1
ISLA
“Stop judging me!” I hollered out the window at the sheep as I drove at a speed best reserved for someone who knew what they were doing. These Highland roads were the bane of my existence. They were too twisty, too muddy, with too many hidden corners, bordered by steep ditches and farmland with sheep looking out from the ridges, criticizing me and my driving skills. “Eat your grass and mind your damn business.”
I just prayed there weren’t any obstacles waiting for me on the road to Glenby as I went tearing past a flock, driving like a speed demon, determined to get to the next town over and back with a new memory card before my friends’ vow-renewal ceremony started, with me in the very last-minute role of emergency replacement photographer.
I jammed my foot down on the pedal, urging my tiny, used Toyota—which I’d nicknamed Lottie—even faster. I whipped around a bend in the road and swore as I spotted the absolute worst sight in the world—the flash of an oncoming car.
“Ugh!” I groaned, slowing to a crawl. The SUV ahead of me slowed too. The road was only wide enough for one of us to go by, with a steep ditch on either side. Usually, I wouldn’t hesitate to give way, but it had rained last night, and I didnotlike the current look of the ditches. The last thing I needed was for Lottie to get stuck in the mud.
I’d never forgive myself for disappointing Lena and Weston. We’d gotten so close since they’d moved to Braeburn that it was hard to believe I’d only known them for a year. It seemed like they’d been my honorary big sister and brother for my whole life. So, when I’d walked into the event space a couple hours early and learned that their photographer had slipped in the shower and was on her way to the A&E, I hadn’t hesitated to volunteer to take over the photographer role. Problem was, Braeburn had no electronics store, and my current memory cards were full.
I flashed my lights at the SUV. It was big enough to pull into the ditch and back out again without issue. Hell, it was the kind of vehicle that could pullmeout if I got stuck. “C’mon, buddy,” I muttered, my eyes flicking to the clock on the dashboard. “Move it already.”
The SUV didn’t move. Instead, it flashed its lights atme.
I jerked back, frowning. “Nuh-uh. Don’t flash your lights at me.”
I honked my horn once. It was a light tap. Nothing obscene. Just enough to sayhey, let me by, but instead of pulling over, the SUV’s horn sounded, long and loud and obnoxious as hell.
“Are you kidding me?” I sighed heavily, putting Lottie in park as I shoved my door open. I stepped out at the same time as the other driver. I’d been imagining some Cruella de Vil type staring me down through those tinted windows. Instead, it wasa man. A very tall man with shoulders like a linebacker. I could tell because Mr. Obnoxious was clad head-to-toe in a fitted navy suit. Like, it fit him very,verywell. He wore a pair of aviators to complete the look, and his shoes glinted with polish.
Sheesh. This kind of absurd hotness did not belong on some backcountry road. This man belonged on the cover ofGQorMen’s Healthor starring in that horribleHearts of the Highlandsshow Lena had got me hooked on. Even the scowl on his face was hot—though it would be a lot hotter if it wasn’t aimed atme.
I shook off my momentary daze. “Excuse me?” I called over to him. “Do you mind pulling over and letting me pass?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing,” he said in a thick Scottish brogue, shoving his sleeve back to check his watch. “I have somewhere I need to be.”
And what, Lord Poshpants, I didn’t? “Crazy,” I said. “We both have somewhere to be. And I definitely can’t be late. Plus, I asked first.”
“Pretty sure I got here first,” he argued. “That dictates you give me the right of way.”
“Got where? This stretch of road? You didn’t get here first; we got here at the same time.”
“Look, I don’t have time to debate with you,” he said gruffly. “I’m in a hurry. Just pull off so I can get past.”
I crossed my arms. “Youpull over,” I said. Geez, the guy had to be at least a decade older than me—mid-thirties at the minimum. Wasn’t that old enough to have learned a little patience? “I’ll get stuck in the mud with my car.”
He scoffed, gesturing over his shoulder at his fancy-schmancy Bentley. “This is brand new. I’m not willingly driving it into the ditch.”
“Look at the tires on that thing!” I argued, gesturing wildly. It was annoying and pretentious, but still a beast of a vehicle. “You can pull over and then get back on the road, no problem. And I don’t even needthatmuch room to get by. Unlike you, who needs an entire mountain to yourself.”
“Well, excuse me for not driving something bought from a rubbish heap.”
“Are you calling my car garbage?” I was a little offended. Admittedly, Lottie wasn’t in the greatest shape, but she was sturdy and dependable—and as far as I was concerned,Lord Poshpants could take his fancy car and shove it. Right in the ditch, preferably. “Just take your overcompensating midlife crisis and move, dammit!”
He stalked toward me, and my breath caught in my chest for a moment. It actually pissed me off how attractive he was. A jawline of the gods. Close-cut beard. Hair tousled just right. And as he whipped off those sunglasses, I found myself staring into a pair of smoldering gray eyes burning a hole in my forehead. “If you’re incapable of maneuvering your vehicle, just say so and I’ll do it myself.”
“I’m more than capable of reversing myself out of here, Lord Poshpants, but you know what they say: ladies first. Or did they forget to teach you that at your fancy boarding school?”
His nostrils flared. “Lord what?”
A line of sheep appeared on the hillside, looking down at us like a bunch of busybodies. Poshpants arched his eyebrow at them.“Oh look,” I said. “Backup. Maybe they can move your car for you.”
His jaw tensed. “I’d probably have more luck reasoning with an entire flock of sheep than the Toyota Terror and that rattling tin can on wheels.”
God! He couldn’t be that attractiveandthat infuriating. It went against the natural order of the world. I rose to my full height, which still paled in comparison to his six-something frame.
