Page 47 of Some Like It Scot
And then came Graeme, taking on trouble... and winning.
I watched him as he approached Mrs. Lennox, his body towering over the petite woman. The water had taken his loose curls and tightened them into ringlets to make any woman envious... or delirious.
Seriously, what was it about a massive man with a head full of curls?
His shoulders pulled at the cloth of his wet T-shirt, his arm muscles defined beneath the thin material, and I pressed a palm to the base of my throat, a frisson of warmth shimmying up through my midsection.
The way he’d wrapped those arms around me and brought me to the surface. The feel of his palm pressed against the small of my back and the way his pale gaze had searched mine, checking for my well-being. And then he’d called melass. Heaven and earth! There was power in the way he spoke that word.
Sure, I’d seen my fair share of Scottish movies involving time travel or Liam Neeson, or even a dancing Gene Kelly, but none of those had breathed the wordlassagainst my ear in a deep brogue I felt reverberating in my chest. None of those came with a very real, iron-clad chest and mind-blanking periwinkle eyes.
None of those had ever made me feel... safe.
Andseen.
A tremble traveled through me again, but not from the cold this time. From the dangling carrot of something dangerous and hopeful and impossible packaged inside the fifty-foot gorgeous grump in the room. A man who had to be reminded that it was okay to be a hero.
I took in his tense profile, attempting tokeekthrough his wealth of black curls.
Who was this guy?
I wrapped my arms around myself and squeezed against the warmth spilling through me. And why did I have to meet him? I hugged myself harder.
Sometimes it’s worse to experience something you can’t have than never to have experienced it at all. Kind of like eating generic chocolate after tasting name brand. Ignorance truly is bliss.
Maybe.
But like an addict, my heart wanted one more hit of that high. One more feel of his arms to see if what I’d experienced wasn’t just the post-life-saving rush, but something sweeter.
I pinched my eyes closed. Nope. I didn’t want that. I didn’tneedto want that. And besides, he clearly wished to steer clear of me. I was a fluke in his life. A trouble-making fluke. I’d leave in a little less than three weeks. Gone. An unhappy memory.
But my gaze pulled back to him, dipping my daydreaming into threatening territory that started with two very dangerous words:what if.
What if the way he looked at me was more than simple concern? What if my traveling around the world wasn’t such a big deal? What if lingering long enough meant finding a dream even better than I’d imagined? My heart squeezed against the pull.
He was rubbing his forehead like he had a headache, his voice too low to make out the conversation. Mrs. Lennox nodded and handed him a slip of paper. His eyes widened.
What were they talking about? Whatever it was, shock looked pretty nice on him.
Despite the internal struggle, I wanted another conversation with him, if for nothing else than to press the hero issue. I fought a grin. Okay, and maybe just to see if he’d call me lass again. Because that was neck-tingly nice.
“Ah, here we are.” Mirren’s voice broke into my attempts to eavesdrop. She carried a tray laden with all sorts of yummy temptations, placing the bountiful offering on the table in front of me. “Tea and some biscuits. And Lara’s collecting a change of clothes so ye won’t have to stay in those wet things all the way back to Craighill.”
“Oh, Mirren, you don’t have to—”
“Wheesht, luv,” she interjected, her smile as kind as the first time I met her. She had one of those looks like my gran. The type I tried to avoid but desperately wanted to be near. Her entire personality offered something even more terrifying than falling in a loch.
She offered a glimpse into how a mother should be. Of the possibility of feeling a connection like I once knew with my gran.
And that little teaser pricked razor sharp. Because it left. Or broke. Or... I’d never be able to earn it.
“None of that. It’s naught but some items from the charity shop. They’ll be dry at the very least.” Mirren surveyed me with an assessing eye. “What are you? Five eleven? Six feet?”
Good guess. “Six one.”
“And ten or eleven stones?”
“Stones?” I narrowed my eyes with my grin. “Um... I’d say my birthstone is a sapphire, but I don’t think that’s what you’re looking for.”
