“In a penthouse in one of the most expensive postcodes in the country, in Europe even.”
“Doesn’t mean I don’t like getting out. I grew up in the country. And you’re the one getting wiggy because it’s raining.” He took my hand from his lap and pressed a kiss to my wrist as if it was totally normal. His lips were like a shot of lust injected right into my veins.
I pulled away, unsure of how long I could withstand the intensity of his touch.
“Oh, this must be the village,” he said. “Can you spot the shop you want to go to?”
I glanced to either side of the street as Beck slowed down. “There on the left,” I said.
“You sure we’re going to find what we need?” he asked as he pulled in front of a shop with dark-green window frames and a cream sign on the front that said Cameron James-Gentleman’s Outfitters. “It looks like a ghost town.”
“It’s not Saville Row, that’s for sure. What I do know is that I didn’t bring an umbrella.” It was only about three meters between the car and the door to the shop, but it was enough distance to drown in this weather.
Beck pulled his jacket from the backseat. “Use this.”
Before I could say no, he’d stepped out of the car and instead of making his way to the store he rounded the bonnet and opened my door.
I could get used to a man doing that for me, although I couldn’t tell him that. “I can open my own door. You’ll get soaked.”
I slid from my seat, holding his coat over my head, enjoying the scent of him as it surrounded me. “Here,” I said, trying to share the shelter of his jacket.
He ignored me and took my hand, pulling me forward.
The bell was still tinkling as we closed the door behind us and let the rain drip onto the mat in the entrance.
I looked up at him and my stomach did a deep dive from a mile-high cliff. I wondered if I’d ever come up for air. The rain had emphasized his beauty. His face was splattered with raindrops and his hair was slick with water, as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. “You’re . . .” I traced his brows with my fingertips and he lazily shut his eyes.
A man behind us cleared his throat. “Can I help you?”
Beside me, Beck scrubbed his face with his hands and slicked back his hair.
“Yes, we need something for Beck to wear when he goes shooting.”
“Very well. My name’s Angus. Please follow me.”
The shop looked tiny from the outside but seemed to go back for miles. We were the only customers, but the place was stocked as if they were expecting a sudden surge of people to descend on them at any moment. From the floor to the admittedly low ceiling were built-in, aged-oak cabinets and shelving stuffed full of shoes, shirts, jackets, walking sticks, boots, coats, trousers, kilts, wellingtons and binoculars. Every so often there was an island cabinet showcasing socks or cravats or ties. It was as if it had been airlifted from Saville Row right to the highlands of Scotland. We were bound to find everything we were looking for right here.
“Miss, if you’d like to take a seat.” Angus indicated a small, buttoned, red velvet chair to the side of a cabinet full of blue ties of differing patterns. “Sir, if you want to make your way into the changing room, just there.” Angus nodded toward an oak door right beside me. “I’ll bring you some things,” he said, then scurried away.
“What? He doesn’t want to know my size or what I like?”
“This guy is what? Sixty? My guess is he’s been doing this job about forty-five years. He’ll know your size from looking at you and will know what you want better than you do.”
“What I want is Henry’s signature on those papers.”
“Exactly.”
Beck sighed, then his face cracked into a grin. “Wanna come in and make out with me before Angus comes back?”
I laughed. That was exactly what I wanted to do. But before I could respond, Angus returned, his arms weighed down with tweed, and he shooed Beck back into the changing rooms.
“I was expecting the fit to be less fashionable,” Beck said as he came out in a three-piece, dark-green tweed suit.
“Yes,” Angus said, apparently able to read minds. “It’s a traditional label that likes to throw in a modern twist in some of their designs. May I say, it fits you as if it’s been tailored.”
Angus was right; the jacket clung to Beck’s shoulders perfectly and the dark green seemed to bring out the green in his eyes.
“And you think a tie?” Beck asked, unbuttoning the jacket, showing off the waistcoat.