Her Brooding Scottish Heir. Ella Hayes
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box on the hearth. It doesn’t take long to heat the whole place.’
Without the distraction of his face, she tuned in to the husky timbre of his voice and found a gentleness in it which took her by surprise. She closed the stove and stood up.
‘As you can see, the kitchen’s over there—it’s well equipped as far as it goes. There’s all the usual stuff. The plates and cups are in the cupboards over the counter. I’m afraid there isn’t a dishwasher—’
His earnest tone made her laugh. ‘I don’t mind washing dishes—but there won’t be many. I don’t really cook much when I’m working. I tend to forget and then I’ll eat a whole stupid box of cornflakes or something.’
Did she imagine amusement in his eyes or was it disdain? She looked away quickly, flushing with embarrassment. What had possessed her to come out with that anyway? Nerves, most probably—that must be it—from the way he seemed to take up all the space in the room just by standing there.
‘The bathroom’s down that short corridor. It’s a shower, not a bath, but you probably guessed that already, and the bedroom’s up there...’
She looked up to the mezzanine, then turned to meet his gaze. ‘I know—’ She was blushing again. ‘What I mean is that I saw it through the window before you arrived.’ Why did his eyes unsettle her so much?
She forced herself to look away, to find a distraction.
‘What a great idea to frame an Ordnance Survey map! I just bought one in the shop. If only I’d known there was one on the wall—’
She heard him clear his throat. ‘The studio’s through the door under the stairs, if you want to have a look. I’ll start bringing in your things.’
He nodded briefly, then disappeared through the door.
Milla squeezed her eyes shut and blew out a long breath. She knew she’d been talking nonsense about the map, but she’d only been trying to fill the silence between them, and now, yet again, she was sparring with herself, trying to convince herself that he hadn’t interrupted her to cause offence. It was understandable that he’d want to unload her vehicle and finish showing her ‘the ropes’, as he’d put it, but his cool detachment had hurt her all the same. He might be a laird-in-waiting, or whatever it was called, but he really needed to work on his social skills.
She forced Cormac Buchanan out of her head and focused on her surroundings. In the kitchen a wide timber plank had been repurposed as a counter, and she trailed her fingers along it, letting its smoothness steady her until she suddenly remembered that she was supposed to be looking at the studio.
When she pushed open the door she gasped. The studio was bigger than she’d imagined—as large again as the main living area. Daylight flooded in through the opaque roof panels and the resulting light had a luminous quality which was perfect.
When Cormac appeared with her easel and an armful of blank canvases, she couldn’t contain her enthusiasm. ‘I love this space. The light’s exquisite.’
He propped the easel and canvases against the wall and turned around. ‘Yes. It’s been well thought out.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Most of your stuff’s in now. I put your holdall upstairs. There’s just a couple of boxes left to bring.’
For a moment, he held her in his gaze, and she felt a strange shifting sensation beneath her feet, and then he was gone. She wondered if he’d been about to say something, then decided it was probably her overactive imagination. He wasn’t much for talking.
She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and looked around again. Such lovely light, such tranquillity. She felt a smile lifting the corners of her mouth. She didn’t know if it was inspiration she was feeling, or simple happiness at being in such a wonderful place, but suddenly all she wanted was to be alone, to settle herself in and make the bothy feel like her own.
If she could wrap things up with Cormac quickly, she could start enjoying the solitude she’d come here for.
She was stowing milk and yoghurts in the tiny fridge when she heard him set down the last two boxes.
‘That’s everything. Before I go, I need to take you through one or two things...’
She wondered how she could tell him that she needed to be on her own. Would he understand that she was tired from her journey? Would he understand that his cool manner was making her feel even more inconsequential than she felt already?
She took a deep breath and stood up. ‘Look, I appreciate your time and everything, but I’m happy to take it from here. I’m sure you must have other more important things...’
He recoiled slightly. ‘I need to go through some safety—’
‘No, honestly. It’s fine. There’s a book here.’ She picked up the welcome pack she’d found near the kettle, holding it up for him to see. ‘Look—Strathburn Bothy: Essential Information—I’ll see if there’s anything about safety.’
She flicked through the pages with a pounding heart. She could feel the weight of his stare, sense some indefinable emotion, but there was no going back now. She wasn’t trying to challenge him; she just wanted to be at peace in her own space.
She found the page and opened it out to show him. ‘It’s all here, see: Safety Procedures. I’m sure it’s got everything I need to know.’ She looked into his face, noted the bruised look in his eyes and relented a little. ‘Look, I promise I’ll read it, okay? You can test me on it if it makes you feel better.’
She noticed the tiny flinch of a muscle in his jaw as he stepped towards her and handed her the key. ‘As long as you read it, then—it is important. I hope you have a good stay, Milla.’
He held her gaze for moment, then nodded briefly and strode out of the door.
She sagged against the counter with relief. She could tell from his eyes that she’d offended him somehow, but when she replayed their conversation in her head, she couldn’t see how. She’d been perfectly polite. In fact, she’d been exactly like him.
She looked down at her hands, saw that her fingers were trembling. When had dealing with men become so difficult? There always seemed to be an emotional price to pay.
She picked up the kettle, jiggled off the lid and reached for the tap. This break at Strathburn was exactly what she needed. Until she could cope with herself again she had no hope of dealing with anyone else.
Cormac jumped onto the quad, but didn’t start the engine. Instead, he let his eyes travel over the landscape while he tried to pinpoint exactly how a simple mission to show someone around what was essentially a hut could have failed so miserably. She’d sent him packing, and even now the memory of those challenging eyes was making him wince.
He couldn’t work her out. She was either teasing him or scowling at him, so he had no idea which way to jump. She was perplexing, but at the same time, she was refreshingly forthright. The memory of her mischievous smile, that defiant little tilt of her chin as she’d corrected him about her name, forced a brief smile onto his own lips.
He pictured the curve of her cheek, those tiny freckles on her nose. The way the sun’s slanting rays had made her eyes shine. How delighted she’d been with the bothy—as if he’d opened a door for her straight into happiness. When she’d crouched to look at the wood burner he’d caught himself crossing a line—admiring the way her jeans moulded to her slender thighs, the way her waist nipped in, the rise of her breasts beneath the vest and waistcoat.
It had been a long time since he’d noticed anyone—really noticed anyone—and it felt like a little wrench inside. He was so used to the huge pain of losing his friend that most of the time he was numb, but this girl, the way she’d looked in the soft light of the studio, with her hair falling around her face and those eyes holding him... It had felt as if she could see right inside him, and he’d wanted to say something, but he hadn’t because he hadn’t known what it was he wanted