~
Tired and warm, her belly now full from her tasty meal, Goldilocks fell fast asleep, unaware that she had taken shelter in the house of a foul-tempered bear.
~
Thea released a startled gasp as a roar ripped her from sleep.
For a moment she couldn’t place where she was. Bewildered, she thought she was back in her apartment in Phoenix and her roommate was playing some kind of trick on her. Gina would do something like that.
But then it all flooded back. She was on a couch. In a strange house in Scotland.
And she wasn’t alone.
The man who lived here had returned and walked in on her asleep on his couch—in his shirt. Precisely what she had hoped wouldn’t happen. She’d wanted to greet him and introduce herself. Explain her situation.
She froze, feeling like prey caught in the sights of a predator. She stared straight ahead. Directly at a pair of denim-clad legs in front of her.
Mortified, she popped up in a sitting position and dropped her feet to the floor. Her blonde hair sprang into her face. She dragged the out-of-control mass back. Her hair had mostly dried, and she could only imagine the bird’s nest it looked like. Her gaze shot to the stranger’s glowering face.
Not an old man. Not by a long shot. Crap. A young man. She processed this with her quickly waking mind.
He was young. Maybe only a few years older than herself, but that was hard to know for certain. The scowl on his face undoubtedly aged him. Too bad it didn’t detract from his hotness factor. Gina would call him lickable. His dark hair and close-cropped beard glistened wetly. He wore a slicker that dripped water onto his floor. He hadn’t bothered to take it off yet, and he didn’t seem to care. He must have spotted her right away when he entered the house.
The longer she stared at him, that scowl of his seemed to deepen.
“Hello,” she greeted, wincing when the word slipped out sounding like a question.
Typical this would happen to her. She would have to get stranded in some hot Scot’s house when she was at a low point in her life and looking her absolute worst. Gina would think this was hysterical.
She futilely tried to twist her wild hair into a ponytail. It was useless without a hairband to help. The instant she let go of the mass it sprang loose all around her in wild waves.
“I said: who the hell are you?” His words were heavy with a brogue she felt right down to her toes.
He’s asked her a question before? It must have been the bellow that woke her.
She moistened her lips. “I’m Thea.” She paused for his reaction although she didn’t know why. She didn’t expect her name to make a difference to him. She was no one to him. “I was on a tour bus and got left behind. I started walking and it started pouring, but I-I found your house and—”
“Let me guess,” he snarled. “They took you out to visit some magical faerie glens.” He spit out the word faerie like it was the ugliest of epithets.
“Y-yes.”
He whirled away with a stinging curse. He continued to mutter under his breath as he moved about in such a rage that she eyed the door, wondering if she should take her chances with the cold Scottish night. God knew this strapping, virile man could snap her like a twig if he chose.
Standing, she inched that direction, stopping when he whirled on her, blocking her path.
She yelped and took a hasty step back, craning her neck to look up at him. God, he was tall.
“Did it ever occur to ye that those faerie glens are a bunch of shite? Something drummed up for numpty tourists from America?”
“Numpty?” she echoed blankly. “What is that? A candy bar?”
“Numpty,” he repeated, his tone much harsher. Rolling his eyes, he clarified, “Idiotic. Stupid.”
“Oh!” Offended, she squared her shoulders. “Tourism is good for the economy, sir. I would think that—”
His blue eyes widened. He looked fit to kill, and she knew she had said the wrong thing. She didn’t know what could have been the right thing to say, but clearly she had missed it.
“Good for the economy?” He advanced on her.
She retreated until the backs of her legs hit the couch and could go no farther.
He continued, glaring down at her. “Tour buses tearing through my land? Tourists traipsing all over my property with their cameras, dropping their candy wrappers and terrifying my sheep? You call that good for the economy? Whose? No’ mine!”
Her stomach bottomed out. “The faerie glens are on your property?”
He nodded once, his blue eyes cutting and deep. “And I can assure you there is nothing magical about them. I’ve lived my whole life here. It’s simply land. Simply my farm that’s been in my family for generations.”
