Page 26 of Wild Scottish Rose

The way Shona spoke of the handsome bartender, who I’d dearly love to cast in a movie, grated at me.

“Old boyfriend of yours?” I guessed, distracted from my line of questioning.

“What?” Shona started, her wine slopping in her cup, and then threw her head back and laughed. The sound took my breath away.

I wanted to laugh with her like that.

In bed, preferably, after a particularly healthy round of naughty play.

“He’s not one of your exes then? I’m sure you’ve got loads of them. A beautiful woman like yourself.” I couldn’t help myself, my need to charm was as built in as my need to seek the truth.

Shona tilted her head at me, a considering look in her eyes.

“I can’t decide whether to be flattered or insulted. Either you’re insinuating that I’m quite a catch and everyone wants to be with me, or you’re suggesting that I’m loose with my morals and scatter my past lovers behind me like a trail of discarded sweetie wrappers after I’ve eaten my fill.”

I winced.

“Um, neither was my intention. Let me throttle back a second and circle around to the start. Basically, yes, I’m asking if you dated Graham. Because he is extremely handsome and charismatic and because you are such a beautiful woman, I figured you two would be a good match. There, is that better?”

Shona’s mouth dropped open slightly before she shook her head slowly.

“God, no, I’ve never dated Graham. He’s a complicated one, and I have no interest in dipping my toe in that pond.”

“What kind of ponds do you like to swim in then?”American-made ponds with trust issues?

“None as of late,” Shona admitted, somewhat sidestepping my question. “I’ve been much too busy. Part of why I’m so scatterbrained, I guess.”

“Tell me more,” I said, leaning forward. I couldn’t stop myself. A damsel in distress called to the deep-rooted need in me to help.Thank you, Mother.

“Have you ever run your own business, Owen?” The way Shona said it suggested that she thought I hadn’t, and I pushed my shoulders back.

“Actually, I have. Not all of my films are studio produced. With investors, I need to manage everything from the budget down to the script.” Shona waited for more, but I gestured for her to continue. This was about her, not me.

“What kind of movies do you make?” I applauded Shona’s attempt to change the subject, but then I smiled.

“Tell me about your business.”

“Well, I have three of them, actually. Two now, I guess.” Shona shrugged one shoulder and tucked a silky strand of hair behind her ear. It looked as soft as spun gold thread, and I wanted to touch it to see if it was as smooth as it looked.

“Wedding flowers, the guesthouse, and…”—I nodded toward the gardens—“produce I’m guessing?”

“Correct. Though I’m certain I’m done with weddings. I don’t know.” Shona shrugged again, twining that strand of hair around her finger and tugging. That single movementshot a bolt of lust straight to my core as I imagined diving my hands into her hair and tugging. Hard. Pulling that doll-mouth to mine and kissing her, back pressed against the stone wall of the cottage, while the fire crackled behind us.

“From what I could tell, you did a great job with the flowers. Don’t want to deal with brides anymore?” I shifted my thoughts away from devouring Shona’s mouth and took a sip of my wine, focusing on the notes instead of on Shona’s delectable lips.

“Partly. I guess it’s the administrative aspect of it. I love putting the flowers together. But that’sallI want to do. I don’t enjoy the hundreds of emails back and forth to arrive at a final idea, which, inevitably is white. Which is fine.Really. It’s fine. There’s nothing wrong with white flowers.” Shona winced, perhaps remembering that Kennedy’s flowers had been white, and my mouth went dry when she shifted, and the collar of her sweater slipped to reveal a brilliant red bra strap. Once again, the sharp contrast between bright underwear and worn jeans and a holey sweater piqued my interest. I had to wonder if I pulled that loose thread on her sweater, would she unravel under my touch?

This was not good, these thoughts of mine. I was well aware of that. Yet, I couldn’t help where my mind went. Shona was stunning in the way of women who had no idea the effect they had on others. I found her unmanicured appearance refreshing, and deeply intoxicating. It was so different from the perfectly coiffed women who swam in my proverbial pond, that I found myself wanting to grab on to Shona like a lifeline, just to remember what was real in this world.

It was what I craved, after all. The very thing that drove my work, the search for the truth, was also what I sought in a woman. Not that I minded all that much if a woman wore makeup or did herself up, it wasn’t that. Women should make themselves feel good in whatever manner they chose. It was more that between the influencer culture that dominated Hollywood, plus thinly veiled attempts to use my movie connections for personal gain, I’d become a touch averse to the overly plasticized version of women that hit on me. Again, to each their own. If they felt good, that was all well and fine. But for once, it was nice to be wildly attracted to a woman who seemed to hold a faint disdain for me. Or at the very least, wasn’t trying too hard to impress me.

“What kind of flowers doyoulike?” I asked, intrigued.

“I’m kind of a contradiction there,” Shona admitted. “I love unruly flowers, messy bunches of mismatched flowers where their contrast creates perfection. But if I had to choose…” A look of embarrassment crossed Shona’s face.

“Go on,” I prodded her, amused that she would be embarrassed over a flower.

“A rose,” Shona sighed, shaking her head, a self-deprecating smile on her face. “I know. I knoooow.”

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