He cocks his head, concerned. “Would ye rather have picked them out yourself? I can take ye shopping tomorrow.”
“It’s not that.” Sitting down, a little overwhelmed, I pluck the kitty out of one of the bags where she’s getting entangled in a silk robe. “It’s been a while since… I don’t know. Since I’ve had anything new. It’s a lot to get used to.”
My chin goes up. “I’ll pay you back, though. Every penny, my trust gets released to me when I turn twenty-three. It’s the only thing my Wicked Stepmother couldn’t get her hands on.”
“It’s no hardship,Luaith Bheag.” Before I can ask him what that means, his phone rings. “Excuseme.” He walks over to one of the windows, speaking softly. Hanging up with a resigned expression, he says, “I know you’ve got to be tired, lass. But the Chieftain wants to meet ye.”
“Who’s the Chieftain?”
“My Uncle Cormac, head of Clan MacTavish and CEO of MacTavish International.”
“Is Chieftain just a fancier word for the Don of your mafia?”
A ghost of a smile plays along his lips. “Well, we are a wallie lot.”
“Is there a Scots language dictionary I can pick up somewhere?” I ask.
Wallace laughs, and the effect is mesmerizing. His even white teeth, the gleam in his amber eyes, and it looks like each muscle in his body is slowly unclenching, making me realize just how on guard he is, all the time.
“Let me feed ye and ye can change into something a wee bit more comfortable than my joggers,” he says. His smile turns into something more sly and alarmingly sexy. “Though I must say, I do prefer seeing ye in my attire.”
Seizing a handful of clothes at random, I back away. “None ofthat,mister! Where can I change?”
“I dinnae intend on any ofthat,lass,” he says,that insolent grin still in place. “I’m always happy to change my plans, though.”
By the time I’ve changed into a perfectly fitted pair of jeans and - thank you, God! - clean underwear, Wallace has lunch ready. He raises a brow when he sees I’m still wearing Morgan’s sweater.
“Dinnae ye like the jumpers?”
Crossing my arms, I shrug. “This sweater is nice. It’s comforting.”
It’s also all I have left of home, but I don’t say that.
He’s set plates for us on the long wooden farm table in the kitchen. There’s a big tureen of what looks like mashed potatoes covered in cheese and a platter of lamb chops.
“This smells amazing,” I say gratefully, inhaling the rich scent. The little fancy bites on the jet didn’t exactly fill me up. “What’s the potato dish?”
“Colcannon,” he says, dishing up an alarmingly large amount for me. “Mashed potatoes, cabbage, onions, and cheese. I could eat this every day.”
After one bite, I groan in appreciation. “I can see why.”
Looking up, I see he’s watching me, loungingback in his chair, one thick finger running along his lower lip. “What?” I wipe my mouth with my napkin, “Something on my face?”
That smile is back, making him even more devastatingly handsome.
Like he needed any help,I think resentfully.
“Nothing.” He picks up his fork. “Try the lamb chops.”
The sun’s beginning to set, sending rays of red and orange over the forest as we finally head into Edinburgh. Murder Mittens was unsettlingly fine with staying behind, lounging on the window seat in Wallace’s kitchen. She’salwayswith me, but now, she barely looked up from grooming her paw to acknowledge my departure.
“Tell me the truth,” I ask, watching the road wind through the trees. “Are you going to get in trouble for bringing home a souvenir from your job? Especially when it’s a member of the Banner Mafia?”
“My uncle wouldn’t hold an innocent responsible for the sins of their syndicate,” he says. “You’re as much of a victim of that feckwit stepfamily as our men were.”
I wince. “I’m sorry about you losing them.”
Wallace gently squeezes my hand. “Again, notyour fault, lass.”
