Page 30 of Scotch & Shortbread

Alex shook his head looking down at her in the darkness of the room. “God, I’m so sorry lass. I’m not used to anyone being in my place.”

“Clearly,” she snapped, snatching her blanket off the floor. It dumbfounded her. She had been standing, wrapped in the blanket, and then in the blink of an eye, she was trapped under the hulking man held in a vice grip with a frickin’ gun to her head. In her mind, he’d flung himself squarely back into the intimidating cop category. This was the intimidating dangerous cop she’d first seen approaching her vehicle, all in black—tall, broad, and fucking lethal.

Feeling equal doses of fear and anger, she escaped in the darkness to his door, needing to get the heck out of his room. In two quick strides though, he met her there. Blocking her from opening the door with one strong arm pressed against it.

“Wait,” he said.

And there he went again with his damn commands. Quinn stood ramrod straight, refusing to look at him.

He dipped a finger under her chin and lifted it to look at him. It surprised her to see concern in his eyes in the pale of the moonlight, but she refused to be swayed by it.

“Did I hurt ye?” he asked with a worry in his low timbre.

Quinn wanted to be mad at him. She should be infuriated. He’d put a gun to her head for crying out loud, but his gentleness and nearness were quickly crumbling her resolve. Not to mention that accent. Ugh, that accent made her weak. She shook her head no.

Relief seemed to flood through him as his shoulders relaxed and he let out a breath. “I’m truly sorry, Quinn. I was having a bad dream.” He sounded gruff. “It was instinct. I thought you were an intruder. I didnae mean to frighten ye. I’d never hurt ye lass. I promise ye that.”

She could hear the anguish in his voice, and what was left of her anger dissipated. She believed him. Somehow, she trusted that he wouldn’t hurt her—not intentionally at least. He’d scared the life out of her. But he hadn’t hurt her.

“I pity the fool who tries to break into your house,” she scoffed.

“Aye,” he agreed gravely.

Her attempt at lightening the mood fell like a lead balloon. An involuntary shiver skittered down her spine as she considered anyone who made the mistake of crossing Sergeant Alex Mackenzie.

“If it makes ye feel any better, I wouldnae huv shot ye. My gun is no’ even loaded.”

She looked at him incredulously. “Oh right, very reassuring.”

He almost smiled. “Can ye forgive me?” His thumb had joined the finger under her chin and moved to lightly caress her jaw.

It was both calming and arousing. This gentle touch was such a juxtaposition to the danger she’d glimpsed. Quinn couldn’t help the tiny sparks that lit inside her at his light caress on her chin.

Despite being momentarily petrified, there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that if he’d known it was her, he’d never have reacted like that. In retrospect, if she was being honest, it was insanely impressive. Like he was the real deal kind of cop. The one who’d fuck you over if you even attempted to cross him.Hot Cop, her brain quipped.

“I’ll forgive you on one condition,” she said, standing a little taller before him although her face only reached the height of his well-chiseled chest.

He arched a brow. “I’m listening.”

“Teach me.”

“Teach ye what?” he asked dumbfounded.

“Teach me how to defend myself,” she breathed, looking up at him.

That was the last thing he expected the lass to say. Even in the pale moonlight of the room, he could see the determination in her big brown eyes. He didn’t want to admire her, but he found that was what he was feeling. Fucking admiration. She was a clever lass. It was a good idea really. Every woman should know how to defend herself. The asshats who leered at her outside the bar popped into his head.

“Aye,” he agreed not allowing himself to think on how her nearness was already fucking with his head. No. This was business. The least he could do was teach the lass to defend herself after pouncing on her like a trigger-happy numpty. He cringed inwardly.

“Good.” He didn’t miss the satisfaction in her voice.

Still standing at the door in front of him, he noticed her shiver slightly, and he belatedly recalled his own state of undress—certainly not ideal at the moment. Either the lass hadn't noticed or didn't care that he was as nude as Michelangelo's David. The bedroom was dark, so likely it was the former; she probably assumed he was wearing boxers or something. It briefly crossed his mind that maybe he should throw something on, but then again, how could she be that oblivious? He was second-guessing himself. Perhaps it wasn't prudent to draw attention to the fact that his ill-behaved dick was mere inches away from her, especially after just having calmed the situation between them. He didn't want her getting all blustery with him again—he was too fucking tired to deal with that. He was still doing the mental math, when she spoke again.

“Your house is freezing,” she stated flatly.

“Aye, I ken it,” he agreed.

Her eyes drew up to his, and in the dim moonlight, he could just barely make out her full lips that were pinched together in disapproval. And her eyebrows crunched in consternation.

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