Chapter Two
Bella kept the chain fastened and peeked through the opening at the large, agitated man on her doorstep. She knew the town of Portree was about as safe as any place on the planet. Still, she wasn’t inclined to be naïve when a stranger showed up demanding entrance.
“Hurry,” the man said, looking frantically over his shoulder. “I know your brother. I bought a motorcycle from him. Finley knows I’m here. I’m harmless, I swear. For God’s sake, let me in!”
Maybe it was the urgency in the man’s voice or the wonderful Scottish cadence of his speech. Perhaps it was hearing her brother’s name. Whatever the reason, Bella slipped the chain free of its mooring and opened the door. The tall lanky man brushed past her, his gaze darting around the room.
“You’d better hide out in the kitchen,” she said calmly. “Who exactly is after you?”
“Reporters.” He shuddered, his expression hunted.
“Right…” She drawled the word, wondering if her unexpected guest suffered from mental health issues. He made a definite impression, not only for his height and odd circumstances, but because he was gorgeous. There was no other way to describe it. His thick chestnut hair had a little cowlick at the crown. It was shaggy as if he needed a haircut.
Eyes the color of moss were framed in thick dark lashes. Broad shoulders strained the seams of a forest-green Henley shirt. He looked like the kind of man who could climb a mountain or tunnel out of a prisoner-of-war camp in an old movie. In other words, not her type at all.
Cataloging her guest’s features had to be put on hold when a ferocious knocking at the door made her wince.
The mystery man grabbed both of her hands in his, the grip firm and warm. “I beg you, Finley’s sister. For the love of God, give me asylum.”
Staring into those eyes made her pulse flutter. Refusing to be won over by something so superficial as masculine charm, she cocked her head toward the kitchen doorway. “Stay in there. Don’t make a sound.”
When he disappeared, she wiped her palms on the legs of her jeans and took a deep breath. This time she opened the door all the way as if she had nothing to hide. “May I help you?” she asked pleasantly.
Two short, stocky men carrying fancy cameras stared past her intently. The professional-grade lenses of their cameras were huge. They could probably see footsteps on the moon. Or photograph film stars frolicking nude on a hidden beach. Bella had been a child when Princess Diana died fleeing paparazzi. She didn’t know what her mystery guest had done to deserve this treatment, but in an instant, she was on his side.
Bella repeated her question. “May I help you?”
“We’re looking for a bloke. Six three, brown hair, green eyes.”
She smiled gently. “Sounds hard to miss. But sorry. I can’t help you.” She settled herself in the doorway more deliberately as the men became restive.
One of them frowned. “Are you saying you haven’t seen him? He was running up this hill, and yours is the only house up here.”
“I would think if he were being chased…” She lifted her nose and grimaced. “He could have doubled back and headed down to the harbor. We’ve all sorts of boats down there, you know. I imagine your quarry is out on the water and long gone by now.”
For the first time, the reporters looked crestfallen, but no more so than the gaggle of women standing behind them. “You swear you haven’t seen him?”
Under oath, or confronted with a uniformed officer, she might have replied differently. Given the circumstances, she chose to sin by omission. “Good day, gentlemen. And good luck with your hunt.”
Then she closed the door in their faces. Leaning her back against it, she ran a trembling hand over her damp forehead. “You can come out now,” she said.
Her fugitive returned from the kitchen, his body language a mix of sheepish relief and guilt. “Thank you, Finley’s sister. You’ve saved me. I’m Ian Larrimore.”
She pointed at an armchair by the fireplace. “Sit there and don’t move a muscle until I’ve talked to my brother.”
“Yes, ma’am.” His hangdog expression was patently false. Nevertheless, he did as she asked.
Finley answered on the third ring, his voice slightly grumpy. Bella didn’t care. Finley had a bad habit of playing matchmaker where his little sister was concerned. If this was one of his elaborate schemes to put eligible men in her path, she would nip that in the bud immediately.
