Page 42 of Scotch & Shortbread

"Right," she said, throwing her gaze towards the window.

"Ah, ’tis fine. I’ll go another time. I would huv liked to see my nephews though. What about ye, lass? Do ye huv family?” He had wondered about how it was that no one expected to hear from her at Christmas.

“Not really. I am an only child.” Quinn bit her lip, and Alex realized it was something she did when she was uncertain. Christ, it set him on fire every time though.

Alex watched her intently and then she looked across the table at him decidedly. “Mine was not exactly an idyllic childhood.” She picked up her fork and absently fiddled with tines. “My mom was in her forties when she had me, and she was an alcoholic. It wasn’t a great scenario.”

“I’m sorry, lass,” he murmured.

“She died when I was fourteen,” she said, sounding emotionless. Either she’d gotten past it, or she was like him and knew how to keep the emotion contained. She rattled out the words like she was reading off a shopping list. “Complications from years of alcohol abuse. I ended up living with my grandmother, which was for the best really. And I never knew my father. He was non-existent.”

Alex sat back trying to take it all in. Christ, she’d been through a hell of a life. The strength he’d recognized in her made sense now. She was a survivor, a fighter. That protective feeling surged through him again.

“I was the fancy product of a one-night stand.” She tried to make light of the moment that had grown overly serious.

“Fancy indeed.” His lips quirked in a half smile. “Thank God for one-night stands,” he added, quickly realizing how crass it sounded, but before he could take it back, the lass burst out laughing and clinked her beer bottle to his.

“Thank God for one-night stands,” she pronounced jovially, and he felt a warmth in his chest as he took a sip of his beer, his eyes not straying from her.

They chatted with a newfound ease as they cleaned up the dishes.

“Another beer?” Alex offered as Quinn did one last wipe down of the countertop.

“You have anything other than beer?” She bit her lip and he had to remind his cock to behave.

“Ye want to try the whisky again, lass?”

He looked at her hopefully. He didn’t know why, but he wanted her to like it.

“Sure, what the heck.” She smiled. “I suppose it must have some redeeming qualities if you Scots like it so much.”

He chuckled as he poured two glasses. “The key is to sip it slowly, Quinn. Dinnae guzzle it down.”

They sat in the great room in the chairs in front of the fireplace. “We could watch a movie if ye like?” Alex offered.

“We could, but maybe later. I want to hear more about your life in Scotland and what brought you here.” She turned in her chair to face him, her big brown eyes imploring him to spill all his secrets.

He threw his head back and rolled his eyes.

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic Sergeant Mackenzie,” she teased him, shoving her foot playfully at his shin. He was tempted to grab it, tear off her sock, and massage the pretty foot with those red-painted toenails.Shite.

“Oh, come on,” she cajoled, clearly having no idea the direction his thoughts had gone. “We are stuck together alone in this cabin—and you’ve made it clear sex is off the table—so we may as well get to know each other.”

Alex was taken aback by her blunt assessment, but then he chuckled despite himself. She made a decent argument, he supposed. Standing up, he walked to the kitchen bringing his phone back with him, and she watched him curiously. Christmas music began playing, and then the Bluetooth kicked in, playing from speakers in the living room.

“Christmas playlist” he explained with a twinkle in his eye.

She giggled lightly. “You have a Christmas playlist on your phone?”

“Of course.” He grinned unabashedly. “I hope ye dinnae mind a bit of Celtic Christmas music.”

“Not at all.” She stretched with a contented sigh and relaxed back into her chair. He watched as she took a tentative sip of the scotch.

“Bahh, my God,” she huffed, as if she'd just drunk fire.

He laughed. “So ye’r telling me ye practically raised yerself, making ye strong as fuck, but a wee bit of scotch is too much fer ye?”

Her lips quirked eyeing him from under her pretty brow, and he realized she knew damn well that she was a strong lass. And God help him if he didn’t like her all the more for it.

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