The Highland Fling(58)

The only way I knew to keep myself from pouring everything out to her was to stay silent.

But it seems like that tactic has run its course.

Fidgeting with her hair, she looks off to the side. “So, you find me attractive, good to know. Not too bad yourself.”

She’s fucking adorable.

“And even though this conversation is quite riveting, I think we should eat some cake.” She picks up her plate, scoops a giant bite, and plops it in her mouth. As if she’s forgotten about the last minute, she moans against her fork and sinks back into the sofa. “Where the hell has this been since I’ve arrived? Dundee cake is good and all, but this . . . this . . . what is this?” She pokes the cake with her fork.

“Iced cherry cake.”

“Well, hold my boobs and slap my ass because ooooeeee is this a delight in my mouth.” She takes another forkful and closes her eyes. “The flavors are magnificent. And it’s so moist. Oh man do I love a moist cake. Moist . . . moist, moist, moist.” She shoves the last bite in her mouth and leans over, poking at the cake on my plate. “Are you going to eat this?” She snags a forkful and picks up the plate, holding it in front of her as she chews. “Is this from Isla’s shop? Because she’s been holding out on me.”

“I made it,” I say.

Silence.

Slowly, she turns and looks me in the eyes. Her mouth carefully chews. Swallows. And then . . . “You made this?” she asks in such awe that, hell, my calm exterior cracks.

A smirk tugs at my lips and I nod. “Aye, I made it.”

“For yourself?”

“Aye . . . ,” I reply, confused.

“You mean to tell me that you came home one day and thought, ‘You know, I think I’m going to make myself a cherry cake.’”

“Is there something wrong with that?”

She sets her fork down, cake still on it, and folds her hands carefully on her lap. “I’m going to be honest with you, Rowan. Never in my life have I ever wanted to jump a man’s bones as much as I want to right now.”

All of this over cake?

She clears her throat and lifts her chin. “But I am a lady, and even though I showed animalistic eating habits just a few moments ago, I refuse to jump any man at this age.”

“Aren’t you twenty-four?” I ask.

“A respectable twenty-four. I’m not a twenty-two-year-old floozy anymore. I mean business. So, I will say thank you for the cake, kind sir, and then be on my way.”

“Do whatever ye want,” I say, calling her bluff and picking up my plate of cake, which still has her fork on it. I lift the fork to my mouth, watching her hands—itching, ready to pounce in three, two, one . . .

“On second thought, you look like you need company.” She takes the fork and shoves the cake in her mouth. “Oh, sweet sugary nectar, you’re giving me life.”

I chuckle. She’s so fucking ridiculous.

“Help yourself,” I tease.

“Don’t mind if I do.” She takes another bite and then picks up her coffee. She takes a sip, and her eyes widen. “Oh my God, what kind of coffee is this?”

“Special blend I order in. Cherry coffee with cherry cake—my favorite combo.”

Her hand falls to my thigh, and she gives it a good squeeze. A bolt of lust shoots straight to my cock. I take a deep breath.

Keep it together, lad.

“Rowan, do you realize the kind of flavor combination you’ve created here? This could easily sell in the shop as a special.”

“Who’s going to make the cherry cake?”

“Uh . . . you?”

“Not interested,” I say, finishing the rest of the cake and setting the plate down.

“Don’t you want to help your parents?”

“I’ve given up enough for them,” I say, my throat feeling tight all of a sudden. To an outsider, my comment must sound selfish, but if she knew what I’ve been through, she’d understand exactly where the feelings are coming from, where my need to help falls flat.

From the sympathetic look on Bonnie’s face, it’s a safe guess that no one has told her exactly what happened to my brother.

“What have you given up?”

“Not something I want to talk about.”

“Is that what you were alluding to back at the coffee shop?”

I blow out a heavy breath. “Bonnie—”

“Fine, we don’t have to talk about that. I can tell you’re getting angry. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Why are you here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she asks, batting her eyelashes. “Came for the cake and compliments.”

“You didn’t know I had cake.”

“Lucky guess.” She shakes my leg. “Come on, Rowan, relax. Stop being so stiff.”

Keep touching my leg like that, and the “stiffness” won’t go away.

“Be real, Bonnie,” I say. “Why are you here?”

Her smile fades and she leans back, removing her hand from my leg.

“Honestly?” I nod. “I wanted to see you. Make sure you were okay. Talk to you.” She shrugs. “Spend an evening with you without alcohol. I got the impression that you might be hurting in one way or another, and I thought it would be nice to talk to someone who might truly understand what I’m going through as well.”