Page 54 of Scotch on the Rocks

Skin…

Pushing the door wide, my brain short-circuited over that singular thought.Skin.Bare skin.Callum’s bare skin.Lots of it. He was shirtless. Completely and utterly bare from the waist up and … fucking hell.

He might have glanced up when I entered. Might have laughed despite the phone pressed to his ear. I didn’t care, not as my eyes roved over the sheer majesty of Callum Macabe’s chest. I needed an intervention. Needed someone to dig my eyeballs from my skull because I couldn’t stop staring. His waist tapered into a magnificent V. His biceps rounded with relaxed power. A light trail of hair led to the band of his jeans, a delicious path it suddenly felt vital to follow all the way to the end. Every inch of him firm and stunning. Real. Not the mass-produced gym bro I’d always suspected lay beneath his clothes. He twisted at the waist, and I choked down my groan at the sight of the navy T-shirt tucked into his waistband.

I needed to get a hold of myself before he noticed. A voice whispered it might already be too late.

Still on the phone, he tipped the receiver away from his mouth long enough to whisper, “I feel like I need a cigarette after that, harpy.”

Shit.Cheeks burning like never before, I forced my legs to move, somehow managing to shoulder past him without actually making contact with his skin.

At the small workstation I’d set up last night, I steppedinto the paint-splashed coveralls that had once belonged to Alexander. Ada was covering the reception desk, so I had the entire afternoon to repaint the freshly sanded wood panelling. Forgoing the dark wood stain Fiona picked in the nineties, I opened the can of earthy sage green. My fingers shook as I poured it into the tray. I was fully following my gut on this one, hoping the change would make the room feel bigger. That it would complement the ever-changing skies the large bay window framed like a dramatic oil painting, while also retaining the homey quality guests expected.

The hot prickle spreading throughout my cheeks spoke of Callum’s attention on me as I stirred a thick brush into the paint. He was still chatting on his phone and I pretended not to notice, pushing to my feet only to hesitate moments later, the dripping brush mere inches from the wall, as if held back by invisible hands. April and Mal entered, their amiable voices nothing but static in my ears as they dropped off the sink and left again.

“You’re staring at that wall like you’re holding a grudge, sweetheart.” Callum spoke from over my shoulder. I hadn’t even heard him hang up the call. “What did it do to piss you off?”

“Nothing.” My throat felt like I’d swallowed sand as I forced out a sarcastic comment. “I love my grudges. I tend them like a rose garden.”

He said nothing, the silence broken only by the rhythmic drip, drip of paint on the plastic sheet. But I felt his stare like the drag of a finger down my spine. The temperature in the room ticking up and up.This is too fucking much. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to dispel the image of Fiona’s disappointed face. She was going to hate it and then she would hate me—

The brush wrenched from my grip and my eyes flewopen, flicking between my empty, paint-soaked fingers and the man now holding it. Callum’s shoulder skimmed mine and, without even glancing my way, he set the brush against the wall. “No wait—”

“Too late,” he said.

My heart jolted as he worked, wrist flicking in such a way I knew he was writing something. A beat later, he drew back, dipping the brush back into the tray to punctuate the single word with an underline. No, not an underline, an arrow.

Beautiful.

The word was scribbled in block capitals. The arrow beneath pointing straight at me.

“There.” He extended the brush. “No going back now.”

I took it, words failing me.

“You’re staring again.” His voice was lower than I’d ever heard it.

“I’ll stop staring when you do.” Because hewasstaring. The look on his face so intense, I had to fight not to press my thighs together.

His smile turned from playful to wicked. “Sonever?”

I couldn’t begin to wrap my head around what he was implying. It was so wrong. The taunting and harmless flirting was one thing, but we were nearing a clifftop. The same one we’d teetered over years ago and managed to scramble back from the edge.

He’s Callum. Your ex’s brother. I couldn’t afford to forget it. “Shirts are mandatory around here, Macabe.” I slid a mocking look to that perfect chest. “I can’t have you scaring my guests.”

“You sure make a lot of rules for someone getting a pretty sweet deal. I’m here, working on a Saturday after all.”

“I’ll pay anytime you want, just say the word.” Drawingthe distinction between a service and a favour would make things a hell of a lot easier.

“Oh, you will pay me.” He let the taunt hang. “At the shinty game tonight.”

Watching him run around a field all muscular and sweaty and Ken-like? He probably clapped the opposing team when they scored. Who knew good sportsmanship was a kink of mine?

No, I needed to spendlesstime with him, not more. “I have plans.”

“Cancel them.”

“And if it’s a date?” The words shot out before I could stop them.

---