Real Men Wear Plaid!. Rhonda Nelson
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It sounded wonderful. Beyond wonderful. Heavenly. Though she was thrilled to be walking with him and appreciated his company, she quickened her pace.
“In a hurry now, are you?” Laughter lurked in his voice.
“There’s a B&B ahead and I’m beat.”
“You passed two already,” he remarked.
“Did I?” she asked breezily, knowing full well that she had. She cast him a sidelong glance and that bizarre sense of expectancy struck her again. She hadn’t looked forward to the evening alone, but now that he was walking with her—and clearly had no intention of leaving her—her outlook had changed.
Most drastically.
In fact, she might be inclined to forgive Jeffrey more quickly than anticipated because she suspected her friend had, through his own selfish nature, done her a big favor.
And that big favor was walking right beside her.
4
HER CHEEKS PINKENED from the change in temperature, a rosier hue on her especially ripe mouth, Gemma Wentworth was even prettier in proper lighting. There was a stubbornness in the tilt of her chin, and something about her up-turned nose and the slope of her jaw, the creamy porcelain skin, was particularly adorable.
Just looking at her—and he couldn’t seem to be able to keep from looking at her—made an odd sensation swell in his chest. Though he’d only met her, everything about her seemed strangely familiar, new but…not. His hands perpetually itched to touch her—just to feel her skin against his—and though it was counterproductive to what he was supposed to be doing on this walk, he knew that he was going to have to touch her.
A lot.
In intimate places.
Furthermore, though it sounded improbable to his own mind, he felt on a level deeper than logic and intuition that he was supposed to meet her, that their paths had crossed for a reason. He could feel that connection even now—a low thrum between them—and wondered if she sensed it as well.
With brisk efficiency the innkeeper checked them in and assigned rooms. “Dinner’s over, of course, but I’ve got meat pies, bread and cheese.”
Gemma shuddered with unabashed delight. “That sounds marvelous.”
The older lady smiled kindly. “Why don’t you go upstairs and wash up and I’ll put a tray in the parlor for you?”
“Thank you,” Gemma told her.
“Hungry, are you?” Ewan asked her as he followed her upstairs.
She shot him a look over her shoulder. “Ravenous,” she admitted. “I skipped lunch and the granola I snacked on along the way isn’t staying with me.”
She’d likely lost her appetite at lunch, Ewan ruminated, when her friend bailed on her. Best friend or not, that was badly done. Of course, Ewan was reaping the benefits of Jeffrey’s bad behavior, so he wasn’t going to rake the man over the coals too much. Had her friend not left her, no doubt he’d still be watching her from a distance instead of basking in her company. Point of fact, if he ever saw Jeffrey again, he probably should thank him.
“Ah, here we are,” Gemma said, slipping her key into the lock. She shot him a gratifyingly hopeful look. “See you downstairs?”
“Certainly,” he said. “I’m pretty hungry myself.” He could quite happily eat her up, as a matter of fact. He imagined licking a path up her inner thigh and felt his dick harden.
Damn, he was in trouble.
She smiled then, almost shyly, and then turned and ducked into her room. Ewan released a pent-up sigh and shook his head at his own stupidity. He found his own room, fortuitously located right across the hall from hers, then let himself inside. Single bed, floral wallpaper, local prints. Lacy curtains covered the windows and a door opened to the en suite bath. Though he hadn’t planned on doing any checking in, he pulled his cell phone from his backpack and called Cam, his younger brother.
Predictably, he was busy—a tour bus of happy murder mystery party goers were en route to the castle and a stalking party had just left for a two-day hunt—but also predictably, Cam always had time for a chat.
“I didn’t expect to hear from you,” his brother said. “I take it the road of enlightenment hasn’t been too illuminating?”
Ewan chuckled. “Something like that, yes.”
“Keep wandering, big brother. It’ll come together for you. And if what comes together for you doesn’t coincide with Dad’s plans, then so be it. Sometimes you have to fight for what’s important.”
Cam knew all about that, Ewan thought. He’d certainly bucked the status quo when he’d gone against their father’s wishes and bought his estate. But Cam had always been like that—fearless, always ready for a challenge and never afraid to face life head-on.
“What makes you so sure that he doesn’t think you’ll come through for him?” Ewan asked. “Don’t think that he has given up on the idea,” he warned him.
Cam chuckled darkly. “He might as well,” he said. “I know where I belong and it’s here at Castle MacKinnon.”
He envied him that knowledge, Ewan thought with an inward sigh.
“Alec is dead set against taking over the company as well,” Cam said.
“Even if Dad let him do it from a boat?” Ewan teased. His youngest brother had an affinity for the water that bordered on the mystical. He’d been obsessed with floating things from the time he was a little kid and had studied with one of Scotland’s premiere boat builders. He was happiest, they all knew, when he was on the seas, looking at a horizon. Hell, even when he came home he was taking the skiff out on the loch in front of the house within half an hour of being there. His soul would shrivel up and die if he had to take over for their father.
“Genevieve called me yesterday,” Cam said. “She’s losing patience. Dad told her that when one of us stepped up to do our duty he’d stop relying on her so much.”
Ouch. He could see where his sister, who’d been their father’s shadow since she was old enough to walk, would have a problem with that.
“For such a smart man, he’s been unforgivably stupid, don’t you think?” Cam remarked. “Genevieve is the obvious best choice. Why can’t he see it?”
“Who knows?” Ewan said. “Mom’s going to have to say something, I think.”
“She doesn’t want to interfere and says that it’s better if Dad works it out on his own.”
“But he’s not working it out.”
“When the three of us refuse, he’ll have no other choice, right?” He hated forcing his father’s hand like that because it made him feel ungrateful when, in truth, he wasn’t. He just wanted to do his own thing, that was all.
Of course, his argument would be better if he actually had his own thing.
Instead of coming up with a viable job in the company, what he really wanted was to go to Haiti and help the earthquake victims. According to the article he’d recently read about the need, there were more than fifty-five thousand people still living in tents. He had no idea what he would do—what he could do even—but he was able and willing to do whatever was needed. There was honor in that purpose, a sense of satisfaction from knowing that whatever he did was going to make a difference. Was that too much to ask?
After catching up on a few more things and promising to call when he reached Fort William, Ewan disconnected. He made quick work of unpacking his bag, washed up and made the return trek back downstairs to the parlor.
He was taking his first sip of hot tea when Gemma entered the room. She’d exchanged her boots for pink bunny slippers and had taken her hair out of the ponytail she’d