Page 25 of Isla

And there it is. Out in the open. Plain as day.

"I'm jealous of your life here, I'm jealous of the passion you have for it. I'm jealous of Dylan and Henry and the bond the three of you seem to have." He stalks toward me, making me scramble backward until I'm pressed against the window, waves crashing against the rocks far below. "I'm jealous of the air you breathe. The floor under your feet." His breath stutters, his gaze dipping to my lips.

Thunder crashes through me, pulsing in my ears, between my legs.

"Why be jealous when you can have it, too?" I ask softly, trying to steady my breathing. "You have the pub. I'm sure you can figure out a visa that allows you to stay. Although you sure as hell don't act like you like being here."

"And what about you, Sunflower? Can I have you?"

"I think you may have to fight Henry for that one."

"We share."

God, the audacity. I duck under his arm before he can see how much his words turn me on. "Then you better stop being such a goddamned douche canoe!" I toss over my shoulder as I grab thecoffee and head out the door. His laugh stops me in my tracks. I turn to look at him, almost dropping the mug. His smile has transformed his entire face, and suddenly he's not Theo the Asshole, he's Theo the Hottest Guy I've Ever Seen. Fuck me. I turn on my heel, ignoring the pounding in my chest, and continue up the path. He corners me while I’m keying in the code to the garage, pushing the foil packet into my hand.

"I made you breakfast."

I don't say anything. I can't. He hasn’t shaved in a couple of days, and I desperately want to trace the dark shadow of his beard, the curve of his full lower lip.

"I'm sorry for being a jerk, Isla. Truly. That's been my default mode for a long time, and it's really fucking hard to turn off."

I blink. "I'll forgive you if you fix my bike."

"I’ll make you an offer. If I fix it, I get to take you out to dinner."

"On the bike?"

He nods. "Preferably, but that's not a deal breaker."

"Deal." I peel the foil away as he wheels out the bike. "What is this, exactly?"

"Chicken and Waffles. A classic southern American delicacy."

"You made this?" I eye the fluffy waffles sandwiching a huge piece of mouth-watering fried chicken, and take a gigantic bite. Flavor explodes in my mouth. Holy mother of god. "Marry me," I say around my mouthful of food. I don't care how much of an asshole he is if he can cook like this.

He laughs, a blush creeping up his cheeks. "You're a fickle creature, Isla MacLeod." He heads back into the garage before I can respond and returns wheeling the toolbox Jack gave me the year I bought the motorcycle.

"What's the best restaurant near here?" he asks after a while, wiping his hands on a rag.

"We could go into Stornoway, but the drive back at night won't be fun.” I have an internal debate about sharing one of my favorite spots. "I know a place we can get food. It's not a restaurant, though."

"As long as it's tasty and–" He stops abruptly.

"And what?" I ask, shielding the sun from my eyes so I can see his face.

"I was going to say 'as long as I get to spend time with you,' but that seems like a dangerous sentiment."

"Mmm." Should I lay my cards on the table? Tell him I want to spend time with him, too?

"Stop staring at me like that–it feels like you're looking into my soul,” he grumbles, frowning.

"I am. It's pitch black."

"Pot meet kettle," he murmurs, squatting down to grab a wrench off the ground.

"Hey! My soul is not black."

He looks up at me with those dark eyes, pinning me in place. "You're right. It's fiery red."

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