One More for Christmas(94)

There was a waste bin overflowing with paper, and more mugs abandoned on the floor. More sheets of paper, each covered in endless numbers written in his dark scrawl.

She didn’t care about the mess. She might not understand data analytics, but she understood focus.

“What’s this?” The only wall that wasn’t lined with monitors was a giant whiteboard covered in equations.

“I was figuring something out. I should fetch you a drink. You looked as if you needed one earlier. Are those more mugs?” He scooped them up so that they were all dangling from the fingers of one hand. “I swear they breed. I’ll wash them. I think I have a couple of new ones in the cupboard. Unused. If I promise to use those, can I tempt you to coffee? I know you like coffee.”

“Not this late in the day. Don’t worry. I’m fine.” There was a stack of papers next to a keyboard and she noticed the signature on one of them. “Doctor McIntyre?”

“Oh that’s just—” He dismissed it with a wave of his free hand. “PhD. Maths, not medicine.”

“Why don’t you call yourself Doctor?”

“I don’t know. Because I’m always afraid someone is going to ask me to save a life? Because the sight of blood makes me nauseous? Also, it sounds a little pretentious, don’t you think?”

“I do not. You’re obviously a very smart guy, Dr McIntyre.” But she knew that already of course. Smart. Kind. Sexy. She thought about the way he’d propelled her out of the house and into the car without hesitation.

“Can we stick to Brodie? Please.”

“I’ll try. Can’t promise.” She was too fascinated by her glimpse into his world. A table was pushed against the wall and on it was a half-built model of a spaceship. The complexity of it made her head ache. “So this is mission control. I knew it.”

He gave an awkward laugh. “Fiddling with tiny bricks helps me think.”

She turned to leave and caught her foot on something.

She would have landed on her face, but he shot out a hand and steadied her.

“I need to clear up. I know. So many ways to die here, and none of them would make sexy headlines.”

She clutched at his arm until she’d regained her balance. She could feel the swell of muscle under her fingers. Strong biceps, Dr McIntyre. “You’re doing it again, Brodie. Pushing that horror theme. Good job I’m not the nervous type.”

“In this place you’re more likely to be killed by bacteria than a serial killer.” He let go of her and gestured with the hand holding the mugs. “I’m going to wash these. Just—pick up that blanket and throw it somewhere.”

Blanket? That thing on the floor that had almost broken her neck was a blanket?

“You don’t have a bedroom?”

“Next door, but sometimes I don’t want to walk that far. I just nap where I’m working and then work again. Sorry. Damn, I shouldn’t have brought you here.”

“Why not?”

“Because normally people don’t see this side of me. It’s a bit too—undiluted.”

She thought about that phone call. “Then I guess we’re even.”

He nodded. “I guess we are. If you don’t want coffee, then we’ll go for wine. In fact I should have thought of wine to begin with.”

She followed him to the kitchen and took the mugs from him. “I’ll wash those.”

“No, you can’t do that. I don’t want you—”

“You rescued me, Brodie. The least I can do is help.” She ran the water until it was hot and soaked the mugs. Through the window the moon sent a wash of ghostly light across the surface of the loch and the snowy peaks. “This place is a jewel.”

“You’re not nervous? Most people would find it too isolated.”

“I’m not nervous, which is weird because in Boston if a man wanted to drive me to his shack in the middle of nowhere, I’d definitely say no.”

“Good. Sensible.” He unloaded the food from the bags into the fridge. Juice. Butter. Eggs. Bacon. “I would hope you’d have a strong sense of self-preservation.”

“So what am I doing here with you?”

“Escaping your family who make you want to scream.” He lit the woodburning stove. “That’s also a kind of self-preservation. I’m the least threatening of the two options.”

He wasn’t wrong about that.

She finished cleaning the mugs, and when she was satisfied that nothing toxic had been left alive, she put them to drain. Then she hung up their coats and made herself comfortable on the sofa, watching as he lit candles. “You don’t have lights?”

“I do, but I look better by candlelight.”

Would it fluster him if she said he looked good in every light? “I probably do, too.” She brushed her fingers under her eyes. “Do I have mascara all over my face? I probably look like a panda.”

“You look good to me.” His voice was rough. “And a panda happens to be my favorite animal.”

“An hour ago I wanted to scream, but now I want to laugh. You’re a funny guy, Dr McIntyre.”

“That’s not good, is it? Funny guys don’t usually get the girls.”

She looked at the curve of his mouth and the way his dark hair fell across his forehead. “I’m sure you do just fine.” Her heart kicked against her chest. “Thank you for bringing me here, Brodie. It was kind.”