Page 17 of Isla

Jack looks down at me, pride in his eyes. “I don’t know how you convinced them to do this, but it’s brilliant. Thank you.”

“Honestly, I’m still not quite sure why they agreed, but I’m running with it.”

Jack looks over my head toward the table, then back down at me. “I think I know why they agreed.” He smirks, his eyes sparkling.

My brows furrow. “Please share because I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Isla, all three of them look at you like Mr. Darcy looked at Elizabeth," Cam says, resting his arm across my shoulder.

“In the beginning or at the end?” I laugh, not taking him seriously. They have an entire life to go back to in the States. I haven’t asked, but I bet they're planning on getting the pub to the point that it can run without them, and then they'll return to their real lives. I have no interest in getting involved in something that has a guaranteedchance of breaking my heart. Unlike Emily Brontë, I do not find that romantic at all.

We split off after breakfast—Charlie and Jack go to check on the sheep, Lachlan heads up to his office, and Cam has to go to work. That leaves me and the guys to tour the castle on our own.

“What exactly is the purpose of this?” Theo grumbles as we make our way up the original servants' staircase to the central part of the castle.

“I swear I think you’re the only person who would complain about being given a tour of a castle by a descendent of the family that built it.” I roll my eyes.

“Seriously?” Henry asks, eyes wide.

“Yep. Twelve generations ago.” I push through the door at the top of the stairs, and we spill into a wide hallway.

“That’s amazing. I can’t believe it’s stayed in your family so long.”

“A lot of sacrifices were made–especially in the last few generations.“

Theo butts in, “You still haven’t told me why we're wasting time with a tour.”

I spin toward him, poking him in the chest. “If you just shut up for one damn minute, I might get to it.”

He matches me step for step until I have him backed against the wall with nowhere to go. “We want the renovation to look the same as the rest of the castle,” I say, flattening my hand against his chest to keep him against the wall. He looks down at my hand, then back up at me. A muscle ticks in his jaw, nostrils flaring, eyes dark. He raises an eyebrow, challenging me. My heart races in my chest, my gaze bouncing between his eyes and lips. I'm so out of my league. This is bad. So fucking bad. I lick my lips nervously, watching as his pupils blow out in response.

“Um, we’ll leave you two to figure this out,” Dylan says, dragging Henry down the hall.

Theo steps forward, and I step back, instinct telling me to run. Fast. He keeps going until he has me pressed against the opposite wall.

“Why are you so annoying?” he asks, his face only inches from mine.

I snort. “I’mthe annoying one? You’re the one that has perpetual ornery disease.”

He throws his head back and laughs—a real laugh. God, he’s beautiful. I’m mesmerized by the strong column of his throat, the dark stubble sweeping over his jaw. He wipes his eyes and looks down at me. “I didn’t plan for this.”

“Plan for what?” I ask, focusing on how his tongue slides over his lower lip.

“You,” he growls.

My gaze flies to his, and I suddenly feel like an apex predator has me cornered. He catches me by the chin before I can run. Turning my face up to his, he studies me, his gaze catching on my mouth. “

That’s my favorite one,” he says, sliding his thumb over the corner of my bottom lip.

“Your favorite what?” I rasp.

“Oh good! You’re both still alive,” Henry says, rounding the corner and stopping abruptly. Theo growls in warning, but Henry ignores it. “We better get a move on if we want to get to the bar in time.”

8

The sun is barely peeking its sleepy head above the horizon as I step outside, pulling the cottage door closed behind me. It's unusually cold for this time of year–even my parka and scarf can't keep the chill away as I climb up the path to the house. I text Henry for the third time this morning. No answer. I knock softly on the front door, hoping he's pulling on his sneakers and ready to head to the gym. I'm about to knock again when Henry's arm snakes out and pulls me inside.

"I'm sorry, Isla. I didn't hear my alarm," he apologizes, pulling me up the stairs and into his room. "It'll only take me two seconds to get ready." My brain can't form a response, my gaze glued to the expanse of sleep-warmed skin only inches away from me. I clench my fists, resisting the urge to reach out.

---