Page 28

I thread my way towards the bar, ignoring the appreciative glances from a group of male tourists clustered around a table. Any other night, I’d be flattered, but tonight I only have eyes for one man.

And damn, Robbie looks good. Dark jeans and a black henley that clings to his broad shoulders and shows off his muscled forearms, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal the edge of a tattoo. His onyx hair is as shiny as ever, and a single lock has fallen forwards over one eyebrow.

The blonde laughs again, her fingers grazing Robbie’s hand for a fleeting moment. I narrow my eyes.

“Wow,” Maisie says when I reach the bar. She’s wiping it with a cloth but stops and leans over it to give my ensemble a once-over. “Those boots are lethal.”

“That’s the idea.” I nod towards Robbie’s table. “So, who the hell is she?”

The words tumble out sharp and bold, causing a few of the locals perched at the bar, including old Hamish, to eye us curiously. Nothing like a hint of small-town drama to liven up a Friday evening.

“American. Californian, I think. Been here about twenty minutes.” Maisie lowers her voice. “Between you and me, this might be for the best. I wasn’t sure you and Robbie was such a great idea.”

I frown. “Why not?”

“Because he’s Robbie MacDonald,” she says, as if that explains everything. “And your brothers would have a collective aneurysm.”

“My brothers don’t dictate my love life.”

“Oh, love life? Thought this was just Project Bang a Bad Boy.”

“It is,” I insist, watching as the blonde clinks her beer glass against Robbie’s. “But still, I don’t like seeing him with her.”

Maisie sighs. “Cat, I love you, but sometimes⁠—”

“Sometimes I know exactly what I want,” I finish for her. “And right now, I want that tourist to know she can’t just swan in here and steal my bad boy.” I straighten my shoulders. “Time to show her what a Highland lass in killer heels can do.”

Before Maisie can respond, I’m making my way across the pub. Robbie looks up as I approach, surprise flickering in his eyes before they travel the length of my body in a way that sends a thrill through me. He lingers on my legs—can’t blame him, considering the amount of thigh I’m showing. Only after he’s finished his visual tour does he meet my gaze again, his familiar scowl settling in.

“Sorry I’m late, babe,” I announce loudly. “Got held up at work.” Leaning down, I press a kiss to Robbie’s stubbled cheek. He goes rigid.

“Oh!” The blonde’s pretty blue eyes widen and she looks between us. “Are you guys an item? I’d no idea. Robbie, you didn’t mention . . .” Her accent is definitely American, and aye, between her blonde hair and golden tan, she’s bonny all right.

“No, we’re n⁠—”

I slide onto Robbie’s lap before he can finish. “Och, you’re such a joker, Robert!” I wrap an arm around his shoulders. “We’ve been together, what, three months now?”

Up this close I can see flecks of silver in Robbie’s blue eyes, which right now are shooting daggers at me. I give him my most innocent smile and tighten my grip on him.

A small voice in my head whispers that this is childish, manipulative even, but I push the thought away. Too late to back out now. I’m in deeper than Nessie in Loch Ness.

Robbie’s hands find my waist—his fingers brushing the sliver of bare skin just above my skirt, sending tingles blooming across my stomach—and for one blissful second I believe he might play along. But then he’s lifting me off his lap and setting me firmly on my feet.

“Sorry about this,” he tells the American, his voice tight with barely contained anger. “I’m doing a bit of work in Cat’s flat. That’s all.” His eyes slide to mine, and wow, he is not happy. “We’re not dating.”

The blonde glances between us, confusion evident on her face. “You know what? I . . . think I’m going to call it a night. It was nice meeting you, Robbie.” She gathers her jacket and handbag and gestures between us. “Good luck with . . . whatever this is.”

She walks away and Robbie turns to me, his eyes flashing, his jaw tightening. “What the hell was that?”

“What?” I try for innocence, but it falls flat even to my own ears.

“You had no right to do that. No right at all.”

I slide into the vacated seat. “I’m basically your private investigator. If you’re going to flirt with anyone, it should be the lass working on your case.”

Rather than responding, Robbie drains the rest of his beer then goes back to glaring at me.

“What’s so wrong with me anyway?” The words burst out, fuelled by a mixture of irritation and something that feels uncomfortably like rejection.