The Highland Fling(56)
I chuckle and tip his chin. “And you’re quite the ladies’ man.”
“Try to be, but I ken it’s the broody one you’re after.”
I shake my head. “Not after him; just need to talk to him.”
“So you’re telling me there’s still a chance?”
I shrug. “Never say never.”
He fist pumps the air playfully. “I’ll take it.”
“Now, would you be able to tell me where Rowan is?”
“Most likely hunkered down in his cottage.”
Well, that’s not helpful. I purse my lips and look to the side, trying to figure out what to do next.
“I can tell you how to get there if you want. About a five-minute walk from here.”
Look at Leith being a good friend. He very well might be my favorite Murdach now.
“You don’t think he’d get mad?”
Leith gives me a good once-over. “If you showed up at my door, I definitely wouldn’t be mad.”
“Okay, okay, enough with the flirting—you’re going to make me blush.”
He chuckles. “We Scots are quite the charmers. Now, come here.” He stands from his seat and guides me out the front door and around the corner. “See that road over there, Loch Lane?” He points to a street just around the petrol station. “Take that all the way to the end. You’ll come to a cottage on the right—can’t miss it. Navy-blue door. That’s Rowan’s place.”
“That seems pretty easy.”
“Can’t get lost. Good luck, lass.”
With a quick goodbye, I take off down Loch Lane, admiring all the little cottages I pass on the way. I can’t imagine how anyone would want to live somewhere else. It truly feels like an entirely made-up world out here, a world you only see in movies and storybooks. As I come to the end of the lane, I spot a cottage on the right, tucked behind some trees. Its door is painted navy blue.
A stone wall circles the front of the cottage with an old iron gate, potted flowers hang off the house on hooks, and the white walls glisten in the sun. It’s a beautiful little cottage, and I could easily see it serving as his oasis—a place to tuck himself away at night, an escape after a long day in a small town.
Just like where Dakota and I are staying.
Nerves bloom in my stomach as I walk through the gate, which creaks out my arrival. I hope this was a good idea. My determination to get to the bottom of what Rowan was starting to say at the coffee shop wanes, and regret creeps in. What if he truly wants to be alone and I’m barging in on that time?
I look behind me, down Loch Lane. The rooftops of town peek out beyond a grove of trees. I could run away undetected—
The door to the cottage suddenly opens, revealing Rowan, standing in a pair of low-hanging sweatpants and nothing else.
Uh, I don’t think someone could get me to flee even if there was a fire. I don’t mind the prospect of staring at this man all night.
His hand grips the edge of the door, his knuckles whitening from how hard he’s squeezing the wood. I catch a ripple in his forearm as my eyes travel over his intricate tattoo to his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes.
God, angry looks so sexy on him.
“Can I come in?” I ask.
I’m met with silence as his eyes do a slow once-over, traveling up my leggings and plain T-shirt. And just when I think he’s about to say no, he pushes the door open a little more. I duck under his arm and walk into his cottage.
It’s simple, clean, and everything I would expect from him. To the right sits a black leather couch facing a small fireplace. There’s no TV in sight, but instead, an open book is turned facedown on the coffee table. To the left is a small kitchen and a two-person dining table. It’s just like our cottage, but Rowan’s is better organized, with newer wood cabinets and modern hardware. Above the coffee maker is a row of beautifully crafted mugs, hanging from hooks and bringing a sense of color to the white, rustic space.
When he shuts the door, I turn to face him, and his eyes rake over me one more time. He looks like a wolf on the prowl, and I’m the prey. It’s equally terrifying and exhilarating.
“Uh . . . Leith told me where you live.”
He doesn’t say anything, so I keep on going, my pulse rising every second.
“I wanted to finish our conversation from earlier. I didn’t think it had a proper conclusion.”
Nothing. Not a quirk to the brow, not a tick in the jaw. Just arms crossed, staring at me.
“Were you, uh, interested in finishing that conversation?” I ask, twisting my hands together, a jittery sensation bouncing inside me.
Rowan is a private person. I know this. Did I just completely overstep my bounds?
Then again, if he didn’t want me here, he wouldn’t have let me in, right?
Motioning to his cottage, I say, “You’ve done a lovely job with the space. I like the subtle pops of color.”
He runs a hand along the side of his jaw, and . . . can I just pause for a second and appreciate the specimen in front of me?
Chiseled, sculpted, a Scottish Adonis with a handsome face and the perfect amount of scruff on his jaw, which seems to never change in length. He’s unlike any man I’ve ever seen in person but have always dreamed up. His carved V borders an extreme set of abs. His large pecs connect to boulder-like arms and large, sexy hands.