She nodded again, feeling wretched. “I didn’t know that.” She moistened her lips. “The tour guide never mentioned we were trespassing—”
“It’s no’ trespassing. It’s called freedom to roam—one of my country’s least ingenious ideas. Two years ago a couple hikers happened upon my property. They took some video and posted it on YouTube and proclaimed the glens magical. And there you have it.” He snapped his fingers. “My family’s farm is invaded nearly every day of the year by you locusts.” His top lip lifted in a sneer.
She flinched. Heat burned her face. She was a locust. “I’m sorry. I did not know.”
He looked her up and down. “And now I have one of you in my house. The one place I thought myself safe from you people.”
He stared at her a long moment, raking his gaze over her as though seeing her for the first time. “And you’re wearing my shirt. Is nothing sacred?” he bit out the words, his straight white teeth a striking contrast against his dark beard.
“My clothes were soaking wet.”
“So you just helped yourself to my clothes?” He shook his head. “Typical.”
“I was on the verge of hypothermia!” she said hotly, finally getting angry. She wasn’t to blame for every wrong done to this man. How was she to know her tour bus was one of an army driving through his property?
“Maybe you should have taken a trip to the Bahamas. Can’t get hypothermia there.”
“Trust me! I’m wishing I had. Just get me to the village and I’ll catch the first bus to Glasgow and then hop on a plane home.” Because really, this trip wasn’t going the way she planned at all. But then, the way she had planned it involved Charlie. The two of them together on a romantic honeymoon. She grimaced. Romantic had never been a word that could be applied to them.
They hardly had sex in their years together, and when they did she was always the initiator. In fact, it always felt as though he were doing her a favor when they did it. That didn’t do great things for a girl’s ego.
Engaged couples had a hard time keeping their hands off each other—or so she’d been led to believe. Not them though. That should have been her first warning they weren’t right for each other.
When Charlie broke off the engagement, she wasn’t really surprised. We’re just not a good fit. His words had stung, but she couldn’t disagree with him. They weren’t a good fit. Her boyfriend before him hadn’t been a good fit either.
She seemed destined for bad fits.
The Scot still glared at her as though she were some unwelcome critter that had crawled beneath the door into his house.
She dug out her composure and took a deep breath. “I’m very sorry. If you would be kind enough to drive me to the nearest village I’ll get out of your hair. And please, let me pay you for the use of your shower.”
“You used my shower too?” He glanced toward the bathroom. “What is this? A Holiday Inn?
She winced and exhaled. Might as well confess everything. “And I’ll pay you for the soup too.”
His gaze whipped toward the stove. “You ate my dinner?”
“There’s plenty left,” she assured him, offering a weak smile. “It was very good.”
He shook his head and inhaled sharply, as though fighting for endurance. “I don’t want your money. I want to be left in peace.”
She nodded and motioned to the front door. “Then by all means, let’s get going—”
“We can’t. There is only one road to the village and it’s flooded at the moment. It happens when it rains. I’ll check on it in the morning.”
He stomped away and wrenched open the bathroom door. She flinched at his angry movements.
She stared after him in shock. He could not be serious. She could not stay the night—maybe longer!—with this awful bear of a man.
He looked back at her, his blue eyes scathing. “Don’t worry. I’m as anxious to see you away from here as you are.”
“So what am I supposed to do?” How could a pair of eyes be so piercing?
“I would tell you to make yourself comfortable, but it appears you already have.”
She had never felt so thoroughly disliked by a person. She wondered if she would feel this wounded if he wasn’t so good-looking. If he didn’t have those cutting eyes and strong jawline and deep brogue. If there wasn’t that delicious-looking beard, a dark pelt that beckoned her fingers.
She gave herself a mental slap. He was a sheep farmer, for God’s sake. He was a broody Scottish hermit farmer, and she could almost hear Gina’s voice in her head. What are you waiting for, Thea? Jump his bones. Get feral with that farmer.
God. She really needed to get out of her if she was fantasizing about sex with this thoroughly unpleasant man.
“Maybe I should just go,” she said quickly, the words a rush.
“Out there?” He laughed roughly. “Didn’t you hear me? The road is flooded and it’s still raining.” He waved toward the door. “You’ll freeze to death … if you don’t fall into a bog and drown.”
