“Favorite thing about Corsekelly?” Bonnie asks, curled up on my sofa. She looks good in my house—comfortable, relaxed.

  “I like that it’s tucked away in the Highlands. Makes me feel like we have our own little clan here.”

  “I can feel that. I grew up in a smallish town—well, small for California—but it didn’t have the same kind of feel that Corsekelly has. Just feels magical here.”

  “We get that a lot.”

  A smile crosses her face. “Ever have a one-night stand with a tourist?”

  I roll my eyes. “What do you think?”

  “Easily.”

  I just lift my brow and look away.

  “Oooh, there are some stories there. Listen, I’m all for getting it when you can. No judgment here.” She holds up her hands.

  “What about you?” I ask. “Doesn’t Los Angeles have a bunch of tourists?”

  “Not the kind of tourists I’m sure you get here. A lot of families go on vacation to LA, strutting down the Walk of Fame and taking pictures with their favorite actors’ and actresses’ handprints. I’ve never found a tourist who was single and looking for a good time. But have I had the odd one-night stand? Yes. Sadly disappointing the three times it happened.”

  “Shame,” I say, sipping from my mug.

  “Tell me about it.” She groans. “Ugh, it’s been so long since I’ve copulated. I’ve almost lost count at this point. What about you? When was the last time you had sex?”

  Not quite what I had in mind for conversation topics.

  “Uh, not sure. Not recently.”

  “Look at you, not counting the days. Good for you.” She gives me an approving nod.

  “Well, in a small town like Corsekelly, not many opportunities present themselves.”

  “Understandable.” She taps her chin. “Have you ever taken a picture with your boaby on the Boaby Stone?”

  “No.”

  “Have you set your naked boaby on the Boaby Stone?”

  “No.”

  “Why not? Ladies put their breasts on it and take pictures.”

  “Because there are crazy fans out there who will lick the Boaby Stone. Not exactly hygienic. And I don’t even have a TV—never seen the show.”

  “Why don’t you have a TV?”

  “Never wanted one. I like to read, listen to podcasts, do puzzles.”

  “Oh my God, you’re a cute old man.”

  “I’m not old.”

  She leans over and touches my temple. “There are a few gray hairs in here.”

  “I’m thirty-two.”

  “Is that so?” She gives me a slow once-over. “Eight years my senior and in impeccable shape—must be all those runs with the hairy coos.”

  “And the ability to pace myself with cake,” I say with a pointed look.

  She whips out her index finger. “Don’t you dare cake shame me! I enjoyed every last bite of that cake, and if you weren’t sitting in front of me, being the cake guard, I would have helped myself to more already. So I’ve been showing some restraint, if you must know.”

  “Shocking,” I tease, which only makes her grin. “What’s your favorite thing about Corsekelly?” I ask her this time, playing along with her little game.

  “Besides the bakeshop, I truly do enjoy the people here. I like how everyone is so nice and welcoming and willing to help. They knew we were coming, and instead of pointing and saying, ‘There are the Americans,’ they welcomed us into their little world.”

  “Scots get a bad reputation about attitude. We’re usually portrayed in the media as angry brutes, shouting constantly, but in reality we’re quite passionate, but kind, human beings.”

  “I could see that. It’s clear in the way Dakota and I have been welcomed.” She picks up her mug, takes a sip, and then sets it back down. “What’s the juiciest gossip you’ve heard since we arrived?”

  “Juiciest?” I ask, rubbing my jaw. “Probably that you were caught coming out of the pub bathroom with Lachlan.”

  “What?” Her eyes widen. “Who’s been saying that?”

  “Everyone.” I chuckle.

  “Everyone? Who’s everyone? That . . . that’s—” She eyes me. “Are you lying?”

  “Aye.” I laugh some more.

  “Not funny, Rowan.”

  “I thought it was.”

  “Think you can make one of these for me?” Bonnie asks, finishing off her second serving of cake.

  “Not sure you’re worth it just yet.”

