The Highland Fling(35)

But with every stroke down her back, I feel her melt farther and farther against me. And the scary thing of it all is that I like it.

I really fucking like it.

And she’s helping me forget . . .



The sun glitters through the wet leaves above us as we make our way to the bottom of the footpath.

“Watch it,” I say as she slips down a steep, muddy patch on the edge of the hill. I quickly grab her hand and steady her for the final few feet.

“Thank you,” she says as we step off the path and onto the gravel car park, which sits on the edge of town.

We’re both drenched. Head to toe. Mud sloshes in our shoes from falling multiple times down the hill, and our hair is slicked down. Bonnie’s falls over her eyes occasionally. Every time she’s pushed it away, a new swipe of mud has decorated her face, making it look like she’s wearing camouflage. Thanks to all the low-hanging branches, we both have twigs and leaves sticking out of our clothing. Basically we’re a sight to behold, and the trip down has left me exhausted. Mentally and physically.

We stood beneath the ruins for a good twenty minutes, our arms laced around each other, until I felt it was safe to venture down. Well, as safe as it could be. The rain continued halfway through our journey, though it finally let up as we grew closer and closer to town. But the damage was done.

We resemble something that would come out of Loch Duich in the middle of the night to feast on children.

“So, that was fun.” She laughs nervously.

I don’t respond. Instead, I turn away and start walking into town, irritated and completely beat. Carrying worry on your shoulders while hiking dangerous terrain is tiring. I was nervous she was going to hurt herself, that another storm might roll around—or hell, that I was going to take a bad fall and she was going to have to make it down the hill without me to get help.

“So you’re just not going to talk to me now?” She jogs up next to me.

Yup.

I keep walking . . . well, more like stalking, my footsteps echoing against the paved road and through the silent Sunday town. Everyone’s tucked away in their houses, besides the odd local out on a stroll.

“After everything we’ve been through today, that’s it? We make it to town, and now you’re just going to walk away?”

I spin on her. “You’re safe, and you know how to get back to your cottage. I did my job.”

“You did your job?” she asks. “What is this? Some historical romance where the hero saves the damsel in distress and then takes off? I could have made it down the hill myself.”

I push my hand through my wet hair. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thank you.” She smiles, and Jesus Christ, it makes me want to push her up against the wall of the Mill Market and tame that sassy mouth.

“You realize you could have really been hurt up there?”

“Aww, Rowan, you care about me.” Her voice is teasing, but all it does is grate on my nerves. She has no fucking idea the kind of trouble we could have been in.

What a fucking emotional roller coaster today has been. One minute I tolerate her company, the next I feel myself craving conversation, and then I want to tear a tree down bare handed and chuck it across the mountaintop because she drives me so goddamn mad.

“This isn’t funny, Bonnie.”

Her smile slowly fades, and her head tilts to the side as she studies me. “You really were worried.”

“Yes,” I growl in frustration. “We’re lucky something more serious didn’t happen. If you’d just listened to me, we wouldn’t be covered in mud and drenched to our core.”

“But we’re fine.”

“We could have been hurt.”

“‘Could have’ being the key phrase.” She presses her hand to my shoulder. “No need to get so upset.”

“Yeah, that’s easy for you to say—you weren’t the one responsible for another life.”

“You don’t have to be responsible for me, Rowan. I can take care of myself.”

“Okay, then, take care of yourself,” I say, pushing past her and heading toward my cottage.

Jesus Christ.

What the hell happened today? I was supposed to go on a leisurely hike with my friends, and I spent most of it arguing with a smart-mouthed blonde, getting stuck in a torrential downpour, and then letting that smart-mouthed blonde get under my skin.

Hours later, after a long shower and a hearty helping of beef stew, I lean back in my chair and stare up at the ceiling, my eyes focused on its arched wooden beams. Bonnie weighs heavily on my mind.

She drives me crazy.

She makes me want to scream, throw things, and then kiss her all in the same moment.

I shake my head. There is no way I’m developing feelings for her. No way in hell.

Yes, she’s attractive, but feelings . . . no.

I need to go back to my initial plan: stay as far away from the lass as possible. In the week she’s been here, my life has never felt more chaotic, and the last thing I need is to be out of control whenever she’s around.

Distance. I need solid distance from her, and everything will be fine.





CHAPTER NINE





BONNIE


Cake consumed today: Three slices of Dundee cake.