She shrugged. She didn’t care. She’d take her chances with the storm.
She moved to the door and lifted up her pack. She glanced back at him. His big body blocked the door to the bathroom where her clothes hung to dry. She glanced down at herself in his too-big T-shirt. It would offer little protection against the elements.
“Don’t be a fool.” As though to illustrate his point, he strode across the house, right past her, and yanked open the front door. Immediately a gust of wet wind swept into the house. Shivering, she stared out the door into that blackest night she had ever seen. The cold reached out to her, grabbed her in its grip and squeezed. “You’ll die out there,” he announced.
She flinched at the words, knowing them for truth. He might be the rudest man alive, but she was stuck here. Stuck with him.
And he was stuck with her.
He shut and locked the front door. Turning, he disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door between them with a resounding thud. She was grateful for that barrier. It put distance between them and would give her a little time to compose herself … and try not to think about her underwear and bra hanging over the shower he was about to use.
Running water soon carried from the other side of the door and she knew he was doing the same thing she had done—ridding himself of his sodden clothes and stepping beneath the warm spray of water.
Closing her eyes in one weary blink, she rubbed her fingers against her forehead. Of all places she had to get stranded, it was with this surly Scot. Why couldn’t he have been a kind old man?
She claimed the blanket draped over the back of the couch, settling in for the night. With a huff, she arranged the afghan around her. Sleep. That’s what she would do. Sleep so the night would pass quickly and when she woke she would be able to leave this place.
The shower stopped and she tensed. She couldn’t help it. She was stuck in this house all alone with a stranger. Totally at his mercy. For some reason, she didn’t think he would harm her. He could have done that already if he was inclined. He didn’t want to be bothered with her. Murdering her would be too much of an inconvenience for him.
The bathroom door yanked open and the jerk himself emerged.
Wearing only a towel.
Oh, holy hell. Her gaze traveled over him. She’d known he was big beneath his clothing. He’d towered over her, but she had no idea his body looked like this.
Charlie had worked out and subscribed to Men’s Health magazine, reading every issue cover to cover. He’d wanted a body like this, but could never quite manage it. Hotty Scotty, on the other hand, was built. Toned and hard-bodied. Apparently working a farm and running sheep in the Highlands got you washboard abs, muscular shoulders, toned biceps, and a narrow waist.
And a crappy disposition.
She gulped against the sudden dryness of her throat. He might be a grump, but she was still female and all her girl parts (her long-neglected girl parts) were doing somersaults.
Water beaded his chest and arms and traveled down his happy trail, disappearing beneath his towel. She couldn’t help following that line of water with her eyes, and that mortified her. She shouldn’t be so affected. He might have a body that belonged on the cover of a romance novel, but that didn’t change the fact he was a jerk.
His lips curled in a smirk, and she knew he was aware of how he looked and his impact on her. A man didn’t look like him and not know.
He strolled into his room, presenting her with his back as he opened the doors to his bureau. The view of his back was as lovely as the front. Nicely formed, muscles and sinew rippling with his movements.
He pulled out a pair of briefs and glanced over his shoulder at her, one dark eyebrow cocked as his hand came to the edge of the towel knotted at his waist. “You gonna keep watching me?”
She gasped. “You’re getting dressed right here?”
His blue eyes glittered, clearly still annoyed with her. “This is my house. My space you’ve invaded. So. Yeah. I’m going to do what I normally do.”
Proving that point, he undid the towel. She dropped her face into the couch cushion as the towel dropped. She only caught a flash of skin. No clear visual of his body. For the first time she felt gratitude and regret simultaneously.
His chuckle fell warm and deep, like his voice, and sent goose bumps along her skin.
After a moment, she heard him moving around in the kitchen. A glass clinked and she lifted her head, making certain there wasn’t a naked man behind her.
He was wearing boxer briefs. The fabric hugged his ass. An ass that looked like it could bounce quarters.
“Did you enjoy my stew?” He didn’t turn around as he asked the question.
“Y-yes. It was delicious. Thank you.”
He ladled himself a bowl. “Is it a habit of yers? Breaking into houses and helping yourself to clothes and food and whatever else strikes your whim?”