  “Oh, I’m worth it.” She winks. “I know how to thank people quite kindly.”

  “Keep saying things like that, and the Lachlan story could very well be true.”

  “Please, if I walked out of the pub bathroom with anyone, it would be Leith. He actually hit on me before I came over here.”

  “Not surprised.”

  She nudges me with her foot. “Aren’t you going to act all jealous and rage-y and demand an apology on my behalf?”

  “Why? You’re not mine to claim.”

  “Not yet.” She winks again.

  Hell, that wink was full of promises.

  Promises I hope she intends to keep.

  “Move your hand—you’re doing that on purpose.” She swats at my hand, which is holding the pen. We’re sitting side by side on the sofa, and with every second that passes, she somehow inches closer.

  “Stop distracting me.”

  “You’re distracting me with your hand.”

  “Found it,” I call out, circling the word flannel in the word search we’re working on together.

  “Damn it!” Bonnie slaps the sofa. “You have a distinct advantage because you’re holding the book and the pen.”

  “Fine, here.” I hand her everything and then rest my arm over the back of the sofa, scooting in close to her and taking in her sweet scent, a mix of floral and vanilla. “Next word.”

  She snuggles in close. “‘Loch Ness Monster’—go.”

  “Found it,” I say, seconds later, and point to it.

  “What? You’re cheating.”

  “Or I’m really good.”

  She shakes her head. “No way, you’re cheating.”

  Maybe I saw it earlier, but she doesn’t need to know that.

  “I’m not hurting you, am I?” Bonnie asks as she leans into me, her feet tucked up under her. My arm is still on the back of the sofa, but now I’m playing with the long strands of her hair.

  “No.” In reality, I don’t think I’ve ever felt this comfortable. This content. Outside, rain pelts the ground, and my cottage fills with that fresh rain smell I always look forward to as thunder and lightning crash through the sky. And for once, the storm doesn’t unsettle me. Instead, as I gaze at Bonnie, I decide it provides the perfect soundtrack for the end of our evening.

  I have no idea when Bonnie plans on leaving, but I’m not going to force her out, even though it’s past ten and sleep starts to knock at me with yawn after yawn. I’m not ending this night—she’s going to have to call it.

  When I sat down to read my book earlier, I never expected the evening to end up like this: Bonnie leaning against me, talking quietly while we play game after game of word search and lose ourselves in conversation . . . and don’t forget those two servings of cake and coffee.

  “You’re warm,” she says, nuzzling her head against my chest, her voice soft, almost sleepy. “You’re so comfortable. And you smell good.”

  Not sure what to say, I stay quiet and twirl a long blonde strand around my finger.

  “Can I ask you something that might make you mad?”

  “Sure,” I say, feeling so relaxed that I actually mean it. Maybe that was her intention all along. Either way, she can ask me anything at this point.

  “Someone told me you had a brother.”

  Hell.

  Maybe not everything.

  I blow out a long breath and lean back, slouching so my head is tilted up against the cushion and my gaze is fixed on the ceiling.

  “I did,” I answer honestly.

  “What happened to him?”

  I swallow hard. “Passed away from a head injury.” Bonnie turns and faces me, her hand falling on my chest, her eyes intent on my face. “Callum was twenty. I was twenty-two. We were hiking with Leith and Lachlan, all of us drunk and being eejits. We got caught up in a rainstorm and didn’t think much of it until Callum slipped in a pile of mud and slammed his head against a rock. He was unresponsive.” Bonnie’s hand slowly rubs over my chest, easing the tension that’s building over my heart. “Somehow we got him down the mountain and called an ambulance. We shouldn’t have moved him, but we didn’t want to leave him up there in the rain either. His brain swelled, and there was no recovering after that.”

  “Oh my God,” Bonnie says. “The hike up to the castle, your anger . . . it was because of Callum.”

  “Aye. I swore I’d never stop hiking, because it was one of his favorite things to do, but I use loads of caution now. The rucksack I was carrying when we went to the castle was full of first aid supplies, and I keep track of the weather pretty constantly.”

