Even the best player would’ve flinched at that shot. From the way her eyes sharpened, he feared he’d given something away.
‘No,’ he said, truthfully enough. His portfolio was already stretched to the limit.
‘Hm, interesting.’ She sat back again, arms folded.
He didn’t like the pose; it put him under a microscope while she held the controls.
‘You don’t like me asking about MacLeod’s Cove. I wonder why.’
He spread his hands. It seemed there was no avoiding her question. ‘I heard MacLeod’s Cove has changed since the new motorway bypasses it. It’s become quieter, more like it was decades ago. House prices have risen. I know people who have holiday homes there. Just curious about investment opportunities.’
‘Curiosity,’ she echoed, leaning in, ‘killed the cat.’
‘Good thing I’m more of a shark.’
She laughed. ‘That still doesn’t explain what you were doing in a rundown hotel at eight in the morning.’
She rested her elbows on the table and cupped her face, her expression all sweetness and faux-innocence. She was playing him as much as he was playing her.
‘Maybe…’ he said, raising a hand for the waiter before turning back to her with what he hoped was an easy smile, ‘I had a late-night rendezvous with a woman that ran into early morning. It would explain why I was out of place so early.’
‘It would,’ she agreed. ‘It would also suggest a not-too-successful rendezvous if she kicked you out of the house and sent you for coffee at the worst establishment in the village.’
His teeth clenched. He didn’t enjoy that image.
She laughed. ‘Somehow, I can’t see it.’
He was both relieved he didn’t fit the profile of a failed lover and irritated she was still steering the conversation.
‘Another bottle of wine?’ the waiter asked.
‘Yes,’ Oliver said, accepting the recommendation without really listening. He wanted her to relax, to stop scrutinising everything he said with her razor-sharp brain.
‘If you’d like?’
‘Sure, that’d be lovely,’ she said.
She took a long sip, and he watched her throat move, heat punching low in his abdomen. He imagined that mouth, that throat, in a very different context.
‘So… where were we?’ he asked lightly, even as his brain worked at selecting an explanation that would be acceptable. It had to be the truth — or something close to it.
‘The real reason you were in MacLeod’s Cove.’
He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. ‘OK, you’ve got me. I love the buzz of a big city, but there’s something I love more.’
Her head tipped as the waiter refilled her glass. ‘And what’s that?’
‘Money.’
‘Hm.’ The humour drained from her expression. ‘And there’s money to be made in MacLeod’s Cove?’
‘Nothing that would make money on its own,’ he said. That, at least, was true. The Old Colonial was only useful as a box-ticking exercise.
‘Ah.’ Her face brightened. ‘So you’re thinking leisure. A beach house for the perfect weekend getaway.’
‘You know,’ he said, sitting back, determined to shift the trajectory, ‘I’ve always thought if you need a “getaway”, you probably haven’t built a life you want to stay in.’
She lit up. At last he’d managed to divert her onto a safer topic.