She bristled. “I told you. I was stranded and freezing. And I’ll pay you for any—”
He held up a hand, cutting her off as he sank into his chair at the table. “You’ve said as much. The point is … it’s no’ right. You never should have been on my land.”
To that, she could only claim ignorance, but she knew he didn’t see that as a valid argument so she held silent.
He was arrogant and rude and … why the hell couldn’t she stop staring at him? Even as he sat there, bare-chested at the table, feeding himself, he looked like someone who could be on TV. He was that beautiful.
Not perfect, mind you. That would be boring. He had the kind of face you could stare at for hours. Artists would want to paint it. She did, and she was just an art teacher. She hadn’t sat in front of a canvas in years. Once upon a time she’d wanted to paint, but Grams and Eric and Charlie had convinced her it wasn’t practical. No one made a living painting.
His mouth was fascinating. Her stomach flipped as she gazed at it. Full and broad. The top lip dipped sharply at the center. She wanted to trace the shape. Recreate it with a brushstroke. His nose was slightly crooked at the center. Likely broken at some point. Had he been in a fight? Or was it the result of a farmyard accident? A sheep gone rogue? She giggled at the thought, imagining a sheep kicking him square in his too pretty face.
He glanced up at her, pausing with the spoon near his mouth. “You’re a strange bird.”
“Me?” She pressed a hand to her chest. “You’re the one acting like Shrek because I invaded your precious space.”
“Shrek?” He blinked those brilliant blue eyes at her.
“Yeah. The movie.”
He stared blankly.
“Wow. You really should get out more.” She glanced around again. As already noted, there was no TV. She spotted a bookcase full of books. That must bet he extent of his entertainment. “Shrek is this hermit ogre who lives in a remote swamp. Kinda like you.”
He shook his head. “You’re a nutter.”
She could only infer that to be an insult. Her indignation burned hot again. “And you’re rude.” She’d never met a more unpleasant man in all her life. Sure. She had basically compared him to an ogre, but he was acting like one.
He scraped his spoon against the inside of his bowl, not even looking at her. “You think it such a good idea to insult your host?”
“You’ve insulted me. Repeatedly.”
“And you’ve invaded my home.” He shrugged one well-formed shoulder and continued to eat. “How is it you came to be here alone? Did you wander off from your family and friends?”
“I’m traveling alone.”
He raised his eyes to her, looking at her for the first time in several minutes. Even across the distance the blue of his eyes was vivid and intense and made her feel shivery inside. “You came to Scotland all by yourself?”
“This is the twenty-first century. Women can travel alone. We even get to vote and drive cars too.”
He grumbled something under his breath that sounded close to smart-ass. “Maybe if you brought someone along with you on this trip, you wouldn’t have wandered off and gotten lost.”
Why did the question feel like a dig to her intelligence? “I didn’t get lost. The bus left me.”
“If you had been traveling with someone else, that wouldn’t have happened.”
The words reminded her how alone she was in this world, and she resented the hell out of him for the reminder. Grams lived in a retirement community for active seniors. There was Gina, but she had a boyfriend who was on the verge of proposing. Soon Thea would be living alone.
“I don’t need a babysitter. I’m an independent woman. I can take care of myself.”
He gave her a pointed look, his gaze skimming her in his too big shirt. “Right.”
She glared at him as he finished eating. Really, there was nothing else to look at. Nothing nearly so pretty at least. Too bad he didn’t have a personality to match his looks.
Sighing, she stood and fetched her phone from her backpack. Might as well check. Still no signal.
“That won’t work out here,” he answered. “No’ in this storm. Even in good weather it’s spotty.”
“What kind of place can’t get service?” she asked testily.
“The kind of place nature intended. Without unnecessary technology or annoying people checking their Instagram every five seconds or taking selfies.”
“Oh, you’ve heard of Instagram?” She arched an eyebrow. “I figured you’ve been living out here in the sticks forever, Shrek.”
He scowled and got up, bowl in hand as he moved to the sink. “I know things.”
Her gaze crawled over that body. She couldn’t help it.
