"Good morning, dearie."Mrs.Agnew, the older lady from the desk, stands behind a sideboard with her hair up in a bun so tight it looks surgically installed.She watches me with the precise, clinical interest of a botanist observing a rare fungus."Sleep well?"
She must see the afterglow, or maybe the after-guilt clinging to my skin.I lie anyway and say, "Slept like a log, thanks.I may never leave my room again."
Mrs.Agnew's eyes twinkle.She clearly doesn't buy my bullshit, but she's polite enough to let me preserve the shreds of my dignity.I load my plate with reckless abandon, then retreat to a corner table where sunlight slants in at just the right angle to remind me that fresh starts are, in fact, possible.
The eggs are gloriously buttery, the bacon a revelation.American bacon is a plastic imitation compared to this.I'm halfway into my second helping when a very tall shadow looms over me, flooding my table with a presence too irritatingly familiar.
"Mind if I sit?"Kirk asks, looking freshly showered and infuriatingly smug.He nods toward the opposite chair.
His hair's still damp and streaked with the kind of tousled perfection only models and sociopaths manage before 9 a.m.The jerk has traded his jeans for khakis and a faded T-shirt that strains his biceps.The sleeves give him an Incredible Hulk vibe, and I expect him to rip his shirt in two at any second while snarling like a beast.
"Go back to your cave," I mutter as I stare down at my toast."There's nothing left to conquer here."
He slides into the chair, ignoring my statement."Are ye planning to climb Beann Dealgach in that frock?"
There's a dangerous glimmer in his eye, the kind that might either make me drag him into a coat closet to screw him or enrage me to the point of committing murder.The jerk is needling me, but he's also waiting---really waiting---for an answer.What the hell.I set down my fork and try to glare hard enough to unsettle him.Yeah, sure, that'll happen.
"Is it wrong to want to look presentable while exploring the local wonders?"I inquire."Besides, not all of us are born with thighs fit for scaling actual rock faces."
He shrugs and slouches in his chair, looking infuriatingly comfortable---and gorgeous."I'd take ye just like that up any Munro."He stabs a sausage with my knife, splits it in half, and chews thoughtfully."That's a bonnie scarf."
I touch my hair while my pulse accelerates, and I feel oddly bashful.How dumb is that?This man saw me naked less than twelve hours ago, and he's impressed by a frigging scarf.I smile, strangely charmed by his brazenness.
"Thanks.Borrowed it from the gift shop," I lie, though actually, I'd found it on the floor of my room.Probably left by some equally dramatic American before me.I'm about to ask if he plans on following me around all day in case I choke on a tomato, but he's already leaning in with his elbows on the tiny table like this is a high-stakes negotiation.
"So lass, what's the real plan for today?"He's got a stellar poker face, but his foot bounces beneath the table, betraying a restlessness that probably can't be cured by anything except scaling mountain peaks or wrestling alligators.
"I came here for fresh air and, you know, magnificent Highland vistas.Not another round of mansplaining from someone whose biceps could double as tourist attractions."My words came out sharper than I meant them to be, but I regret nothing---except maybe the part where I stared at his mouth, which is so distracting that I forgot to chew.I snap my attention back to my breakfast and try to appear impervious to his charms.
"Noted."Kirk chuckles.The sound is low and throaty, almost polite.Except I'm pretty sure it's the sound of me being scoffed at."Ye're on a solo exploration today, then?Or are ye secretly hoping for a repeat of last night?"
I put down my fork and narrow my gaze into something I hope resembles a laser scalpel."I do not need an escort, Mr.Balfour."
He has the stones to wink at me."Och, but you might need a guide."
I would rather bleed out from a thousand paper cuts than admit the obvious.I have no frigging idea how to get to any of the trails outside Loch Fairbairn, much less how to avoid dying from exposure or, knowing my luck, tripping over a sheep.I also don't want his company.I want...to be left alone long enough to remember my own last name.But the universe seems determined to make Kirk my own personal shadow.
"A guide, hmm?"I try for a scoffing tone, but I don't think he bought it."Clearly, I'm a helpless little American who can barely tie her own shoes.Don't you have boulders to throw or sheep to wrestle or something?"
My wit is not exactly razor sharp this morning, but it's good enough to make him grin with his perfectly white teeth shining."Later, aye.But for now, I'm at your service."
His confidence borders on being criminal, just like his bedroom skills.I get the feeling he could sit here all morning, matching jabs with me, stealing bacon off my plate, and never breaking eye contact.I could almost respect that if it weren't so infuriating."Seriously, Kirk.I came all the way here for a little solitude.Worlds away from...everything.I think I can handle a morning hike alone."
"Can ye now?"He swoops his gaze down to my shoes, then veers it back to my face."Those bonnie little loafers aren't practical here in the Highlands."
"Tennessee girls know how to hike in the woods."
Kirk's lips curl into an amused little smile."We'll see how ye feel about those loafers after an hour's hike."
Ohh, he shouldn't have said that.Because now I have no choice but to show him.
I cross my legs, put on my best "watch me win a spelling bee" face, and spear another sausage for the road."I have it on good authority thatNational Geographicdid a whole feature on Americans out-hiking overconfident Scotsmen."
The damn Scot laughs at me.Grr.
I stand up, set my tip on the table, and sashay out of the hotel with my head held high and never look back.But Kirk's laughter haunts me as the doors shut behind me.
That bastard.
