The Dreaming Of... Collection. Оливия Гейтс
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will be if you refuse me,’ he threatened with a wicked smile.
She gave him a warning look that didn’t deter him at all. ‘Are you asking me out?’
‘That’s exactly what I’m doing,’ Tiago confirmed.
His lips pressed down, drawing her attention to the fact that he was badly in need of a shave—as usual. Imagining that stubble scraping her skin was a breath-stealing reminder of how it had felt when he kissed her.
‘It’s harmless,’ he said. ‘We’re married, and I’m in town.’
Nothing was harmless where Tiago was concerned, but she couldn’t bring herself to let him go yet. ‘I have to eat, and so do you. Why not?’
Why not? She could think of a thousand reasons why not. Discarding them all, she allowed her imagination to run riot for a moment... Screaming with pleasure in Tiago’s arms would be preferable to sitting across a table from him...
‘Danny?’
She pulled herself round fast and smiled into his eyes. ‘So you’re asking me out on a date?’
Tiago frowned slightly. ‘I suppose I am.’ But his eyes were dancing with laughter too.
It would be all right. She would confine herself to chatting about people they knew. She would keep the conversation, as well as everything else, on safe ground.
‘Stop frowning, Danny. It’s a meal and a catch-up, and then I’ll take you home.’
Now she just had to convince herself that that was exactly what she wanted. ‘That sounds good,’ she agreed. ‘Yes,’ she said softly.
Tiago smiled his bad-boy smile. ‘You do know that a candlelit dinner is usually a prelude to sex?’
‘If you think that’s going to tip the balance—’ She stopped, noticing that the respectable townsfolk at the tables surrounding them were listening in with avid interest.
‘I think they like me,’ Tiago murmured, with amusement in his dark eyes.
She sucked in a sharp breath as he lifted her hand to his lips.
‘Stop,’ she warned him, pulling her hand back. ‘I’ve agreed to supper—nothing more.’
‘That’s all I’m offering,’ Tiago assured her. ‘Sex isn’t on the menu tonight.’
Now she was hit by doubt. Why didn’t he want sex? Had Tiago found someone else? She felt sick at the thought.
‘If this is another of your games...’
Leaning across the table until their faces almost touched, he whispered, ‘The only game I play is polo.’
‘Is it?’ She was still tense.
‘Although I do have a repertoire of games that don’t require a horse and a mallet to make them fun.’
She made an incredulous sound as Tiago sat back with a confident smile on his face. He continued to regard her steadily, his amused black stare warming her, and even when he looked away to call for the bill a sweet pulse of desire throbbed deep inside her.
DANNY WAS ALWAYS CALM, always measured—at least that was what she told herself—except for tonight, when she was catapulting from one side of her room to the other, trying on clothes and trying to decide how she should wear her hair.
Finally she stood back, arms folded, wondering how it was possible for one person to buy so many sale rejects in the hope that one day she would find just the right accessory to pull the hopelessly mismatched set of items together. She had never pulled an outfit together in her life. She had always been a tomboy in jeans.
And she had around five minutes before Tiago was due to arrive to pick her up and take her to supper.
Why had she left things to the last minute?
She blamed it on the shortbread.
In the spirit of keeping things platonic, and to show Tiago some true Scottish hospitality, she had used her small worktop oven and her grandmother’s secret recipe—sure to melt all but the stoniest heart—to bake him a tray of the traditional Scottish cookies, so he didn’t think she was accompanying him tonight solely in the expectation of a free meal.
Tied up with a tartan ribbon, the small cellophane packet was a humble offering, but it was the best she’d been able to come up with in the time available.
* * *
Tiago took a shower, shaved, and tamed his hair in as much as it could be tamed. He even put on a jacket and tie with his jeans for the occasion. He checked himself over in the mirror. He looked like an undertaker. Ruffling his hair, he ditched the tie, opened a couple of buttons at the neck of his shirt and tugged on a sweater. Better.
Danny was waiting for him in the biting cold outside her front door. Because she didn’t want him to see where she lived, he suspected. The farm seemed even more dilapidated and unappealing to him on second viewing. He didn’t like the thought of her living here on her own.
‘You didn’t have to wait out here.’ He ushered her towards the four-wheel drive
‘I didn’t want to keep you waiting,’ she said, standing back as he opened the door for her. ‘Where are we going?’
‘I can’t say.’
‘You can’t say or you won’t say?’
He smiled. ‘You decide.’
‘Maybe I won’t come with you.’
‘You’ll come,’ he said confidently. ‘You never could resist an adventure.’
He would forgive her anything tonight. Just the fact that she had gone to some trouble with her appearance was enough for his groin to tighten with appreciation—though he would take her straight from mucking out a stable if he had to. Fortunately, that wasn’t necessary. Her hair was shining and she was wearing the familiar wildflower scent, and make-up—just a touch, but enough to suggest she wasn’t completely switched off.
‘You’d better not be teasing me with this supper,’ she warned him, frowning in a way that made him want to grab her close and kiss her hard. ‘You tell me where we’re going or I’m not moving another step.’
Maybe the signs weren’t all good, he amended, hiding his amusement. ‘I’m taking you somewhere new.’
‘Tiago,’ she said patiently, ‘there is nowhere new. This is the Highlands of Scotland, where nothing has changed for a thousand years.’
His lips curved with amusement, but he wouldn’t be drawn. Strolling round to the driver’s side, he got into the vehicle.
‘Where is this?’ Danny demanded a short time later, as he swung the wheel to turn the four-wheel drive onto a recently resurfaced driveway lined with majestic snow-frosted pines.
‘You tell me. You’ve lived in Rottingdean all your life—where nothing ever changes,’ he reminded her dryly.
‘But this place has been derelict for years.’ She frowned as she stared out of the window.
‘Not any longer.’
‘When did it become a hotel?’
‘Never, as far as I’m aware.’
She turned ninety degrees to stare at him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I live here. At least I’m planning to spend a good part of the year here.’
A stunned silence greeted this remark.
‘I apologise if this