Because right now, even when he’s facing accusations of murder from a fortune-teller and a fashion influencer, Hunter Stuart is nothing if nothot.
As if to prove it, he takes a small step forward, shortening the distance between us, and making me gasp in surprise by cupping my face in his hands and kissing me – slow, and deep, as if this is the most important and natural thing to be doing in the middle of a crowded village square. For several long, delicious seconds, the sounds of the fairground and the smell of cotton candy and .?.?. well, tatties .?.?. fade away, and all that’s left is me, him, and the way his lips move softly against mine, sending little jolts of electricity vibrating through my body.
‘That was for standing up for me back there,’ he says, pulling away at last. ‘I’m still not totally sure what happened, but I know you were on my side, and that your pal’s right: I should thank you for that.’
‘No thanks necessary,’ I reply, slightly breathlessly. ‘Although, if that’s how you normally thank people, I might have to see if I can do you another favour soon. Maybe I could—?’
Hunter chuckles, his eyes darkening in a way that makes my stomach flip.
‘You talk too much, Rosie Winter,’ he says softly, interrupting me. ‘Has anyone ever told you that?’
Then, before I can respond, his lips are on mine again, slower and softer this time; my arms are around his neck, and this moment is absolutely, positivelyperfect.?.?. until Hunter pulls abruptly away, releasing me just in time for the little train to come bursting out of its tunnel, with Hannah sitting in the front seat, grinning widely at the sight of us both.
‘Daddy, where were you?’ she demands, jumping out and running over to us. ‘I went round three times. The man said you can pay him later. Hi, Rosie,’ she goes on, without waiting for an answer. ‘Will you come on the Ferris wheel with us?’
‘Oh. Um, I’m not sure,’ I reply, struggling to catch up with the abrupt transition from what was shaping up to be one of the best kisses of my life to .?.?. this. ‘I’m not great with heights.’
Or with being snapped rudely back to reality when I can still feel the heat of Hunter’s lips on mine, actually. In fact, I would really, really like to rewind to that moment. I wonder who I can speak to about that?
‘It’s OK,’ Hannah assures me, slipping her little hand into mine, completely oblivious to the way my stomach is fluttering, for reasons that have absolutely nothing to do with fairground rides. ‘Daddy will look after us. Won’t you, Daddy?’
‘Aye. Why not?’ says Hunter, falling into step beside us, and behaving so normally that I briefly wonder if I might have imagined our kiss – both of them. Then he turns and gives me one of those winks of his over the top of Hannah’s head, and the blood instantly rushes to my cheeks.
‘I still really want to talk to you about what happened back there,’ I say in a low voice, as Hannah drops my hand and goes running on ahead. ‘The murder thing, I mean, not the .?.?. other thing. Although I suppose we should probably talk about that too at some point. Um, shouldn’t we?’
Hunter sighs and rubs his eyes.
‘I have other ways to get you to stop talking, Rosie,’ he says dryly. ‘But I don’t think any of them would be particularly appropriate with so many kids around. I have to admit, though, I’m curious about what led your pal in the sunglasses to decide I must have killed Lord Glenmuir. I’m grateful you had my back, though. What was it you said again? Something about me being “hot”, wasn’t it?’
‘Ididn’tsay that,’ I protest, my heart racing so much at the thought of the ‘other ways’ and what they might be, that I almost forget how to speak again. ‘That was Yasmin. She .?.?. well, she thinks you were being “cagey” earlier; you know, when Ian and Izzie wanted to see the Laird? And I guess she let her imagination run away with her a bit.’
Kind of like I’m doing now, actually, although for very different reasons.
‘Sounds like someone else I know,’ Hunter comments dryly, making my cheeks flush. ‘There’s a lot ofimaginationgoing around this week, for some reason. It must be infectious.’
‘Hey! I haven’t accused anyone of murder,’ I reply, nudging him in the side, mostly just as an excuse to touch him again. ‘And I’m being serious, Hunter. I feel really bad about what happened with Izzie and Yasmin. I know you wouldn’t hurt anyone.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. I’d hate to thinkeveryonewas going around assuming the very worst of me,’ he says with a frown that tells me he’s definitely not as OK with all of this as he’s trying to pretend he is.
‘So, um, whywouldn’tyou let them see him? The Laird, I mean?’ I ask, speaking quickly so I can get this out before we have to get on board the Ferris wheel with Hannah. ‘Wouldn’t it have been easier to just let them sort it out between themselves? It’s not like it’s your fault the hotel isn’t buying goods from the village anymore.’
‘It’s not the Laird’s fault either, though,’ Hunter replies, raking his hand through his hair. ‘He might still own the castle, but he doesn’t run the hotel. And he’s in his eighties, Rosie. It wouldn’t be fair to let the village people over there bother him. Not that he’d let them get much of a word in, mind you.’
‘I suppose not,’ I reply, still puzzled. But before I can say anything else, Hannah gives an excited little squeal as we reach the front of the line, and I realise I have a much more time-sensitive problem to deal with than Dante and his stress levels; or Hunter and his need to gatekeep the Laird from the villagers.
That’s going to have to wait for a moment when I’mnotworried about falling to my death from a Ferris wheel.
‘I wasn’t joking about not liking heights,’ I tell Hunter in a whisper as he helps Hannah board the little carriage, which is bucket-shaped, with lights around the outside, and a cheerful red umbrella over the top. ‘Ireallyhate them, actually.’
‘Ach, it’s not that high,’ he replies, holding out his hand to me. ‘And you heard what Hannah said, didn’t you? You can trust me to keep you safe.’
He winks at me again, in a way that makes me think I might not actually mind just alittlebit of danger right now – and I’m not talking about the kind that comes from swinging high above the earth on a Ferris wheel.
‘Just for the record, Rosie,’ Hunter whispers, his lips brushing my ear. ‘I think you’re pretty hot, too.’
I grin back at him, excitement fizzing in my stomach, and then we’re in the carriage, which is every bit as tiny and precarious as it looked from the ground. It lurches horribly from side to side as we take our seats, Hannah tucked between us, and chattering so loudly there’s absolutely no opportunity for me to respond; or to do anything, in fact, other than cling onto the metal rail at the side of the carriage and try not to think about Agnes’s comment about ‘Danger Night’ earlier this week.
Please let this not be Danger Night.
