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“You want me to go home? Through the woods? At night? Alone? That’s not very gentlemanly of you.”

I stop abruptly and turn to face her. The moonlight catches in her long auburn hair, giving it a silvery sheen. Her hazel eyes are bright, her cheeks flushed. Angry though I am, I can’t deny she looks especially beautiful tonight.

“Gentlemanly?” I laugh, the sound harsh even to my own ears. “We both know I’m no gentleman, and I didn’t ask you to follow me. You know the way back.”

“But—”

I step closer to her, towering over her. “Why don’t you tell me what this is really about? Why are you so desperate to sleep with me?”

She opens her mouth to respond, but I cut her off.

“Let me guess. You’re going through some delayed teenage rebellion. A bit tragic in your twenties, don’t you think?” She flinches, but I don’t stop. “You’re an English teacher. You’re into books. So maybe you want to gather a story or two of your own before you inevitably settle down with some dull, boring man in a dull, boring house with two well-behaved but dull and boring children, a boy and a girl. Am I right?”

Her eyes narrow. “That’s not⁠—”

“I bet you only want this so when you’re old and grey, you’ve got at least one interesting tale to tell. ‘Oh, did I ever mention the time I slept with Bannock’s bad boy?’” I mimic her voice, making it high and breathy. Then I shoot her a steely look. “I know your type, Catriona McIntyre.”

“You don’t know anything about me!” she snaps. “And that’s not fair. I’ve been trying to help you clear your name!”

“Aye, and I appreciate that, but it doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with you.”

“I never said it did!” Her fists clench at her sides. “And I’m not some daft wee girl playing at being adventurous. I’m experienced! I know what I want.”

I scoff. “Oh, really? Don’t tell me. When you were at university, did you have missionary sex with a few polite, well-educated uni boys?” I gasp mockingly. “How very daring of you!”

Her cheeks flush darker. I’ve hit a nerve. Good. Maybe now she’ll leave me alone.

I turn and walk off. The path to my cottage is familiar—I’ve walked it countless times—but in the darkness, with the trees looming overhead and shadows playing tricks on my eyes, it feels different. Wilder. Less safe.

Footsteps behind me. Christ, she’s persistent.

“Come on, Robbie!” Cat’s voice carries through the stillness like a thread tugging at my resolve. “One night—that’s all I’m asking for, and I bet you want it as much as I do. So what’s the harm in a bit of fun?”

Something inside me snaps. The frustration, the desire I’ve been fighting, the sheer bloody-mindedness of this woman—it’s too much. I spin around and close the distance between us in two quick strides, then I plant my hands on her shoulders and press her back against the nearest tree.

Her breath hitches, her eyes widening, but it isn’t fear staring back at me. It’s something far more dangerous. Anticipation.

“I went to the Pheasant tonight for one reason only.” My face is inches from hers, and my frustration bleeds into every word. “Not to make small talk with locals over a pint. God no. No, I went to pick up a woman to help me forget about the shit week I’ve had. And I found one—until you scared her off with your wee act. Because you just couldn’t resist sticking your nose into something that didn’t concern you.”

“Oh, Robbie,” she says, completely unfazed by my words. She slips a finger under the waistband of my jeans—not tugging, not teasing, just resting there. “You were looking for a woman, and here I am. And I’m not going anywhere until you stop pretending you don’t want me.”

Fuck. All the reasons I’ve been telling myself to steer clear of Catriona McIntyre are dissolving under the buzz of alcohol and that scent of hers—a heady mix of something floral and sweet that makes my head spin. Plus, her finger is right there . . .

My cock twitches to life, betraying me just when I need it to stay the hell in line. I grit my teeth hard enough to crack enamel, determined not to give her the satisfaction of seeing just how much she’s getting to me.

“Cat,” I say slowly, deliberately, “I guarantee you can’t handle me.” I lean closer to her, pinning her further against the rough bark of the tree. “Sex with me isn’t soft or sweet, lass. It’s raw, and it’d leave a good girl like you in tears. This is your chance to get out of here, and I suggest you take it. Because if you stay any longer, I may not be able to go on resisting you.”

She doesn’t flinch. If anything, fire sparks in her eyes. “So you do want me?”

A sneer tugs at my lips, and I press closer still to her. She doesn’t try to get away from me. If anything, she pushes right back, and that’s when I know she feels it—my cock stiffening, pressing ever more insistently against her.

Leaning close to her ear, I whisper, “Of course I want you. Can’t you feel how much I fucking want you?” Then I yank myself sharply back from her, creating space between us before I lose all sense entirely.

Her eyes drift down—shamelessly—to where I’m hard against my jeans. Her tongue darts out, wetting her bottom lip.

Christ.

“This is your chance to go,” I warn again. “I suggest you scram.”