. Can’t get hypothermia there.”
“Trust me! I’m wishing I had. Just get me to the village and I’ll catch the first bus to Glasgow and then hop on a plane home.” Because really, this trip wasn’t going the way she planned at all. But then, the way she had planned it involved Charlie. The two of them together on a romantic honeymoon. She grimaced. Romantic had never been a word that could be applied to them.
They hardly had sex in their years together, and when they did she was always the initiator. In fact, it always felt as though he were doing her a favor when they did it. That didn’t do great things for a girl’s ego.
Engaged couples had a hard time keeping their hands off each other—or so she’d been led to believe. Not them though. That should have been her first warning they weren’t right for each other.
When Charlie broke off the engagement, she wasn’t really surprised. We’re just not a good fit. His words had stung, but she couldn’t disagree with him. They weren’t a good fit. Her boyfriend before him hadn’t been a good fit either.
She seemed destined for bad fits.
The Scot still glared at her as though she were some unwelcome critter that had crawled beneath the door into his house.
She dug out her composure and took a deep breath. “I’m very sorry. If you would be kind enough to drive me to the nearest village I’ll get out of your hair. And please, let me pay you for the use of your shower.”
“You used my shower too?” He glanced toward the bathroom. “What is this? A Holiday Inn?
She winced and exhaled. Might as well confess everything. “And I’ll pay you for the soup too.”
His gaze whipped toward the stove. “You ate my dinner?”
“There’s plenty left,” she assured him, offering a weak smile. “It was very good.”
He shook his head and inhaled sharply, as though fighting for endurance. “I don’t want your money. I want to be left in peace.”
She nodded and motioned to the front door. “Then by all means, let’s get going—”
“We can’t. There is only one road to the village and it’s flooded at the moment. It happens when it rains. I’ll check on it in the morning.”
He stomped away and wrenched open the bathroom door. She flinched at his angry movements.
She stared after him in shock. He could not be serious. She could not stay the night—maybe longer!—with this awful bear of a man.
He looked back at her, his blue eyes scathing. “Don’t worry. I’m as anxious to see you away from here as you are.”
“So what am I supposed to do?” How could a pair of eyes be so piercing?
“I would tell you to make yourself comfortable, but it appears you already have.”
She had never felt so thoroughly disliked by a person. She wondered if she would feel this wounded if he wasn’t so good-looking. If he didn’t have those cutting eyes and strong jawline and deep brogue. If there wasn’t that delicious-looking beard, a dark pelt that beckoned her fingers.
She gave herself a mental slap. He was a sheep farmer, for God’s sake. He was a broody Scottish hermit farmer, and she could almost hear Gina’s voice in her head. What are you waiting for, Thea? Jump his bones. Get feral with that farmer.
God. She really needed to get out of her if she was fantasizing about sex with this thoroughly unpleasant man.
“Maybe I should just go,” she said quickly, the words a rush.
“Out there?” He laughed roughly. “Didn’t you hear me? The road is flooded and it’s still raining.” He waved toward the door. “You’ll freeze to death … if you don’t fall into a bog and drown.”
She shrugged. She didn’t care. She’d take her chances with the storm.
She moved to the door and lifted up her pack. She glanced back at him. His big body blocked the door to the bathroom where her clothes hung to dry. She glanced down at herself in his too-big T-shirt. It would offer little protection against the elements.
“Don’t be a fool.” As though to illustrate his point, he strode across the house, right past her, and yanked open the front door. Immediately a gust of wet wind swept into the house. Shivering, she stared out the door into that blackest night she had ever seen. The cold reached out to her, grabbed her in its grip and squeezed. “You’ll die out there,” he announced.
She flinched at the words, knowing them for truth. He might be the rudest man alive, but she was stuck here. Stuck with him.
And he was stuck with her.
He shut and locked the front door. Turning, he disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door between them with a resounding thud. She was grateful for that barrier. It put distance between them and would give her a little time to compose herself … and try not to think about her underwear and bra hanging over the shower he was about to use.
