“I’ve plenty.”
“Oh please.” She rolls her eyes. “You’re built like a Greek statue. I’ve been holding in my stomach for the past hour.”
“Don’t.” My hand finds her waist, palm flattening against the curve of her. “I don’t want you holding in anything around me. You’re gorgeous. Naked or in waders.”
“Such a charmer. But I don’t believe you.” Her finger traces across my chest, but she can’t stop the shy smile tugging at her lips.
I mean it, though. I love how soft she is. Her curves fit perfectly in my hands. Against my body.
All that softness, the way she yields under my hands, how she doesn’t try to match my strength but surrenders to it instead. I spend hours maintaining my body, controlling every aspect of my physical existence. She undoes me with her softness, making me want to protect and possess in equal measure.
“Stop with this bollocks. And I can’t wait to see you all dressed up at the Annual Harvest Ceilidh. I meant to ask, do you want me to buy you something? Pick out a dress; I’ll cover it.”
She lifts her head. Alarm flashes in those green eyes. “I’m not going to that!”
“Why the hell not? Most of the staff go. It’s a decent event.”
The hotel throws a ceilidh every year for locals, suppliers, and staff. Free drinks, good food, proper Scottish celebration.
“Because I’d rather hide in my cottage than make small talk with the entire workforce while wearing tartan.”
“You’ll enjoy it. And Jake’s going. I’ve got a kilt sorted for him.”
Her eyes brighten. “You’ll be in a kilt too?”
I chuckle at her transparent eagerness. “Will that convince you?”
“Maybe.” She bites her lip. “But how posh are we talking?”
“Pretty smart. Tartan sashes, cocktail dresses. Some of the older women might wear tweed jackets. I’m happy to buy you something.”
“No!” She swats my chest, laughing. “You’re not my sugar daddy. That’s weird. I’m perfectly capable of buying my own dress.”
I groan, disturbed that the sugar daddy comment sounds more appealing than it should.
She smiles. “It’s lovely that you put this on for the community since the hotel’s paying for everything.”
I shrug. “Some people’ll still think I’m a prick. I guarantee at least one drunk bastard’ll start on me by the end of the night.”
Her face crumples. “That’s horrible. Why would they?”
“That’s life. And business.”
Nothing says local goodwill like the annual tradition of someone trying to glass the English hotel owner.
Her voice softens. “So Jake’s definitely going?”
“He says he is.”
“I removed the ‘have athletic sex with Highland men’ bit from my to-do list,” she says, cheeks already pink. “It’d be mortifying if Jake spotted it.”
I raise a brow. “I would’ve thought you’d want to take it down because you’re having sex with me instead.”
Her cheeks go from pink to scarlet. “Well, yes, obviously that too. But are we... I mean, is this exclusive? I just want to make sure we’re on the same page because I’m not really equipped for casual arrangements. Because I’m not seeing other people, obviously, since there aren’t exactly loads of options on Skye, and also, I’m far too awkward to juggle multiple… situations. So I just wanted to clarify the parameters of our—”
“Yes.”
She blinks. “Yes to…?”