Ian picked up a magazine and flipped through it, seemingly unconcerned. Bella stepped into the kitchen and lowered her voice, keeping an eye on the intruder. “What’s going on, Finley? There’s a man here who claims he knows you. Ian Larrimore? Does that ring a bell?”
“Of course it does.”
“Tell me the truth. Is this a set-up? Did you think I was going to be lonely here without you?”
“Ian’s in trouble,” Finley said, clearly avoiding the question. “I told him he could lay low for a few weeks in the guest room.”
On the surface, the explanation seemed feasible. Finley’s home was listed on the island’s B&B registry. At Finley’s suggestion, Bella was sleeping in the master suite while bride and groom were traveling, so the guest room was available. Still, Bella was suspicious.
She lowered her voce even further. “What’s wrong with him? Why is he in trouble? I don’t want to get mixed up in something illegal.”
Finley sighed, his disgust coming through loud and clear even across the miles. “Give me some credit, Sis. It’s nothing like that. Do you have your laptop handy?”
She frowned. “Yes. It’s here on the kitchen table. Why?”
“Google Ian’s name. It’s easier than me trying to explain.”
With Ian seemingly engrossed in a motorcycle magazine, Bella sat down and switched the phone to her left hand. With her free hand, she typed in what she needed and stared at the top hit. It was the website for a well-known entertainment magazine. Not one of the nastier tabloids, but simply a pop culture, lots-of-photographs publication.
The lead story was hard to miss. Meet the twenty most eligible bachelors in Great Britain. She sighed audibly. “Seriously, Finley? You stuck me with a society playboy?” Ian’s name was number two. Prince Harry, understandably, had snagged the top slot. Hard to compete with royalty.
“It’s not like that, Bella. Ian’s a scientist. An engineer. He hates all the attention. It’s ruined his life. All I’m asking is that you let him hide out for a couple of weeks ‘til this blows over.”
“Your trip to Greece was supposed to also be my six weeks of peace and quiet. So I could work on my research. You’re not playing fair, Finley.” She loved nothing more than solitude and getting lost in her books.
“He won’t get in your way, I swear. The man’s as much of a hermit-nerd as you are.”
“Hermit-nerd? That’s a bit insulting, don’t you think?”
“Are you saying it isn’t true?”
Her brother’s teasing made her smile reluctantly. “No. But I’m still miffed at you. If I find out you’re trying to marry me off again, you’re in big trouble.”
“Never crossed my mind,” Finley swore. “You and Ian are too much alike. It would never work. His IQ might even be higher than yours. I shudder to think what your offspring would be like. They’d probably come out of the womb talking in complete sentences.”
“Can we please quit discussing my reproductive organs and get back to the fact that you double-booked your house?”
“What was I going to do, Bella? The man was desperate.”
“Fine.” She sighed, closing her computer. “But you owe me for this one.”
“No problem. My lovely wife has already picked out some ridiculously expensive Greek jewelry to bring back to you.”
“It may take more than shiny baubles to make up for this.”
“Whatever you say. Relax, Bella. Ian is harmless. You won’t even know he’s there.”
Bella ended the call and stood in the doorway, assessing her new guest. At the moment, he seemed perfectly calm and content. Not at all like the man she had met half an hour ago.
She joined him in the other room, wishing she had put on something more impressive than faded jeans and an old college T-shirt that morning. “Finley vouched for you. And he explained about the whole magazine thing. I suppose I have no choice but to allow you to stay. It’s not my house, after all.”
“I’m sorry to put you out,” Ian said with a lopsided smile that conveyed remorse and regret. “I’ll try to stay out of your way.”
Since the man was well over six feet tall and exuded raw, shiver-inducing sex appeal, Bella found that highly unlikely. “A few ground rules,” she said tartly. “No loud music.”
“I use headphones.”
“You clean up after yourself in the kitchen.”
“I’m a neat freak.”
