“About half an hour.”
“Oh,” she says, looking guilty, “I shouldn’t have taken up your time like this and talked your ears off.”
“Nay on the contrary,” I rasp, “I liked having my ears talked off verra much by ya, Macbeth.”
She lets out a laugh, then crosses her arms. “Thought I asked you to call me Beth?”
“Because you do not want to acknowledge yur Scottish?” I say and she looks down, letting me know I’m right and I gently clasp her chin. “Do not reject yur roots like that, if ya want my advice.”
“Thanks, Dr. Phil,” she whispers, licking her lips and I chuckle, unclasping her face that looked very small and delicate in my hands. Maybe too delicate for my strength but I want what I want and dammit, I want her.
“Like I said, I should get going,” I rasp and she nods silently.
“I’ll walk you out,” she murmurs but when she opens the door she immediately slams it shut. “Oh heck, I can’t send you off in that.” Her face turns to me, her eyes apprehensive and her mouth tense.
“Already worried about my wellbeing?” I ask, putting a hand against my chest. “That warms my heart but have no fear, lassie. I’ll manage just fine.”
“Um...you sure?” she asks, shifting her weight from one leg to another.
“Aye,” I answer, giving her a nod, before stepping out, “mar sin leat, Macbeth Walsh. Until we meet again.”
5
Beth
I feel bad for making him walk out in that weather. It’s raining cats and dogs as well as haling and when lightning rips open the night sky down by the horizon, I pinch my lips and run after him.
Apparently it only took a minute until we meet again.
He’s walking like he’s unfazed, in just his black shirt and his kilt barely even moves in the hard wind. Shame...
“Logan,” I cry, putting my hands in front of my face to protect myself from the hale. “Wait!”
Tensing he turns around with an angry glimmer in his eyes. “Bloody hell, what are ya doing outside? Go back inside at once.”
Shaking my head I say, “I won’t be able to sleep if I know I sent you out in this weather. Why don’t you stay the night? I got plenty of room.”
His eyes flicker like flint and I turn bright red. Hopefully he doesn’t notice in the dark.
“B...but only if you want to,” I stutter, my jaw dropping when he takes off my thin trench coat. Is he going to take me in the middle of a storm, on a field...?
“Let’s go,” he says, “don’t want ya to get wetter than ya already are.”
My cheeks heat again and even more so when my breasts press against his chest as we walk back to the house, while he’s holding the trench over my head like it’s an umbrella. Once inside the welcoming warmth, we close the door and the energy between us already feels different.
If it was loaded before, it now feels like its closing in on the brim.
Squeezing water out of my hair, I murmur, “Would you like a towel?”
“Aye, for that I would be grateful,” he says and I nod, saying,
“Be right back.” I’m about to run upstairs when he stops me, pointing down the hallway.
“The linen closet is right there.”
I glance at him. “How’d you know?”
His eyes don’t even dart. “Because it looks like every other linen closet in every other Scottish home.”