If I said his current expression didn’t make me a little hot in the crotch, I’d be lying.Holy smoulder!
‘So,’ he continues, counting the points out on his hand. ‘So, we have a table, a breakfast, and a talk.’
‘Seems unwise,’ I counter.
‘But necessary.’ He runs a hand through his thick hair, pushing it from where it’d fallen over one brow. ‘And the table’s important. We’ll need something to lay our cards on.’
‘Cards,’ I repeat, my gaze sliding away. Serious is a new look on him.
‘I like you. Really like you and I can’t remember feeling like this in a long while.’ The rasp of fingers against his chin is audible before his hand falls to the table, tapping it quickly like a drum. ‘A really long while.’
‘Oh.’
‘Enthusiasm,’ he says dryly. ‘Dial it down, would you?’
My expression twists; I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. I know how I feel, which is opposite to how I was supposed to be reining it all in.
‘You’re not foolin’ me, you know.’
‘I wasn’t trying to.’ My answer is quick—as quick as the colour rising to my chest and cheeks, because I’m a liar andI’mthe fool.
‘So, onto the first item on thegetting to know you betteragenda—’
‘I—I didn’t agree to any of this.’
‘No, because it’s my agenda. My meeting, y’ken? Chime in when you’re ready,’ he says, tilting his head to flash the approaching waitress a charming and very white smile.
‘A pot o’ tea and two full Scottish,’ she says, the dishes rattling on the tray as she sets it down.
‘Oh, actually, could I have a coffee, please?’
‘Aye,’ she says, almost dropping my plate in front of me, though from her expression, you’d think I’d asked if she had on clean underwear. She produces a pencil from the nest of a steel coloured perm. ‘Will ye be wantin’ one cup or two?’
A quick glance to Rory confirms. ‘One. An espresso, please.’
‘You’ll be havin’ a Nescafé or you’ll be doin’ wi’out.’
‘Oh, okay. Thank you,’ I reply, a little stunned.
Folding the tray under her arm, she tromps away. It’s then I realise Rory’s shoulders are shaking.
‘That was pure brilliance. Jesus, you’re enough to keep around just for the sheer entertainment value.’
‘I say again... dickwad.’ I duck my reddening cheeks, peering at the contents of my plate. Bacon, a square sausage patty, fried egg, mushrooms, baked beans—I’ll never understand why these are an acceptable breakfast side—the dreaded black or blood pudding, and a very Scottish potato scone.
Oh, and a rack of thickly buttered of toast.
‘Am I supposed to eat or climb it?’ I mumble, picking up my fork and purposely ignoring the large Viking opposite as he sandwiches a slice of bacon between two triangles of toast before proceeding to inhale it. ‘I’ll never finish this—and I might have been a vegetarian.’ He didn’t ask, just ordered. Good job I was digging the alpha male this morning.
Still munching, Rory’s gaze passes over me contemplatively. ‘But you’re not.’
‘No, but I might’ve wanted something else.’
‘Does this look like the sort of place you’d get eggs and thrice smoked Scottish salmon, drizzled with a Benedictine emulsion and sprinkled with organic dill?’
‘I’m not even sure that’s a thing.’
‘It was this or porridge. Be a good girl and eat your carbs. You’ll need them after last night.’ I shoot him a glare, scornful words and egg yolk on the tip of my tongue, when he adds, ‘After all that running.’