“No more asking me to lie to the paparazzi.”
Ian stood and stretched. The bottom edge of his shirt rode up, revealing two inches of flat, hard, tanned masculine abdomen. “I understand, lass. ’Twas not fair of me. But in my defense, that ravening pack of wolves has been at my heels for the past two weeks. I haven’t been able to leave my flat. My mail has been filled with strange boxes…women sending me their underwear…” He trailed off, shuddering and wincing.
“I assume you have to be rich to make that list,” Bella said. “Don’t tell me you have a title, too.”
He shook his head. “No, thank the Lord. I come from a very ordinary small village outside of Glasgow. The only reason I made that bloody bachelor list is because I patented a rescue apparatus that was picked up by the Royal Navy and others. Turned out to be lucrative. That wasn’t why I did it. The money’s still in the bank. I’m jabbering. I’ll shut up now. In my defense, I’m not very good at small talk.”
Bella stared at him, feeling her heart do a funny flip. Clearly money wasn’t the only reason Ian Larrimore had landed on the eligible bachelor list. Either he was being modest, or he truly was as endearingly humble as he seemed. Surely a man as smart as he was could take an honest look in the mirror.
“Where do you live now?” she asked.
“London. And you?”
“North Carolina. In the States.”
“I hear it’s lovely there.”
“It is.”
Good grief. Nothing like two introverts to get a conversation buzzing. This was exactly why she liked being alone. People were so much work, especially people of the opposite sex. She ran her hands through her hair. “Where is your luggage?”
His cheeks reddened. “I abandoned my car on a side street in town. I’ll sneak out after dark and retrieve it.”
“Okay.”
Ian shifted from one foot to the other. He was so tall he dwarfed the low-ceilinged space. Finley had inherited this quaint and cozy house from its previous owner, an old man who needed help with chores. He had given Finley room and board years ago in exchange for an able-bodied young man’s help with things that were too difficult for him to manage.
Ian picked up his high-end leather backpack. “I’m assuming Finley has Wi-Fi. If you’ll point me to my quarters, I’ll get out of your hair.”
The man’s Scottish accent was a delight. Now that Bella was surrounded by the speech patterns of the Highlands on a daily basis, you’d think she would have become immune to the wonderful cadences of the native tongue. But it wasn’t so. Hearing Ian’s mundane words was like listening to poetry.
Bella nodded. “Of course. Follow me.” As she led him up the narrow stairs, she was ruefully aware that her days of wandering around the house each morning in a T-shirt and undies were over. If she wanted to get up and read at three in the morning, she’d have to be careful not to let the stairs creak when she tiptoed down to the kitchen for a cup of tea.
Darn Finley and his careless hospitality! Already, Bella had begun to feel a sense of ownership in this delightful house. With her brother gone for an entire month, she had plenty of time to play tourist and write and dream.
Now it wouldn’t be the same at all.
She stepped aside to let Finley enter the immaculate guest room. Although not luxurious, the space was comfy and appealing. “You’re lucky Cinnamon wasn’t here,” Bella said suddenly. “She’s at the dog groomer, but she wouldn’t have been too happy about me letting a stranger through the front door.”
“Cinnamon?”
“She’s a beautiful English Cocker.”
“Ah, yes. I met her last year… when I came to pick up my bike.”
Bella’s brother built one-of-a-kind, incredibly expensive motorcycles. His usual clients were movie stars and royalty. Ian must be extremely comfortable financially to be able to afford such a toy. That fact didn’t impress her in the least. She’d had plenty of opportunities to discover a man’s bank balance wasn’t a good indicator of his character.
She held out her hand. “I think you’ll find everything you need. I’ll dig out a spare house key for you later on and leave it on the hall table.”
Her guest nodded, making her feel unaccountably guilty. His green eyes crinkled at the corners. “Thank you.” He paused and grimaced. “I assume your last name is Craig? But I don’t know your first name.”
