Page 4 of Love In Translation

Those stunning eyes, flashing with intelligence, started at her bare feet and lazily climbed her body. He looked weirdly fascinated.

Rheo looked down. She’d “top dressed” to appear professional for her video call with Nicole. From the waist up she looked office-ready: a men’s-style black button-down shirt, big gold earrings, and a funky copper and gold necklace. She’d added some light eye makeup and slicked on her favorite, only-for-special-occasions lipstick, YSL’s Le Rouge, for some extra confidence. But below the waist, her style could only be described as scruffy. A ragged pair of denim shorts just covered her butt cheeks, and she’d left her flip-flops somewhere.

The corners of his lips lifted and her knees softened. She didn’t think that was physically possible. Irritatingly, her synapses weren’t firing too well either.

“Hey. I presume you’re here to give me the key to this place?”

His accent matched his iconic British SUV: rough, deep, a little cut glass, a touch of lilt, a smidgeon of a burr. American enough to suggest he’d lived in this country for a while but Scottish enough to suggest his roots were buried in Celtic soil.

What did he say?

“Why would I give you a key?” she asked, puzzled.

“Because I’ve rented this place for the next few weeks?” He shifted his duffel bag to his other hand.

Das meinst du nicht im ernst?

“Why are you speaking German?”

She waved his question away. “Seriously?” she repeated her question in English. What was happening here?

“Carrie Whitlock told me I could find a key under the foot of the porch swing, but when I noticed you in the window, I assumed she arranged for you to meet me here to hand it over.”

Puzzle pieces floated around her brain, but none of them slotted together. “How do you know Carrie?”

“We’ve been friends for years.”

Friends, huh? And a pink pig just flew past.

He was the male equivalent of her lovely cousin: another member of the tribe of golden people: at ease in their skin, innately confident, and blindingly self-assured. Bold, gorgeous, ripped.

And, like Carrie, he made Rheo feel like a hobbit.

“I’m into outdoor adventures, and I’ve wanted to visit this area for years. Carrie suggested I rent this house and explore the area until she can join me in two weeks. Her grandmother agreed. Apparently, she doesn’t like the house empty for long stretches of time.”

“Bullshit!” Rheo snapped. “The Pink House is locked up every winter.”

He shrugged. “I’m just passing on what I was told. Carrie’s grandmother is considering extending her overseas trip, and renting the house will give her additional funds.”

Hold on a minute.Carrie knew Paddy was thinking of staying longer in Australia, but Rheo didn’t? Rheo got Paddy’s news first; Paddy confided inher, not Carrie. Why was she, Paddy’s favorite grandchild,playing catch-up?

Pot, kettle, black, Whitlock. You’re keeping some pretty big secrets yourself!

“Carrie also mentioned something about the rent helping with the cost of repairs, because old houses are a bitch to maintain,” he said, still looking relaxed and unhurried. “I’m her first client, a guinea pig of sorts. If letting the place doesn’t turn out to be a problem, she might rent it again instead of selling. So the pressure is on me.”

He grinned, inviting Rheo to share the joke, but she couldn’t. “Selling?” she whispered, aghast.

His words slapped her, hot and hard. Rheo hated Gilmartin, but she loved this house, and her best memories of her childhood and Paddy, the woman who loved and understood her best, the woman she didn’t want to disappoint, rested within the walls of this building.

Rheo wanted nothing more than to call her grandmother and yell at her for considering such a drastic option and then beg her not to sell. But she couldn’t because Paddy didn’t know she was here...

She caught the curiosity in his mossy green eyes and, beneath it, interest and a hit of heat. Or was she imagining his attraction? She probably was; goddesses like her cousin were his jam.

The Pink House’s new tenant was too much of a distraction, the reason Rheo couldn’t think clearly. And, God, she needed time to think. Just ten minutes, even five. Time to get blood back to her brain and her heart to stop its Energizer-Bunny-on-speed bouncing.

So Rheo did the only thing she could think of and slammed the heavy wooden door in his flabbergasted face.

Two

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