Like summer in a kilt.
She felt herself swaying toward him, seeking some of that warmth for her own chilled heart.
And she very well might have, had his next words not halted her.
“I enjoy fishing,” he said.
Though master of a good non sequitur herself, Allie still blinked. “P-pardon?”
“Just returning tae your question from earlier. I ken that ye want tae know more about myself. It’s part of what would make me an excellent friend, my ability tae anticipate your needs.”
“Back to that, are you? And so you mention . . . fishing?”
“Aye. There is nothing as fine as flicking a line over the River North Esk on a July morning, mist rising off the water. ’Tis the best way tae commune with nature.” He paused, gaze turning inward. “Mmm, perhaps I should write a poem about that.”
“An Ode to Fishing?” Allie asked, not even attempting to keep the dry humor out of her voice.
“Aye. I ken that you be thinking tae mock me over this, but ye forget, lass, I am Scottish. We Scots keep our pastimes simple.” He ticked off on his fingers. “Hunting. Fishing. Gettingfouoff of whisky and then challenging one another to lift heavy things.”
Laughter burbled up her throat. “Lifting heavy things?”
“Aye, like boulders or coos. ’Tis a national sport.” His eyebrows lifted, as if daring her to gainsay him.
“I would have thought the landscape itself would provide a pleasant way to pass an afternoon. Your poetry makes it sound beautiful.”
“Hah! So you’ve read my poetry, have ye? Now the truth outs.”
“Well, I did take pity on your poor self and force my way throughPoems from the Highlands.”
She may have read through it a time or three over the past several days.
Ethan Penn-Leithwasa remarkable poet. His acolytes were not misguided in their adoration. Merely a bit too excitable.
“And?” he grinned softly, the merest hint of his dazzling smile popping out.
“Please.” Allie held up a staying hand. “You do not need my opinions to prop up your obviously-sufficient ego.”
“But as afriend,” he leaned into the word, “what would you say, Lady Allegra?”
“Again, we are not friends, Mr. Penn-Leith. Case in point, a friend would have been granted permission to call me Allie. You, sir, have receivednosuch privilege.”
“Allie . . . ,” he repeated slowly, as if savoring the mere two syllables. “So it’s notBellissima, as I had presumed.”
His words stirred an entire flock of shimmery-feathered birds in her stomach.
“No.” Her eyebrows drew down. “Moreover, friends don’t flirt with friends, Mr. Penn-Leith. I thought we already discussed this.”
“Well, ye clearly have never been friends with the right gentleman then. I couldn’t stop flirting with your fair self even if I tried.” He heaved a rather put-upon sigh. “I fear it will be a trial of our friendship that ye will simply have tae endure.”
Uffa!The man was shameless.
Shifting his weight, Mr. Penn-Leith faced her more fully on the sofa, arm extending along the back, fingers mere inches from her slouched shoulders.
Would he touch her, she wondered? Or was he too much of a gentleman for such forward behavior?
Granted, she could simply close the remaining foot between them, cup his cheek in her right hand . . . and bring his mouth to hers.
But . . . he came no closer.
