“Help!”
For a change, Holt’s laugh didn’t please her. And it certainly didn’t help the situation. She stopped thrashing long enough to glare at him out of the one eye she’d managed to uncover. “Are you going to help me or not? There might be spiders!”
Holt moved toward her, his grin widening the closer he got. At the moment, she couldn’t enjoy it.
“Nope, no spiders.”
“Nay?” Caitlin’s hands fell to her sides, and her shoulders dropped, then she went back to trying to clear away the mess. “How…?”
“According to some of the paperwork I’ve been reading, an exterminator sprayed up here last month,” Holt told her while he helped pull sticky strands from her face and hair. “These cobwebs are probably as old as the Jacobite stuff you’re interested in, though how he avoided them is a mystery.”
Caitlin sighed in relief that she wasn’t going to die by spider bite. Or was she? “Maybe the exterminator didn’t do what the paperwork claimed.” Only then did she become aware of how good Holt’s hands felt brushing her skin, his fingers plucking at her hair, her cheek, her throat. Her pulse ratcheted up again.
“Here, let me get that,” Holt said, grasping her hand and moving it out of the way so he could remove a long strand of a spider’s web lying across her nose and down her cheek. “How did you manage to walk into a web?”
Caitlin forced herself to focus on what Holt said, not what he was doing. “I was thinking about what I needed to bring up here and not paying attention.” Heat climbed her throat again. He must think her daft. She gestured upward. “A broom moved to the top of my list.”
“No doubt.” He tugged at her hair, then nodded. “There. I think that’s most of it. The rest will wash out.”
Caitlin shuddered.
“So, you’re not fond of spiders?”
She planted her fists on her hips. “If you laugh again, I’ll bloody well shove you into one of these and see how you like it.”
Holt held up both hands, palms out. “Truce.” He glanced around. “Now, tell me what you found up here.” His lips quirked at one corner. “Other than cobwebs, that is.”
Caitlin muttered a Gaelic curse under her breath, then gestured toward the furniture grouping. “Nothing much— yet. I need a good torch…flashlight…and some lamps, among other things, to be able to see much of these. Hence my list.”
“Of course.”
“Where have you been today? And how was your trip to the city?”
“Out and about. I’ll tell you later.” Holt took her hand and tugged her toward the stairs. “Let’s gather what you need and leave it at the bottom of the stairs. I’ll help you carry it up after dinner. To make up for laughing at your predicament.”
“If that’s an apology, I accept it.”
“Good enough.”
* * *
Holt stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, where he’d gone to clean up before dinner after helping Caitlin gather what she thought she needed. He almost didn’t recognize the man he saw there. Where were the grim expression, the tight shoulders, the downturned mouth? He didn’t understand what was happening to him. In the space of a few days, his whole world seemed brighter. He realized that while he enjoyed simple meals, simple tasks, and verbal sparring with Caitlin Paterson, he’d forgotten all about his company’s problems, the aggravation of taking Helen to court, and his antipathy toward the estate.
Caitlin challenged him. Entertained him. Attracted him. Influenced him to the point of seeking out his past and enjoying time with some old friends, even though he’d sworn to get here, focus on selling this place, and get out as fast as he could. He glanced around the bathroom and out the open door into the bedroom. Somehow, none of that seemed as urgent as it once had.
Rescuing Caitlin from imagined spiders was the most fun he’d had since the wave dunked her and he’d rescued her from the ocean. Peeling sticky webs and brushing dust from her hair had given him the excuse to touch her face, her throat— caresses that seemed somehow more intimate than carrying her cradled against his chest or tending to a cut on her foot. He swallowed, imaging putting his hands on her lush body anywhere she’d allow— teasing her just to hear her laugh. He wanted to know everything about her. He suddenly realized he didn’t want to lose her to Scotland or for her to be far, far away from where he lived and worked.
This was bad.
He’d just won the case against Helen. She’d had no case, but she hadn’t accepted her lawyer’s advice. So she’d been forced to listen to his lawyer and witnesses refute every claim she made and confirm Holt’s. Once it was over, his lawyer advised him he had grounds to sue her for libel, slander, and a whole host of workplace violations, but Holt didn’t have the heart to drag her through any more mud than she’d already splashed on herself. He understood she’d moved to Texas somewhere. He hoped she’d learned her lesson.
He’d learned one, too. Don’t go socially anywhere near a female in a professional relationship. Of course, Caitlin wasn’t his employee. He was her client. That gave him some latitude to chip away at his reserve— and hers— to get her interested in him as a person, which seemed to be happening. With Mrs. Smith going out of her way to make dinners and lunches and breakfasts as homey as possible, going so far as to share meals with them in the kitchen rather than consigning them to the small dining room, this was far from a standard workplace environment.
Still, he’d better take a step back, enjoy the time they had together, but not expect more from Caitlin, no matter how much he wanted it.
He wondered how long his resolve would last.
CHAPTER7
