Page 46 of Scotch on the Rocks

“And I’ll wash these.” She gestured down the length of her. A move I couldn’t resist following. If I’d thought shelooked appealing cocooned in a blanket in my truck, the memory was nothing compared to now. There was something –something– about seeing your woman inyourclothes. The way her bare toes curled into the area rug while she tugged the sleeves around her fingers. She looked so cosy I wanted to drag her into my bed and bury my face in her throat.

She wasn’t even mine. But my heart roared otherwise. We were tiptoeing dangerously close to territorial caveman territory.

“Keep them as long as you want.” Hell,keep them forever.I wanted to empty my wardrobe, ask her to wear every item of clothing I owned.

From the corner of my eye, I watched her swipe her boots from the mud room, balancing one arm on the back of my sofa while she laced them, right as I placed a mug on the end of the counter.

She eyed it like one would a viper. “I said I couldn’t stay.”

“I know. You can return the mug when you return the clothes.” One more reason for her to come back.

She lifted it in a thanks gesture, taking a sip before she spun for the door. Then paused. “How’d you know how I take my coffee?”

“Because I knowyou, Juniper.” Her eyes narrowed and her lips parted, ready to say – I could only guess what. Then she changed her mind at the last second, snapping her mouth shut.Oh, no, sweetheart, not happening.Compliment or insult, I wanted her words. “You look like you’ve got something to say.”

“Okay, fine. You say a lot of cryptic shit aboutknowing mewhen in fact … it’s the complete opposite.” She spat the words with such personal malice, it sent a thrill through me. That tone belonged tomeand me alone.

I sipped my drink. “Why do I feel like we’re not talking about coffee anymore?”

“What else would I be talking about?”

That night in Glasgow. How our bodies felt so in tune – like we’d touched each other a thousand times before – it scared you.

But I couldn’t say any of that without her scrambling for the nearest pointy thing to stab me with. So I simply said, “Okay, then let me get to know you. How about this … I’ll trade you one secret for another.”

She froze, surprise, alarm, panic, morphing in her face one after the other, like a fun house mirror. Her foot backed up, ready to run. “We’ve already agreed to four dates as payment. That’s more than enough, don’t you think?”

I shrugged, but it didn’t feel as indifferent as I’d hoped. “Then don’t consider it payment. Tell me just to tell me.”

Just when I thought she’d leave without answering, her spine straightened. “I had fun today,” she whispered it like a dirty secret.

I had fun today.Such an innocuous statement, so why did it make the back of my throat burn?

Because she’d spoken it with such insecurity, as though she expected me to laugh at her.

Her gaze searched the floor as she asked, “And yours?”

“I always have fun with you, harpy.”

Her eyes flew to mine, the tops of her cheeks turning a pretty pink. “You mean that?”

Could she truly not see herself the way I did? The way Heather, April and Fiona did?This woman would be the death of me.

“Aye.” I said the word slowly. Making certain she heard it.Never fucking doubt it.

12

Juniper

Three missed calls: Fiona

“Rule one, don’t look at a Macabe brother,” I muttered through gritted teeth, clinging tightly to the inn bannister. “Two, don’t talk to a Macabe brother. Three, don’t even think of a Macabe brother.”What part of that couldn’t I understand?

Every step down from the second floor was torturous thanks to our morning hike. My descent was slow, thighs burning and cramping. I could admit I’d let my physical activity go in the past couple of years. A busy work life coupled with my natural inclination to be indoors meant I’d relied on taking the inn stairs twenty times a day to keep me fit. It hadn’t done a very good job, apparently. The burning was made only worse by the four-inch heels I’d squeezed my bruised feet into for my evening shift. Fiona always fussed over my choice of footwear –a safety hazard, she scoffed at least twice a day. But I could happily work an eight-hour shift in them without even wincing.

Usually.

“Are you all right, June?” Ada hovered behind the desk; a stack of papers pressed to her chest.

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