EIGHTEEN
“Mistress Mellie?”
The soft Scottish accent came from above her head as Mellie tied her shoe. She recognized that voice. It was him.
“I would have speech with ye.”
She hit her head on the counter when she stood. “Ow.” Rubbing her forehead, she glared at the man standing in front of her, who was trying—unsuccessfully, she might add—to keep from laughing.
“Are ye hurt, lassie?”
“I’m fine. What on earth are you doing here? If anyone from the museum sees you, they’ll have you arrested.”
“Ach, dinna fash. No one is looking for me.”
The thief, Connor was his name, had the nerve to stride into the museum and stand there like he belonged. Though my goodness, he was something to behold, like a picture from a magazine come to life, the model stepping from the page to grant her one wish. The thick, dark hair to his shoulders, the strong jaw, eyes the color of denim, and an aura of utter confidence surrounded him, so strong that Mellie swore she could reach out and touch it—and maybe, just maybe, a bit would rub off on her? Then she’d march into the gallery and show Mr. Winston her work.
“Lass? Mistress Melissa?”
His voice pulled her from the lovely daydream. “Sorry. And it’s Mellie. Since I’ve seen your…well, you know, your…”
Connor laughed. “Did ye enjoy the sight of my fine arse?”
She rolled her eyes. He was so arrogant and a weirdo, and of course she was totally curious about him. Her fingers went to her lips, as she remembered that kiss in the hospital. The one she woke in the middle of the night thinking about.
The way he was looking at her made her want to crawl inside him, part the skin and muscle, wrap her hands around the bones—anything to figure out why he was utterly in command without doing a thing but standing there. The outside was perfection, so surely he must have some kind of imperfection on the inside? Something that made him doubt or question? Did he hide it deep or simply forbid the emotion? Compelled to find out, she reached out to touch him, enchanted. He spoke, breaking the spell, and she snatched her hand back, face burning.
“I was freed from that wretched place.”
“That wasn’t very long for you to get the help you need.” Was he telling the truth? Aunt Jilly had been gone over a year. Connor had only been there a little over a month.
“Did you find your ID and passport?”
He didn’t meet her gaze, instead staring at the people wandering through the museum.
“I hit my head and do not remember much. But I am certain I am no thief. I know my name and that I am a professor in Scotland, but that’s all.”
“I’m sorry you were hurt. So why were you in the museum?”
“I was looking at the swords, planned to borrow them for a course, but the storm addled my wits.”
Was he telling the truth? “What university?”
He looked at her.
“Where do you teach?”
“I dinna remember.”
Maybe he wasn’t a thief, but there was something off about him. He was too careful with his words.
“And lass?”
“Huh?” Still dazed, she stared at him.
“I am no thief. I have purchased my own blades to use.” He had the audacity to pat his jeans and shirt.
Eyes narrowed, Mellie poked him in the chest. “Do not tell me you brought swords into the museum. Are you out of your mind?”
His voice was rumbly and low, sliding over her like glaze on the roof of one of her houses. The soft burr pulled her close, wrapping her up like a warm blanket on a snowy night.
“You offend me greatly. My memory will return in time.”
He was right—she was being insensitive. “I’m sorry.”
“I would be naked without my blades.” He leered at her, and a snort escaped.
Telling herself not to picture him naked, she snuck a peek at her Cinderella watch and signed out of the register, pulling him away from the gift shop by the arm. She wasn’t fast enough.
“Mellie. Hold up.” Claire practically ran up to them and eyed Connor like a fox would eye the henhouse. “And who might you be?”
“Connor McTavish at yer service, lass.” He bowed, and Claire giggled.
“So nice to meet you.” Claire widened her eyes. “Thought you said the online dating was a bust. He’s fabulous.”
Connor pretended not to listen, but Mellie knew he was listening to every word. She had to get him out of here before Jacob saw him and made a scene. “We haven’t been together long.” She took a step back. “Got to run. We have dinner reservations.”
But Claire was already standing in front of Connor. “How did you two meet?”
“I became acquainted with Mistress Mellie at the museum.”
Claire turned. “You are so lucky, and that accent is delish.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, looking up at him with her impossibly green eyes. “How long have you two been dating?”
For a moment, Mellie thought Connor didn’t know what dating meant. It was too late to undo the lie, so she held her breath, anxious to hear what he’d say. He caught her eye and waggled his brows.
“Not long. But she is the only one for me.”
Claire sighed, and Mellie grabbed Connor’s arm. “Okay, bye. Have to be going now.”