“It’s Bella. Short for Arabella. That was too much of a mouthful, so my parents shortened it.”
He tested the mattress with one hand. “Bella. The name suits you.”
There was no overt flattery in his tone or expression, but the words were definitely a compliment. Which left Bella flustered and out of sorts. “I have work to do,” she said. “Make yourself at home.”
She fled to her room, remembering for no particular reason the miserable day before her senior prom when Dusty Bennett decided at the last minute to take a date who was blonder and dumber than Bella. He’d told her guys didn’t like girls who were too smart.
Even then Bella had recognized what a total ass he was. But the careless rejection hurt nevertheless. She’d spent half a decade trying to be smart without letting anyone know. In the end, the playacting had become too much of a burden. She was who she was.
Even so, really handsome men made her nervous. She preferred nerds, as her brother so blithely described them. Male or female, they were her people. It wasn’t that she thought superficial social interactions and pop culture were unimportant. It was just that she had so many other things that interested her.
In the bathroom she splashed water on her hot cheeks and brushed her hair. Staring into the mirror she faced a woman who was average for the most part. Her eyes were large and a nice shade of blue. A nose that was a bit off center. A chin that was more sharp than feminine.
She did like her hair…most days. It was thick and healthy and required little effort on her part to be presentable. Although she had been known to use a curling iron and hairspray on special occasions, most days she simply caught it up in a ponytail and went about her business.
Suddenly, as she sifted through memories of the past half hour, something about Ian’s appearance surprised her. Though he was striking enough to be a film star, his clothes struck an odd note. The tweed jacket he wore was frayed at the cuffs and an inch too short for his long arms. His pants were wrinkled. Even his socks were mismatched.
It had been a very long time since a man had interested Bella in any way other than cerebrally. Ian Larrimore might have an impressive brain, but it wasn’t his IQ that was getting her all hot and bothered.
This was a very inconvenient time for her hormones to go haywire. She was here to work on her dissertation. To soak up the history hidden in the rocks and the hills, to immerse herself in the magic that was Scotland.
She definitely didn’t need a man to distract her from her goals.
Fortunately, Ian seemed set on making her dislike him from the start. When she went downstairs at six that evening to make herself a sandwich and a cup of tea, he showed up in the kitchen with an envelope in his hand. “This is for you,” he said, prowling around the small room with the old-fashioned appliances.
The envelope was full of twenty pound notes. She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
The man with the supposedly stratospheric IQ shrugged. “I don’t know how to cook. In London I order take away. That’s not really much of an option here in Portree. I can’t expect you to absorb the cost of feeding me. So I’m compensating you for your trouble and expense.”
Bella’s ire began to simmer. “You want me to feed you?”
Ian’s green-eyed gaze was guileless. “Well, if you’re going to prepare meals for yourself, I assumed it wouldn’t be that much of a bother to double the recipes. I’d be ever so grateful.”
Bella pushed her chair back from the table and stood, wishing she were half a foot taller so she could spit in his eye. “Unbelievable,” she said. “I’m a woman, therefore I must be willing and able to cook. Is that what you’re implying?”
“I meant no disrespect. The ability to cook is a valuable skill.”
“But a feminine one.” He should have been alarmed by the ice in her voice, but the poor man forged ahead anyway.
“Aye. It’s often the lasses who are best at it. I wouldn’t know. My own mum ran away when I was a young child. My father hired a combination nanny/housekeeper to look after us. She was no dab hand in the kitchen, I’ll tell you, but at least we didn’t go hungry.”
The fact that Ian had lost his mother at a young age just as Bella had lost hers slowed her down for half a second, but she was too riled up to make peace now. She shoved the puffy envelope against his chest, forcing him to grab for it. “Well, I suppose you’ll go hungry, Mr. Larrimore. I’m not your mother, your nanny, nor your housekeeper. So I’d suggest you learn how to fry an egg.”