Page 15 of Summer Escapes on the Scottish Isle

Freya took a step back in surprise when she realised who was knocking, and Mack put on his most charming smile.

‘Hi, Freya.’

‘I’m surprised you’ve remembered my name. You didn’t last night.’

‘I didn’t recognise you,’ he replied, undeterred by her scowl.

She scoffed. ‘I haven’t changedthatmuch.’

‘Actually, you have,’ he pointed out. ‘You’ve grown up.’ Then he wished he hadn’t mentioned it, when his gaze involuntarily flickered down her body. Even in jeans and a T-shirt, she looked amazing. Her abundant curves were in all the right places and her waist looked narrow enough to span with his hands.

Unfortunately, she caught him looking and glared at him. ‘What do you want?’ she demanded, her tone on the unfriendly side. ‘I’m in the middle of something.’

‘So I heard.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘I was in my mum’s garden. You swear like a fishwife.’

He was amused to see the freckles across her cheeks turn a deep copper colour as she blushed furiously.

‘You would swear too if you’d just dropped a bed on your foot,’ she retorted.

‘Should I ask—?’

‘No, you should not.’

‘Do you need a hand?’

‘I can manage.’

‘It didn’t sound like it.’

‘You shouldn’t have been listening.’

‘I couldn’t help it. You were loud.’

She closed her eyes, took a breath, then opened them again. ‘Please tell me no one else heard me swearing?’

He shrugged. ‘Can’t say for certain. My mum heard.’

‘Oh sh— dear.’

Mack grinned. ‘Do you want a hand or don’t you?’

He felt her eyes linger on his chest and arms, sending a pleasant warmth through him. He was used to women eyeing him up and liking what they saw, but when Freya reached out and gave his left bicep a squeeze, he almost jerked away in surprise.

However, his hope that she might be flirting with him came crashing down when she said, ‘You’ll do. If you were weedy, I’d be better off shifting it myself. It’s upstairs.’ Turning on her heel, she stomped ahead of him, giving him a perfect view of her bahoochie – and what a wonderful bahoochie it was.

He watched it go up the stairs, then stop when it reached the top, as Freya squeezed herself between a bed frame and the banister.

Giving the old brass bed frame an experimental push, he announced, ‘It’s stuck.’

The withering look made him flinch. ‘I know.’

‘You’ll need to turn it on its side.’

‘That’s what I was trying to do.’

---