Page 42 of Surprises on the Scottish Isle

As she walked, she decided she needed to speak to Calan before going any further with this commission, because she had a feeling that the house she had photographed today was a far cry from the house Bonnie called home.

Chapter 13

Cal wasn’t wearing a shirt. That was the first thing Tara noticed when she knocked on the door of his cottage later that day. It was theonlything she noticed for several agonising heartbeats, until she managed to pull herself together and stamp on the unexpected and unwelcome spike of desire that stole her breath and made her mute.

It was the fine russet hairs trailing down his stomach and heading south into his jeans that did it. She knew how soft those hairs were, and she knew exactly where they led.

Tara swallowed, forcing down her lust in the same way she forced down her multivitamin tablet every morning.

‘Tara.’ His voice was little more than an exhaled breath, a whisper of the wind across the loch. He cleared his throat. ‘Hi, won’t you come in? I was just getting changed.’

Her gaze was drawn to his chest again, then upwards to his face. Was that amusement she could see in his eyes?

Annoyed at being wrong-footed (if a man had stared at her chest the way she’d just stared at Cal’s torso, she would have been tempted to deck him), she said, ‘I won’t stay. I just wanted to tell you that I’ve taken the photos, but I’m not sure they’ll be of any use.’

‘Why not?’

Tara stabbed at her phone’s screen, her movements jerky. She turned it to face him, scrolling through the many images, before coming to a halt.

‘I don’t understand. Why can’t you use them?’

‘Your— Bonnie’s mother has dressed it for sale. It’s like a show house, apart from Bonnie’s room. It’s been totally de-personalised. Do you have any photos of what it looked like before? I mean, Bonnie is going to want her doll’s house to be how she remembers it, not as it is now.’

The puzzlement on Cal’s face disappeared as his expression hardened. ‘This isexactlyhow Bonnie will remember it.’

Oh, dear… ‘Ah. Well, in that case, I’ll do a quick calculation and get back to you.’

‘I bet her mother doesn’t know her bedroom is in such a state. Yvaine won’t be happy.’

Judging by the pristine condition of the rest of the house, Tara didn’t think Yvaine would be happy either. The poor kid. Where were the photos, the keepsakes, the paintings on the fridge held in place by silly magnets? Where were the wellies by the door, the shelves full of books and board games, the pink glitter bubble bath that smelt of strawberries? Where was thesoul?

Cal turned away from the door and retreated into the cottage, leaving Tara staring after him and wondering whether she should follow him inside or leave.

Curiosity is going to be the death of me, she thought, as she stepped over the threshold against her better judgement. But wanting to see where he lived, wanting to see more ofhim, outweighed the voice in her head warning her of the risks of playing with fire. Cal had burned her once. He could so easily burn her again if she was stupid enough to let him get too close.

The porch was crammed with boots, coats, tweed caps and walking sticks, and led into a small hallway with a twisty staircase directly in front and doors to either side. Her head snapped back and forth as she wondered which room he was in, realising he was upstairs when his feet appeared on the stairs, followed by the rest of him as he trotted down them tugging a T-shirt over his head.

With his chest now covered, Tara noticed that his feet were bare.

A memory of tickling those very same feet until he was breathless with laughter as she’d leant all her body weight on his legs to stop him squirming, flashed into her head and she felt like crying.

He looked surprised to see her, as though he’d forgotten she was there. ‘Fancy a wee dram?’ he asked.

‘I haven’t had my tea yet.’ Whisky on an empty stomach was never a good idea.

‘Salmon steaks, then?’

‘Pardon?’

‘I was about to cook myself a salmon steak. There’s one going spare, if you fancy it.’

Tara was taken aback. Was Cal seriously offering to cook for her? ‘Why are you trying to be nice to me?’ she demanded. ‘Do you feel guilty about stringing me along and then dumping me? I thought we had something, Cal.’

‘I need that drink,’ he muttered and stalked off.

Tara followed him into the lounge. She wanted answers and she was damned well going to get them – they were long overdue.

He poured amber liquid into a couple of crystal tumblers and handed one to her. The whisky was smooth and mellow, with a heat that failed to thaw the ice in her chest. She couldn’t believe she was confronting him. But she’d asked the question and there was no walking it back.

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