Page 51 of Wild Scottish Rose

“Really?” Owen leaned back and stretched his long legs out in front of him, crossing his feet at the ankles. “For living here your whole life you’re not sure what you think about a rumor that Kelpies are real?”

“I haven’t seen them.” That at least was the truth. I think I caught half of a glimpse of one that attacked his friend, but it all happened so fast. Otherwise, I, personally, had never seen a Kelpie.

“But you believe?”

“I don’t know what to think. Honestly, the whole thing makes me uncomfortable.”

“Does it? Interesting. Why would you say it makes you uncomfortable?”

I leveled a look at him and stood, crossing to the kitchen to grab the bottle of wine, and returned to top up our now empty glasses.

“I feel like I’m being interrogated.”

“I’m sorry.” Instantly, Owen straightened, a sheepish look on his face. “Bad habit of mine. I’m curious by nature and I grew up having to ask a lot of questions to get a straight answer. I think that just spilled over into my work life.”

“I googled you,” I admitted, blushing when he winked at me.

“Did you now? Like what you see?”

“You’ve done an incredible amount of work for being so young. Do you ever sleep?”

“Not when I’m buzzing on a project,” Owen admitted on a half laugh.

“You did this one … with the elephants? What was that like?”

“Oh, man, they’re just incredible creatures.” With that, Owen was off and running, and I breathed a sigh of relief, hoping I’d diverted him from asking more about the Kelpies, at least for tonight. I hadn’t fully lied to him, and I admitted it made me uncomfortable. Hopefully, that was enough to stop any further lines of questioning.

By the time we’d finished the food, and a bottle and a half of wine, I’d learned so many fascinating things about documentary film making, but my exhaustion finally caught up with me. I blinked at him, forcing my eyelids to stay up, and Owen laughed when I stifled a yawn.

“I’m sorry.” I stood, embarrassed. How rude of me to almost fall asleep on a guest. “I’ve had a few nights of poor sleep and long days in the garden. I think it’s all catching up with me.”

“I’d be offended, but I’m wiped out as well. I haven’t really had a day to relax and do nothing for weeks now, so I think I’ll plan for just that tomorrow.” Owen stood and surprised me by nudging me back until my butt hit the butcher block island in my kitchen. I squeaked when he bent and lifted me easily, settling me on the island so he could ease in between my thighs. My mouth dropped open. “I was hoping for dessert.”

“You were?” My breath came out in small pants as he ran his hands up my arms and then threaded them into my hair. Tilting my head, he captured my lower lip in hismouth, biting lightly, sending a hot spear of lust straight to my core.

His kiss was exploratory.

Purposeful.

Commanding.

Even though he took his time, like I was a gift to be unwrapped, his touch was masterful. One thumb traced the back of my neck under my hair, rubbing rhythmic circles as though to soothe while his kiss ignited me. I moaned into his mouth as he angled his head, deepening the kiss, dancing his tongue across mine.

He tasted of wine and the promise of sweaty nights and sultry mornings.

I arched into him, running my hands down his chest, and hooking my legs behind his back, pulling him tightly to me until I could feel just how much he wanted me. The brush of his hard length against the sensitive spot between my legs made me want to do depraved things to him or beg him to do them to me. I didn’t really care either way.

Owen pulled back and brought his forehead to mine. We stayed like that, our breath hitching.

“I’m going to go,” Owen said, and I’m embarrassed to say that I mewled in distress. “You’re dead on your feet, and I don’t want to take advantage of your exhaustion.”

“I hear you can lie down on a bed,” I said hopefully, and Owen laughed. He kissed his way down my neck, sending a rush of sensation across my skin.

“Soon, pretty Shona. Soon. I want to take my time with you and watch you blossom under my touch.”

“Oh God,” I gasped, lifting my chin to give him a betterangle to where his mouth did wicked things at my neck. “I had no idea gardening metaphors could be hot.”

Owen laughed, the timbre of it vibrating against my skin.

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