“What do you want?” I demanded. I’d dealt with enough dickheads in my life to put up with whatever this was. No drama, that was the point of this trip. And Jonah? He was sure to fall under drama.
He struck me by surprise again as he raised his hands, genuine concern in those disarming puppy-dog eyes. “I’m sorry, for whatever happened back at the pub,” he said.
I let out a sigh. I didn’t want to explain what had happened, who he’d reminded me of. It was none of his business.
“And just now, I promise I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Fine,” I grumbled, waving one hand away. “Now leave me alone.”
I didn’t expect him to. Guys like him never did. Persistent, like they thought they were doing you some massive favour by saving you from yourself.
For a moment, his concern had looked real, enough to make me wonder if maybe I was being too harsh. Then again, that’s what men did. They played the good guy until they got what they wanted.
He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I could give you a lift to the cottage. I’m going that way.”
Knowing me, the odds of ending up over the wrong hill, in the completely wrong glen, and knee deep in some loch were incredibly high. Still, I said, “I’m fine.”
Despite the weather, the phone connection, and a total lack of a map or any other navigation other than my totally reliable instructions from the woman to “keep walkingupthe hill”, I was set on my decision not to get into a car with a total and complete stranger.
He straightened, the worry creasing at the corner of his eyes, snow falling around us. “You shouldn’t walk.”
“And why not?” I didn’t enjoy men telling me what I should and shouldn’t do, but this man, the edge of softness he carried, convinced me to at least listen.
“Because it’s only going to get colder,” he said, his voice calm. “It’s probably already icy, the sidewalk won’t be salted. You’ll have to walk on the road, which is even more dangerous in the dark.”
Ihatedthat he had a point. A really, really good point. Glancing down at the pavement, I could see the ice underneath me, feel my boots slipping slightly against it. Jonah noticed, his brows lifting in a way that made me want to both scream and laugh at his smugness.
“Is there really no bus? No taxis?” I asked, clinging to one last shred of hope. I’d already asked at the shop and regretted it, getting an earful from the woman about the council cuts followed by a history lesson that led back to the Highland clearances.
Jonah shook his head in answer.
“You could be a serial killer,” I resolved, my throat tightening at the thought. Gran had drilled it into me for years: don’t trust strange men. Not on the tube, not in taxis, not anywhere. She’d practically had it tattooed on my brain before I left home the first time. And yet, here I was, considering it anyway, because freezing to death in stiletto boots seemed only marginally worse.
“I promise I’m not.”
“And how many other women have fallen for that line?”
“Honestly, I’m trying to get you there safely,” he said, his breath puffing in the cold. “I’m sorry for whatever I said back at the bar, I truly didn’t mean to offend you.”
I couldn’t argue with him there. I’d practically been mesmerized by his thick dark lashes and strong jawline, enough that I’d started to think that this trip hadn’t been a horrible idea. And then the ball dropped, and it had all been ruined.
“And honestly,” he said. “I’m freezing my ass off standing here, so maybe do us both a favour?”
“Fine,” I bit out, pointing straight at him, “but if you so much as blink wrong, I’ll hit you over the head with a bottle of Pinot.”
A full grin spread across his face. “Noted.”
“You don’t get far in my line of work without knowing a little self-defence.” Usually, the plan was to stab them with a stiletto and run, but he didn’t need to know that.
Several minutes later and we were heading out of town, the streetlights fading behind us. I’d almost dragged him back inside the shop to make sure the shopkeeper recognized him, that no other women who’d mysteriously gone missing were last seen getting into a car with a man of his description.
“So, what made you decide to visit Ciallach? It’s a little remote this time of year,” he asked, grinding as he changed gears. The headlights lit the road ahead, or, at least, what we could make out through the falling snow.
I would have definitely frozen to death. The sooner we got to the cottage, the better.
“Believe it or not, there wasn’t a huge number of places available on short notice,” I answered easily. “And it seemed reasonably easy to get to, until I actuallystartedthe journey.”
“That bus is a bit of a killer.” He grinned, his attention catching on me for a second before it returned to the road. “But spending Christmas alone? I would’ve thought you’d want to spend it with family.”
