“Anyway,” Blair says, settling back in her chair. “How about those two, huh?” She nods to where Lachlan and Struan stand chatting while Lachlan prods at the grill. “Men and fire. An ancient, irresistible pull.”
I thump my chest and intone, “Man . . . need . . . make . . . fire.”
Blair snorts into her wine. “Accurate.”
The breeze ruffles my hair and I let out a long, contented sigh. Aye, this is exactly what I needed today.
I set my glass on the trestle table, which isreasonablysteady on the pebbles, then lean back and lace my hands behind my head. “Sun, sea, and”—I nudge a pebble with my toe—“well, not sand, but close enough. This is the life.”
“It really is,” Blair agrees, smiling.
A knot inside me loosens. Maybe it’s the wine, maybe the good weather, or maybe the simple bliss of not being needed by anyone for five blessed minutes. Whatever it is, I feel something I haven’t in a long time: relaxed.
Then a low, warm laugh drifts over from the grill, and my treacherous gaze slides back to Struan before I can stop it. The sunglasses give me the perfect cover to look without getting caught, and apparently I have zero self-control today because I take full advantage.
He’s in shorts, all long legs and easy confidence, the sun catching on the gold hairs on his strong calves. His T-shirt stretches over broad shoulders and a chest that’s burned into my brain, thanks to the shirtless courtyard incident earlier in the week.
If we were at a beach barbecue somewhere warmer, there’s a good chance he’d have his top off right now and I’d be able to?—
Stop it.
I give myself a firm mental shake. I didn’t come to Ardmara to drool over toned chests and sun-kissed calves, no matter how distractingly well-assembled the package.
But then a memory flashes into my head. Last night. Struan in my bedroom, standing inches from me, his gaze dropping to my mouth.
My pulse trips. So much for relaxed. Now I’m getting hot and bothered, which is not ideal. At all.
I wrench my attention away and take a long sip of wine, determined to focus on literally anything that isn’t Struan Walker. My eyes land on Isla instead, laughing as she chases Gus along the shoreline. Sweet kid.
So . . . her mum’s partner is a woman.
A flicker of curiosity sparks. Was that why things with Sophie and Struan never worked out? Did she realise she preferred women? Or did they simply grow apart?
None of your business, Ainsley Reid. Absolutely none.
And yet my eyes, far too nosy for their own good, drift right back to Struan. Of course they do.
As if sensing my gaze, he glances over, and despite my sunglasses, I swear he knows I’m staring. My cheeks flush and I look away fast, pretending the sea is the most fascinating thing I’ve ever seen.
Too late. He’s already walking over.
“How long till the food’s ready?” Blair asks as I hide behind my wine glass, taking another sip for good measure.
“About ten minutes.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him bend and pull two beers from the cool bag.
“Ainsley?”
“Hmm?”
“Lachlan wants to know if you’re veggie?”
He untwists one bottle cap with his bare hand, then the other, the muscles in his forearm flexing with the movement. Incredibly—and annoyingly—sexy.
It’s a bottle cap, Ainsley. Not a striptease. Get a hold of yourself!
“Oh my God.” Blair sits up. “I should’ve asked you that when I invited you! Who invites someone to a barbecue without checking if they’re vegetarian?”
