“Is he the same man that was at the airport with you?” she suddenly asks and I frown.
“Airport? What do you mean?” For some reason my stomach drops.
“On the photo you put up on your social media,” she says, “there’s a man with you in it that sounds just like the one you described.”
My hands freeze around the phone and I murmur, “Call you back...” Hanging up, I scroll through my social media, finding a photo of me with the silly caption “Bye Cali, Hello Scottie” and my stomach screws from looking at it.
There’s me at the airport, goofily grinning at the camera with a bunch of people behind me. Looking closer, I notice a figure among the crowd, black beard, burly, slicked back black hair...
My hands start trembling and I drop the phone down on the carpet when there’s a knock on the door.
“Are ya ready, lass? Ya don’t want yur breakfast getting cold...”
With a twisted throat, I watch as Logan enters but he stops at a fair distance from me, not coming any closer. His eyes narrow and he crosses his massive arms, his black wristbands suddenly intimidating.
“Arite?”
“No,” I say and I’m shaking now, “I’m not all right.”
8
Logan
Concern blazes in me and I take a step closer to her. “What’s the matter? Did ya get the shivers from the loch?”
“No,” she says, taking a step back from me. “I’m getting the shivers fromyou.”
My heart hardens and I clench my fists. “Yu regret what has happened between us?” It’s not possible. The look in her eyes when she was in my bed told me she loved it.
“No!” she cries, “I mean yes!” She picks up her phone, showing me a photo. “Logan what the hell is this?”
With darkened eyes, I raise my hands in a defending gesture. “Lass, calm yourself. I can explain...”
“Can you? Can you?” Her eyes turn shiny and she wraps her cardigan around her. “You lied to me. You were at the airport with me. In the US with me.” Her shoulders start shuddering. “I was right from the beginning. You have been stalking me.”
Her eyes flare to mine like she expects me to protest and her mouth drops.
“Do you deny it?” she whispers, looking frail, making me want to sink down to my knees in front of her and bury my face against her hips.
“Just let me hold ya and I will make everything better...”
She shakes her head fervently. “I’m not letting you anywhere near me.”
Growling, I say, “Ya have to, ya aremine.”
Gasping, she puts a hand around her throat in fear and I go stand by the door, or more like it in the hallway.
“Fuck, I didn’t mean to sound intimidating. But ya must trust me, lass. Trust me that I would never hurt ya.”
Her voice drops into a whisper. “My heart tells me you would never hurt me. But my mind doesn’t.”
Frustration grows in me and I want to snarl and growl and rip something in pieces, but I don’t want Macbeth frightened.
“What do you want from me?” she asks, looking at me with wary eyes. “There must be something, is it money? Because in that case I don’t have any, except for this old house...”
“I do not want yur money!” I almost roar and she tenses. “I have enough of my own, thank ya verra much.”
“Then what to you want? My body because...”