His eyebrow arches. “You givin’ me decor tips, princess?”
“Maybe you could fold the towels into swans too,” I say as sweetly as possible. “It’s the little touches that make all the difference.”
He just grunts, still staring at my boots. “You’ll break your neck in those things,” he mutters, turning back to his paper.
“All right,” Fraser says, steering me towards the table. He pushes me gently down into a wooden chair. “We got fresh scones in from the bakery this morning. And bread and jam and the like.” He slides a basket of pastries my way.
“Oh, that’s fine. I really just need to get connected?—”
“You can do whatever you need to do after some brekkie,” Fraser insists, waving a scone in front of my nose.
I’m about to protest and beg for the Wi-Fi password when I hear footsteps in the hallway behind me.
“Have you two managed to fix the drainage yet?” a deep voice says. “We need to— Who are you?”
I turn to follow the voice, and my insides freeze.
Holy. Shit.
This isn’t right. It simply cannot be. There cannot be a third incredibly hot guy standing in the doorway to the kitchen.
And yet…there he is.
This man is tall with broad shoulders and raven-black hair. While Fraser and Cameron are both rough and wild-looking, he’s the polar opposite. Smooth. Polished. He’s wearing a pristine white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and an expensive-looking watch gleams on his wrist. His eyes are cloud-grey behind his glasses as he regards me.
He takes another step into the room. The air seems to hum as he comes closer, like the sky before a storm’s about to hit. I feel my thoughts scatter. I’ve always been a sucker for an authority figure, and this man exudes authority like a visible aura.
“Well?” he prompts after a moment, his expression blank.
“Hi! I’m Summer.” I wave awkwardly.
“Alec Gray,” he says quietly. His Scottish accent is softer than Fraser’s and Cameron’s, his voice more clipped. “I’m the owner and general manager of Lochview Farm.” He tilts his head as he studies me. A lock of dark hair falls over his forehead. “I don’t mean to be rude, but what are you doing here?”
“Oh. Um…” I look to Fraser.
“Cabin guest,” Cameron mutters from the corner. “Came in last night.”
“I know that,” Alec says. “But why is shehere?” His stern eyes narrow on me, and I feel like a deer in the headlights of a truck. “We don’t permit guests to join us in the farmhouse,” he tells me. “It can be disruptive to our operations.”
“Oh,” I manage.
“Aw, I promised Summer she could come up here to use the Wi-Fi,” Fraser booms cheerfully at my side. “Poor thing’s in a bit of a pickle.” He pats my hand. His big palm swallows mine, rough callouses rubbing against my skin.
Alec’s brow furrows. “Are you in trouble?” he asks me seriously. “Do you need help?”
Cameron looks up from his paper.
I squirm a little. It’s…odd to have the attention of all three men so focused on me.
“Not in trouble,” I say brightly. “I came to the Highlands to shoot some content. I was meant to stay at a resort about thirty minutes away, but… Um, something went wrong with my booking. You guys really saved me last night. I had nowhere to go.”
“Shoot content?” Alec asks. “You work in film?”
“No, I’m an—” The wordsI’m an influencerare almost out of my mouth, then I stop myself.
If I tell these men what I do for a living, they’ll look me up. The first search result will be me melting down on the floor of apublic bathroom. The thought makes me feel a bit sick. “I’m a…travel blogger,” I say slowly.
There’s a long pause.
