The Scottish Bride (The Brides of Holland Springs Book 5)(22)

***

She didn’t speak to him again until they were in his car. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” he said. Glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, he noted that she looked less strained. “Feeling better?”

“Much.”

“Feeling like dinner for two?”

Her lips curved into a smile. Though it was small, it was genuine and almost took his breath away. “Perhaps. As long as it’s somewhere low-key.”

“You name the place. I’ve only been here two days and know nothing of the area beyond what Trip Advisor recommends.”

“There’s a Greek bistro—The Bull—nearby. It’s in Bayswater. Are you familiar? I can give you directions.”

“Definitely will need those. Put the address into the GPS and let that smarmy bastard tell me where to go.” He downshifted as traffic thinned out.

“Smarmy bastard?”

Oh, hell. He needed to watch his mouth. “Sorry. The last person who rented the car reprogrammed the navigation system, and now it’s stuck on assho—er... know-it-all mode.”

“Ah,” she said in her clipped accent. “I didn’t think to ask, but are you keen on Greek food?”

“Not much I don’t like. When I was younger, my grandmother used to say that I’d eat anything that wouldn’t eat me first.”

“That is as disturbing as it is charming,” she said with a laugh.

“Your laugh is charming.”

“Noah, I...I have a proposal for you.”

The stoplight turned red, and he braked. Shit. Was she propositioning him? “I’m honored, sweetheart, but you seem to be in a vulnerable place right now.”

Her hand covered his. The heat of her skin merged with his own, not helping his self-control one bit. “That’s exactly why I need your help.”

He turned to her. “As much as I’d love to get your mind off whatever it is that’s bothering you, I don’t think sex is the answer.”

Kate’s eyes rounded, her cheeks pinkened, and her mouth formed a perfect O. However, she didn’t sputter as she said, “You think I want to have sex with you?”

“Not really,” he grumbled, turning his attention back to the road. “Most women like to have sex with me.”

“Most women?”

“All but one, but you can’t blame a guy for not being at his best the first time.” Shut up, shut up, shut up.

“You missed your turn, you wanker,” the GPS from hell pointed out.

Noah made a left turn, and the GPS went crazy trying to reconfigure. Two blocks later, he slowed down in front of The Bull, an old brick building with red and black accents. Though to be fair, every building in London was old.

“Ten minutes ahead of schedule.” He fist bumped the GPS monitor. “Who’s the wanker now?”

“Are you insulting a computer?” she asked with a smile in her voice.

“Seemed like a good idea.” And it got them off the topic of sex. Or his assumption of sex. The smarmy GPS was right—he was a wanker.

“I have a better one,” she said.

“Better than sex?”

“That remains to be seen.”

His mouth kicked up at the corner. “There’s nothing better than sex.”

“Perhaps not, but the proposition I have in mind would, or rather could, mutually benefit us both.”

This time, he would keep his mouth shut and let her do the talking. His ego couldn’t take another beating. “Go on.”

“I’m in need of a husband, and you, Noah Sawyer, are perfect.”

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