  “I’m so sorry. I wish I had known. I feel terrible that I put you in that position.”

  “It’s not something you need to worry about.” I push my hand through her hair, a sense of understanding passing through us. “But he was the reason I was harsh with you—probably why I’m harsh with everybody.”

  “You haven’t gotten over his death.”

  “Does anyone ever get over losing someone they love?”

  “No, I suppose not,” she answers softly.

  Gently, she rests her cheek on my bare chest and wraps her arm around my waist, pressing tight against my body, almost as if she’s trying to fuse us together. I welcome it—the warmth, the comfort.

  Hell, when was the last time I actually felt another person try to comfort me like this? I honestly can’t recall . . . maybe never.

  “Was that the change you were talking about in the coffee shop? Why you never left town?”

  “How did I know you were going to ask that?”

  She lifts up. “I’m sorry if I’m being nosy.”

  “You are. But it’s okay.” I yawn, covering my mouth. “Maybe we save it for another day.”

  Understanding softens her eyes as she sits up and looks over at the clock on the oven. “Jeez, I didn’t realize how late it was. I’m sorry. I should head home.” A loud crack of thunder rattles the cottage, and she winces. “Or, you know, this couch is pretty comfortable.”

  Chuckling, I stand as I bring her to her feet, and we link our hands together for a brief moment. I give her a squeeze, pulling a small smile from her lips right before I move around the cottage, taking care of the dishes and locking up. I lead her to my bedroom, which is off the back, and then rummage through my dresser for a shirt.

  “To sleep in,” I say, handing it to her. “There’s toothpaste and an extra toothbrush in the cabinet in the bathroom.”

  “Okay. Thank you. Let me text Dakota to let her know I’m staying so she doesn’t worry. I’ll probably just need a blanket and a pillow for the couch.”

  I walk up to her and pinch her chin with my forefinger and thumb. “You’re sleeping in my bed tonight . . . with me.”

  Her mouth drops open, forming a bonny little O. I take off to the bathroom, where I get ready quickly, mentally preparing myself for a long night of yearning and no touching.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  BONNIE

  Cake consumed today: Happily, two and a half pieces.

  Days since last male-induced orgasm: Uh . . . ninety? Ninety-nine? Hopefully zero soon.

  Number of hot Scots who said I’d be sleeping with them: One . . . THE one and only.

  Men I’m crushing on hard: One. See above.

  His shirt smells like heaven. His toothpaste tastes like heaven. His face is pure heaven. I think I may have passed out and gone to heaven.

  And I’m not leaving.

  “So should I just hop in?” I ask, standing at the foot of Rowan’s large bed, in his shirt, staring at the way he’s casually lying under the covers, his torso uncovered and his hands behind his head.

  “Not going to bite, lass.”

  Yeah . . . but I might.

  Slowly I make my way to my side of the bed. “You know, this was easier when I was drunk.”

  “Do you even remember it?”

  “No, which made it easier, because I will for sure remember how awkward I am right now.”

  He flips the covers over for me, welcoming me in. How can he be so cool about it? As if this isn’t monumental? As if we haven’t had this on-again, off-again, fun-yet-tumultuous relationship ever since I got here? As if me climbing into bed next to him is the most natural thing in the world?

  And maybe it is for him.

  Once settled, I lie stiffly next to him, keeping all my limbs to myself and staring straight up at the ceiling. He flips the nightstand light off and then turns toward me, his hand scooping me around the waist and pulling me close so we’re facing each other.

  His minty breath floats between us as his wide palm keeps hold on my back. My hand falls to his chest, and my fingers lightly stroke the dark ink on his pec.

  “Does your tattoo hold any meaning?”

  “Aye. It’s the MacGregor clan crest woven into a Celtic knot—a tribute to my brother.”

  “That’s . . . that’s beautiful, Rowan.”

