"What does it mean?" she asks. "The bum-oot-the-whatever thing."
"Your bum's oot the windae." I drape my arm over my belly. "It's an old Scottish saying. Means you're talking nonsense, which you were at the time."
"Not if you had been Cliff. He would've known why I was furious." She inches her fingers across the sand until they bump mine. "Half of what you say sounds like a foreign language."
"You should visit Scotland. It'll be an adventure for you."
"Maybe I will, someday." Her expression turns melancholy, though only for a moment, making me wonder for the thousandth time what fashes her. I can't do that. No strings, nothing personal, that was my clever idea. Her sexy smile returns. "But I'd have to figure out what you're saying first. I wouldn't want to visit a foreign country without learning at least a bit of the language."
I lay my hand over hers. "I can teach ye."
"You're a one-man immersion program already," she says. "Feel like I need a passport just to have a whisky with you."
"No need. My borders are completely open to you." I sling an arm around her waist, hauling that beautiful body into me. Her stiff nipples rub against my chest, and I splay my fingers over the small of her back. "Come on over and map me out."
She nestles against me, wriggling her hips in a blatant attempt to get me even harder. "So tell me, why don't you do relationships?"
I spring into a sitting position, dumping Erica onto her back. While she heaves herself off the blanket, I flip open the picnic basket's lid. "Personal questions are off-limits."
That will shut her up, won't it? Aye, she's too polite to push me for answers I told her I would never give.
"When did your last relationship end?" she asks.
Brilliant idea, Lachlan. She gave up right away, didn't she?
Still, I'm having trouble summoning any anger toward her. She's too adorably bonnie.
Instead of snarling at her, I toss Erica a plastic-wrapped sandwich and throw her an amused look. "Could we enjoy this bonnie day without an inquisition?"
"Maybe." She unwraps her sandwich—turkey and Havarti cheese on whole wheat, with lettuce and avocado. The sight of the food seems to stun her for a moment, then she snaps bolt upright and waves the sandwich at me. "This is my favorite. Are you sure you're not stalking me? Ferreting out all my secrets in order to seduce me into being your sex slave?"
I grin. "Caught me. I dug through your bins to find the remnants of your food and decipher what your favorites are." I lean toward her and give a low, wicked cackle like I'm the devil himself. "And I sniffed your underwear."
"A woman's underwear does not smell good, trust me."
"Bet yours would." I nuzzle her cheek. "I got my information from Gil. He said you've had a piece at their house lots of times."
"Why would Gil tell you what kind of food I like?"
"Playing matchmaker, I gather." And I might need to skelp Gil for that, thecacan.
I bite off a huge chunk of my sandwich.
Erica points at my jaw."You've, uh, got something on your chin."
Vinaigrette dressing has dribbled down my skin. Bollocks. I doubt Erica will be enthralled by an eejit who doesn't notice when dressing oozes from his mouth. I snatch up a napkin and wipe my chin clean, then go back to eating and try to pretend the vinaigrette incident ever happened.
Erica makes a pained face and rips off a mouthful of her sandwich.
What's bothering her this time? I don't need to know, but my mouth disagrees.
I run a finger down her bare arm. "Care to tell me what's got you frowning again?"
"Not particularly." She reaches into the picnic basket to pluck a grape from a bunch cradled inside a napkin. "Comes under the heading of personal, comma, off-limits."
Yes, I deserved that verbal slap in the face.
With a bitter smile, I sever our eye contact. "Understood."