She was twenty-five years old and had precisely two failed relationships where the sex had been less than stellar, no matter how much she had tried to make it good. She’d tried to satisfy her partners. She’d tried to satisfy herself. It didn’t matter. As much as she pretended—and even lied—sex for her had always been … unsatisfying.
After her broken engagement, she figured that was her lot. Eric and Charlie didn’t fit. She guessed no man ever would.
I know things.
His words echoed through her and took on an entirely different meaning. She flushed hot. She knew he didn’t intend for her to interpret his words in a sexual way, but that was what her overactive imagination and overwrought senses heard.
She had no doubt he knew a few things, all right.
Get your head out of the gutter, Thea.
This guy was out of her league. She never would have even attempted to talk to someone who looked like him back home. Not that she came into contact with men like him working at a middle school. She’d met Charlie in college at a park when her dog peed on his leg. Not the most auspicious start to a relationship, she knew. Somehow they ended up on a date after that.
He washed his bowl in the sink and then moved to the fireplace. He added a few logs and stirred the fire. She watched his back, mesmerized at the play of muscles underneath his smooth skin.
Standing, his gaze came to rest on her. “If the road is clear, I’ll take you to the village in the morning.”
The morning. Why did that seem so far away?
She nodded jerkily. “Thank you.”
He moved about the house, turning off all the lights. The house was saved from complete darkness due to the fire. It cast a deep veil of gold-red over the interior of the house.
“Can I get you another blanket?” he asked gruffly, gesturing to the blanket she’d already covered herself with.
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
He stepped up to his bed and removed a pillow from it. Turning, he advanced on her couch. She grimaced inside. Either he was offering the pillow to her or planning to smother her with it. Either way, she preferred he kept his distance.
She shook her head and squeezed the couch pillow tucked beneath her cheek tighter. Still, he kept on coming.
His frowned, extending the pillow. “Take it,” he said.
God. He was so close she could smell him. He smelled like the soap she had used. And something else. Something inherently male and primal that made her stomach muscles quiver.
She snatched the pillow from him, wanting him to go away. Desperate for him to go to his own bed and leave her alone, to take himself as far as possible from her inside this house.
She shoved the pillow under her head and watched his easy gait as he walked to his bed and climbed in. The firelight did amazing things to his skin and body. The palms of her hands tingled with the hungry need to touch. To stroke and feel him for herself.
This was insane. She blamed it on Gina. Her friend’s parting words rang through her mind. Get yourself under the first big, brawny Scot you meet.
Thea knew Gina would heartily approve of this guy for her to work out all her sexual fantasies on, but that wasn’t why she came on this trip. She came here to enjoy herself … to maybe even find herself and think about her future. She’d already figured out she would rather be alone than with douchebags who didn’t love or appreciate her. No more guys who didn’t fit. No more men who wanted to change her. She’d either feel right, feel good, when she was with a guy or she wouldn’t be with a guy at all.
This fixating on a stranger in the bed across from her was wholly unhealthy. She was confident he didn’t entertain any sexual thoughts about her.
She listened as he settled into bed, the mattress squeaking slightly under his weight. His movements eventually stilled and there was nothing but the pop of the fire, the howl of the storm outside, and rush of blood in her ears.
She couldn’t hear his breathing, but strangely enough … she thought she felt it. As though it matched in rhythm to her own. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
Sweet Tater Tots. She was losing it. Her grandmother had told her she was crazy when she said she was still going on her honeymoon. Grams insisted Thea needed to stay home and patch things up with Charlie or she was going to end up one of those old ladies living with a bunch of cats. Never mind she was allergic to cats and Grams knew that.
You’ve messed up two relationships now, Thea. You may never get another chance. You’re not getting younger. Or thinner.
Thea rolled onto her side and curled her knees to her chest. She shoved Grams’s voice out of her head and closed her eyes.
She could not feel his breathing.
She could not feel his stare from the bed. He was not looking at her with those brilliant blue eyes of his and thinking naughty things. No, that was only Thea. It was all in her head. Her crazy head.
She hugged herself and tried to make herself as small as possible.
She kept her eyes closed. Even if she couldn’t fall asleep, she could at least fake it. The night would pass. She’d lay here and wait for the morning.