  “It’s how I can keep him close to my heart,” he answers, his grip growing tighter.

  I smooth my hand up his neck, to his jaw, trying to calm my rattling nerves. I’ve never been this nervous when it comes to a man. I’m usually so confident, but Rowan has me out of sorts. I’m not sure if what I’m doing is okay, or if he wants me touching him at all.

  I bite my bottom lip. “I feel like I should tell you something.”

  “What’s that?” he asks, his voice husky, like a soft rumble of thunder in the distance.

  “I’m starting to like you.”

  He chuckles, the sound rattling the bed ever so slightly. “Is that so?”

  “Don’t make a big deal about it.”

  “How could I not, when I’ve been nothing but grumpy and awful to be around?”

  “I never said it’s awful to be around you. Grumpy, yes, but Kilty McGrumpyshire has grown on me.”

  “Yeah, well . . . the stubborn and saucy American has grown on me as well.”

  I smile. “Does that mean . . . you like me back?”

  Growing serious, he replies, “I think I have for a while.”

  His hand travels up my back to the nape of my neck. Butterflies erupt in my chest as he pulls me a few more inches closer, cutting what little distance there is between us.

  Forehead to forehead, he’s silent for a few breaths. “The first time you kissed me,” he murmurs, “it was torture to not kiss you back, but I had to stand my stubborn ground. I felt the imprint of your lips on mine for days. I smelled your perfume on me for hours after, and your badgering made me laugh minutes later. It was the worst, best first kiss I’ve ever had with someone.”

  “You consider that a first kiss?”

  “Aye. I do.”

  “But it wasn’t a pretty one.”

  “Doesn’t need to be.”

  “So what does all of this mean? Are you going to kiss me now?” I ask, feeling breathless and excited.

  “Nay.” He shakes his head against mine. “I’m going to hold you, though.”

  Disappointment falls, and I realize just how much I really wanted him to kiss me—just how much I actually want this man. But cuddling into him, letting him hold me during a thunderstorm, that should be good enough . . . right?

  “Come here,” he says, rolling onto his back and pulling me into his embrace. I rest my head against his chest, and his protective arm clamps around me as he kisses the top of my head. “Thank you for tonight,” he says quietly.

  “You don’t have to thank me.”

  “I don’t talk about my brother very often, Bonnie. You listened, and that meant something to me.”

  “I know you would have done the same for me.” I move my hands slowly across his chest. “Rowan?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Does this mean . . . we’re starting something?”

  “Are you fishing for a date, lass?”

  “Wouldn’t hurt you to ask, you know.”

  “Okay.”

  And I wait . . . and wait . . . and wait.

  “Uh, are you going to ask?”

  “On my terms, Bonnie. Now just go to sleep.”

  “On your terms—what does that even mean?”

  “Means I’ll ask when I ask.”

  “Well, I can’t wait around forever, you know. I’m fresh meat in a Scottish meat market. I might be asked out tomorrow, and because you never asked me out, I would take that date.”

  “Then take it,” he says casually.

  I pinch his side, and he barely flinches. “You’re not supposed to say that.”

  “I know you wouldn’t take it. You’re too infatuated with me.”

  “Oh, now you did it,” I exclaim. “Now I’m going to go ask Leith out just to spite you.”

  He chuckles. “Good luck. I heard he likes to lick necks on first dates.”

  “Well, then he’s the perfect man for me.”

  A burst of light sears through my eyelids as thunder booms outside. I startle awake, my heart rate surging as I try to grasp where I am. The room is swathed in darkness, and the warm body that held me as I fell asleep is nowhere to be found. I sit up in bed and search the room, but I don’t see him anywhere.

  Folding down the covers, I slowly get out of bed and make my way through the open bedroom door. I pad into the main living space, where I spot him in the kitchen, wearing just a pair of black boxer briefs. His back is turned to me, and tension rolls through it as he grips the counter in front of him, his head tilted down. Lightning flashes and another boom of thunder rattles the house, but he remains still, unaffected.