‘I needed some space.’
‘Oh.’ She took a breath. ‘It’s just that…you didn’t ring or anything.’
‘No.’
‘I was worried.’
‘Why?’ Since when had anyone worried about him?
‘This business with the islanders,’ she shrugged, embarrassed and awkward. ‘It’s horrible. I thought by now they would have accepted you.’
‘It’s not important.’
‘Of course it’s important! Evanna told me that Finn wouldn’t rent you a boat—’
When he didn’t answer, she gazed at him in exasperation. ‘Don’t you care?’
He could feel the blood throbbing in his veins. ‘What are you doing here, Flora?’
‘When you didn’t show up, I thought I’d bring lunch to you.’
It was then that he noticed the basket by her feet. He could see a bowl of strawberries, thick whipped cream and another bowl, this one piled high with bronzed chicken legs. And white and red checked napkins.
A traditional picnic.
It was all so civilised and in such direct contrast to this place and everything he was feeling that he felt his tension levels soar.
He wasn’t feeling civilised. He wasn’t feeling civilised at all.
In fact, he was in an extremely dangerous mood.
‘It’s pretty here,’ she ventured hesitantly, glancing over to the rocks and the tiny beach. ‘This is the only house on the island that has its own private beach.’
‘Flora, if you have any sense, you’ll leave right now.’
Her eyes flew to his. Widened. ‘I’ve made you angry.’
There was something different about her but he couldn’t work out what it was. ‘I was angry before you arrived. I know you mean well, but I don’t wish to take a trip down memory lane and I especially don’t want to do it holding anyone’s hand,’ he said harshly. ‘How did you know where to find me?’
‘I went to your barn first and you weren’t there.’ She captured a strand of hair as it danced in the breeze. ‘And I saw Mrs North picking blackberries in the lane outside and she said she’d seen you coming in this direction.’
Conner’s mood darkened still further. ‘Now I know why they don’t bother with CCTV on Glenmore. They have locals stationed on every street corner.’
‘I shouldn’t have come. I really am sorry.’ Flushed and flustered, Flora lifted the basket and stepped forward. She pushed the basket into his hands, her smile brief and shy. ‘Take it. Evanna is an amazing cook. Her chicken is delicious and the strawberries are freshly picked from the Roberts’ farm. If you’re not hungry now, you can eat it later.’ Without waiting for him to reply, she turned and walked quickly away from him, her long flowery skirt swirling around her body, outlining the soft curve of her hips.
He’d offended her. Or had he frightened her?
Conner watched her for a moment and then looked down at the basket and swore long and fluently. The day was not turning out as he’d planned. He lifted his gaze from the strawberries and stared after her retreating figure with a mixture of exasperation and anger.
He didn’t care that he’d offended her.
He really didn’t care.
It wasn’t as if he’d invited her here. He hadn’t asked her to follow him.
Caught in an internal battle, he opened his mouth to speak, changed his mind and closed it again, then growled with frustration and called out to her. ‘Do you like strawberries?’
She stopped and turned—slowly. ‘Yes. I love them.’