Page 41 of Kilt Trip

She wouldn’t jeopardize either of their company’s futures, and she sure as hell wouldn’t disappoint Marc. These tours were unsustainable, and she’d document every long drive time between sites, heinously outdated accommodation, and obscure destination.

Logan didn’t like the idea of reimagining the tours, but he couldn’t argue with cold, hard facts.

Addie turned the corner, and heat rolled through her. She’d braced herself for the impact of Logan in a kilt, she really had, but her memory was faulty.

He leaned against the blue bus leafing through the contents of a manila folder, one leg crossed in front of the other, the smooth curve of his sizable calves exposed for all to see. The pushed-up sleeves of his cable-knit sweater made him look equally ready to throw logs or snuggle up for a movie.

Since New Year’s, her mind had returned to that almost-kiss on a well-worn cul-de-sac she couldn’t find her way out of, but if it’d been more than disappointment coursing through her when he’d jumped out the window, she wasn’t going to analyze it.

The breeze toyed with his hair, and he pushed it out of his face in slow motion, his eyes coming up to meet hers on the glide. Addie tripped on a cobblestone, catching herself on the handle of her suitcase.

A slow smirk spread across his face like he was awarding himself the first point of the day.

If they were at war—and she was pretty sure they still were—Logan’s strategy appeared to be waiting her out. Unnerving her with his watchful eyes, letting her anticipate when his next attack might come.

But he shouldn’t turn his back on her, either.

“We’re only off for three days,” he said, tipping his chin toward her oversize suitcase.

She clapped her hands over the sides of the stickered hardshell. “Don’t listen to him, Frank.”

“Frank?” Logan’s lips pinched at the corners like he was holding back a smile before his gaze cut to her feet. “Are you planning to hill-walk in those wellies?”

She let the ridiculous name for hiking slide and rushed to defend her flowery boots. “In a country this gray, I need all the color I can get.”

Amusement and maybe something more potent lit his eyes. “We’ll see if you’re a match for the Highlands, lass.”

A drawl called out, “Howdy. Is this where the tour starts?”

Logan leaned close to Addie’s ear instead of pulling back like she expected. “Your people are here,” he whispered. He winked before turning around, leaving a charge in the air.

A wink.

How they’d gone from wanting to push each other down the office stairwell to winking was a mystery the stutter of her heart didn’t know how to solve.

“Welcome. I’m Logan.” He and the new arrivals fell into a conversation about the trip across the Atlantic while Addie dug into her cross-body bag for her notebook, needing a reminder of what this trip was about.

Logan was on his game today, but she was, too.

An eclectic group of twelve people gathered on the sidewalk in front of the navy bus sporting a Scottish thistle and The Heart of the Highlands’s logo splashed on the side.

Cowboy Hat and his wife climbed aboard behind another couple with oversize backpacks. A middle-aged brown man in shiny aviators chatted with a family of three while they waited in line. The teenager in baggy black jeans and a studded belt glared at them through the sweep of his black-and-red bangs. Emo Boy was perfection. Logan already looked put out by his disinterest.

Addie followed them onto the bus, noting the empty seats.

The bus smelled better than its American counterparts—used for shuttling drunk guests around wedding weekends.

No underlying vomit smells, 1 point.

Keith sat in the driver’s seat wearing a shirt and tie covered by a windbreaker. Balding and friendly, he was her favorite driver and always made a point to greet everyone in the office when he came in.

“Morning, Keith,” Addie said. “Can I just say, I have the utmost respect for your ability to drive this thing.” She shuddered at the memory of getting behind the wheel of a much smaller vehicle.

Keith chuckled and raised his coffee mug. “There’s a good lass. I liked ye straight off.”

Addie tried to walk past Logan in the front row, but he reached an arm out to physically block her path. “I saved you the best seat in the house. Here, let me get that.” He reached for her shoulder bag. “Does this one have a name, too?” he asked, while lifting it into the overhead rack.

The movement brought him into her space, and the smell of a forest after a spring rain washed over her. What was he, a freaking lumberjack? His navy blue sweater stretched over the expanse of his chest, his biceps forming a cage around her face before his arms fell away. Her body tensed, anticipating his hands falling to literally any part of her on their descent.

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