Shaking my head, I brush a hand through my hair. “Uh...if you say so.” Rummaging around for the key in my purse, I say, “Can’t wait to get inside.” I glance at him. “Do you want to come in too? For a cuppa as you say around here? Keep calm and put the kettle on..,” I snigger and he looks like he wants to roll his eyes.
“Lass, yur embarrassing me. And I’m not an Englishmen to say yes to a cuppa.” He rubs his neck. “Though I wouldn’t say no to a splash of whisky.”
Nodding I say, “You got it.” Walking over to the giant entrance, my hands shake a little as I turn the key since I don’t know what to expect. I have no idea how my father used to live, fearing that the place might be a little more rundown than it looks on the outside but to my pleasant surprise it’s not.
Looking around at the high ceiling, red carpets and candelabras made out of black marble, I murmur, “Pretty bohemian. In a good way.”
I continue down the hall, jerking when I notice a figure at the corner of my eye. Logan’s hand is instantly around my waist, my back pressing against his chest and he murmurs,
“Ya arite? It’s just a life sized tin knight.”
Nodding while holding my breath, I look up at him. How could his reflexes be so fast? I’d only just twitched and there he was to reassure me, letting me know he’s right behind me.
“Fine,” I whisper. “Um...thanks.”
He nods, his eyes seeming to darken by the second if that’s even possible. They’re the color of gorgeous stout, so dark I can barely see the pupil and I can feel his heart beating against my back.
“Are you going to let me go?” I whisper and he frowns as if wondering what I’m talking about before realizing his hand is still around my waist and he lets go, clearing his throat.
“Do you mind if I just have a quick look around and then I’ll give you that drink I promised you,” I say and he shakes his head.
“Not at all. Take yur time. I’ll wait in the living room.” He steers his steps down the hall, his kilt storming behind him, stiff and masculine and I frown. The way he walked was just a little too confident. Like he’d been here before...
Shaking myself, I walk upstairs to unpack and have a look around, excitement flaring in me as I go through the different rooms. Sure it’s drafty and I bet it gets cold whenever there’s a storm but there’s so much ancestral history here.
It’s almost like I can hear the voices of women in strict corsets and men in Jacobite uniforms. When I enter a room that’s the furthest down the hallway, I just know that this used to belong to my dad.
Biting my lip, I gently close the door then hurry down to Logan. But not before making sure that I look okay in one of the mirrors in the hallway. “Do you hear how much it’s raining?” I ask, walking into the living room, “almost sounds like a storm is coming...”
I trail off because he’s sitting in a lounge chair, looking at a small painting above the fireplace. A small painting of me.
Putting a hand in front of my mouth, I murmur, “I can’t believe he has this.” I know the photo, because it was taken right before my eighteenth birthday. My mom must have sent it to him and then he had it made into a painting.
Logan glances at me, not saying anything and I rub my hands on my back pockets. “Okay, so about that whisky...” I murmur, looking around for bottles when Logan jerks his head at a small sideboard in the corner.
“Over there,” he says and I shoot him a quick smile, grabbing a glass and the bottle and pour it up for him.
“You want some ice too?” I ask.
“Have you got any ginger syrup?”
I frown. “Ginger syrup? I don’t think so....” I look around, my eyes rounding in surprise when I do find a jug. “Wait, here it is.” I flavor his drink with the syrup then hand it to him and he takes it, brushing his fingers alongside my hand.
Not that discreetly...
And inwardly I smile, because there’s nothing discreet about Logan. Even this giant castle and yes, I refuse to call it cottage is too small for him.
Leaning back in his chair, he spreads his legs wide and I blush, quickly looking away even though I can’t see anything.
“Sit down,” he says, nodding at the couch. “Make yourself comfortable. This is your home.”
“Right,” I say in a low voice. “I forgot.” I sit down on the couch and we’re so close that our knees are almost brushing, my basic Levi’s against his traditional leather.
Different but still somehow the same. And it makes me want him. As crazy as it sounds I wanted him even when I thought he was coming after me with that dagger, which says something either about me or about him.
Hopefully it’s the latter. Squirming at my lustful thought, I glance at Logan and he stares back at me. Unflinching. Carnal. And I know he wants me back. And I think he wants me bad.
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