Running water soon carried from the other side of the door and she knew he was doing the same thing she had done—ridding himself of his sodden clothes and stepping beneath the warm spray of water.
Closing her eyes in one weary blink, she rubbed her fingers against her forehead. Of all places she had to get stranded, it was with this surly Scot. Why couldn’t he have been a kind old man?
She claimed the blanket draped over the back of the couch, settling in for the night. With a huff, she arranged the afghan around her. Sleep. That’s what she would do. Sleep so the night would pass quickly and when she woke she would be able to leave this place.
The shower stopped and she tensed. She couldn’t help it. She was stuck in this house all alone with a stranger. Totally at his mercy. For some reason, she didn’t think he would harm her. He could have done that already if he was inclined. He didn’t want to be bothered with her. Murdering her would be too much of an inconvenience for him.
The bathroom door yanked open and the jerk himself emerged.
Wearing only a towel.
Oh, holy hell. Her gaze traveled over him. She’d known he was big beneath his clothing. He’d towered over her, but she had no idea his body looked like this.
Charlie had worked out and subscribed to Men’s Health magazine, reading every issue cover to cover. He’d wanted a body like this, but could never quite manage it. Hotty Scotty, on the other hand, was built. Toned and hard-bodied. Apparently working a farm and running sheep in the Highlands got you washboard abs, muscular shoulders, toned biceps, and a narrow waist.
And a crappy disposition.
She gulped against the sudden dryness of her throat. He might be a grump, but she was still female and all her girl parts (her long-neglected girl parts) were doing somersaults.
Water beaded his chest and arms and traveled down his happy trail, disappearing beneath his towel. She couldn’t help following that line of water with her eyes, and that mortified her. She shouldn’t be so affected. He might have a body that belonged on the cover of a romance novel, but that didn’t change the fact he was a jerk.
His lips curled in a smirk, and she knew he was aware of how he looked and his impact on her. A man didn’t look like him and not know.
He strolled into his room, presenting her with his back as he opened the doors to his bureau. The view of his back was as lovely as the front. Nicely formed, muscles and sinew rippling with his movements.
He pulled out a pair of briefs and glanced over his shoulder at her, one dark eyebrow cocked as his hand came to the edge of the towel knotted at his waist. “You gonna keep watching me?”
She gasped. “You’re getting dressed right here?”
His blu
e eyes glittered, clearly still annoyed with her. “This is my house. My space you’ve invaded. So. Yeah. I’m going to do what I normally do.”
Proving that point, he undid the towel. She dropped her face into the couch cushion as the towel dropped. She only caught a flash of skin. No clear visual of his body. For the first time she felt gratitude and regret simultaneously.
His chuckle fell warm and deep, like his voice, and sent goose bumps along her skin.
After a moment, she heard him moving around in the kitchen. A glass clinked and she lifted her head, making certain there wasn’t a naked man behind her.
He was wearing boxer briefs. The fabric hugged his ass. An ass that looked like it could bounce quarters.
“Did you enjoy my stew?” He didn’t turn around as he asked the question.
“Y-yes. It was delicious. Thank you.”
He ladled himself a bowl. “Is it a habit of yers? Breaking into houses and helping yourself to clothes and food and whatever else strikes your whim?”
She bristled. “I told you. I was stranded and freezing. And I’ll pay you for any—”
He held up a hand, cutting her off as he sank into his chair at the table. “You’ve said as much. The point is … it’s no’ right. You never should have been on my land.”
To that, she could only claim ignorance, but she knew he didn’t see that as a valid argument so she held silent.
He was arrogant and rude and … why the hell couldn’t she stop staring at him? Even as he sat there, bare-chested at the table, feeding himself, he looked like someone who could be on TV. He was that beautiful.
Not perfect, mind you. That would be boring. He had the kind of face you could stare at for hours. Artists would want to paint it. She did, and she was just an art teacher. She hadn’t sat in front of a canvas in years. Once upon a time she’d wanted to paint, but Grams and Eric and Charlie had convinced her it wasn’t practical. No one made a living painting.
Glamour Page 26