She hurried him outside and down the street, not letting go of his hand until they reached the water. There she sat down on a bench looking out over the harbor.
“Why did you tell her we’re dating?”
He shrugged. “I thought of ye often whilst I was imprisoned in Mint Hill.” Connor sat next to her. “You were in distress, and I wished to aid ye.”
Mellie opened her mouth to tell him she was calling the cops so they could send the men in white coats, because he was still acting funny, but instead her traitorous mouth said, “Look, I need a boyfriend and you—” She waved a hand in the air. “You need normalcy. But there are strict conditions.”
He snapped his gaze to hers, eyes narrowed. And before she could change her mind, she looked him in the eye and blurted it out. After all, desperate times and all that crap.
“I kind of told my family we’ve been dating. It’s a long story, one I don’t want to get into, but I need a date for my big family reunion in a few weeks, on the Fourth of July.” She wiped damp palms on her pants.
“Don’t worry; it’s not like I want to marry you or anything—in fact, this is a ‘no benefits’ arrangement. I just need you to be my pretend boyfriend until the reunion is over. Then you can go back to Scotland. What do you say?”
Connor sprawled on the bench, taking up all the space. He lazily looked her up and down, one brow arched, a grin spreading wide across his face.
“Would I bed ye?”
“What? No, what part of ‘no benefits’ don’t you understand? There will be no bedding. My boyfriend dumped me over a month ago. On a stupid Facebook post. I’m so uninterested in a real boyfriend or any of the drama that comes along with a guy. Kissing and sex complicate everything. So forget it: no physical contact. None. At. All.”
The amazing kiss came to mind, but she ruthlessly shoved it in a dark corner of her brain. This was business, and it would work out perfectly if he toed the line.
“Harrumph.” The grin turned feral. “You’ll be begging me to kiss ye.”
“Never.”
He laughed, the sound rich and full, filling the air around them, cocooning them in a bubble.
“You’re way too hot for me. I prefer average guys; they don’t run off with your friends. Well, the last one left me for another woman, but she certainly wasn’t my friend.” She looked him up and down. “No, you wouldn’t do at all for a long-term boyfriend.”
Connor scowled. “Ye want me to woo ye but not to bed ye? Why should I say aye, lass? I need nothing from you.”
She jumped as he bellowed at her. “Um, do you have a place to stay while your ID is sorted?”
He opened his mouth then shut it. “Nay, lass.”
“I’ll let you sleep on my couch until you can get a replacement ID and passport and make arrangements to go back to Scotland.” Where on earth did that come from? Was she like Aunt Jilly after all?
The irritating man leaned over, elbows on his knees, not saying a word. The stubble on his cheek made her daydream of waking up on Sunday morning, eating breakfast in bed as they traded sections of the paper back and forth. She loved the Sunday paper—otherwise she was a complete online news person, but there was something about sharing an article, eating toast, and getting crumbs in the bed. He’d have tousled hair and sleepy eyes.
“Lass?”
Mellie was mortified to see her hand stroking his cheek while he looked highly amused, his eyes crinkling at the corners, mouth quirked up on one side.
“I thought ye dinna wish to touch me.”
She snatched her hand back and said in her most prim and proper voice, “It won’t happen again, trust me.”
“As ye say, lass. Let’s be going.”
She blinked at him, her mouth open, and shut it with a snap when she realized she must look ridiculous.
“So you’ll do it?”
“Aye, I will, lass.”
She knew she was making a huge mistake. Mellie only hoped he wasn’t going to turn out to be some kind of serial killer, and a week from now the neighbors would call the police, complaining about the stench, and when the authorities arrived, they would find her head in the freezer and the rest of her body parts scattered across the apartment, as he gnawed on her arm and left muddy footprints on the sofa.
A hysterical giggle escaped, and she shook her head when he gave her a questioning look.
“It’s nothing. Come on, let’s go.”
He had been looking around at everything as if he had never seen a small city before. A woman jogged by, and Mellie thought he was going to trip, his eyes bugging out of his head.
“Do all women dress in such a manner?” He pointed to the retreating back of the jogger.
“Of course. It’s hot. It’s just a sports bra and shorts.”
Mellie lived on the other side of the harbor in what had once been an old sugar-processing plant and had been turned into apartments. She loved her place, with its exposed brick and wide, scarred floors. The view was what made it. Huge floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the harbor, and the terrace was fabulous. When she’d first rented, it was in an iffy part of town, and over the past couple years the area had improved. Now it was considered “eclectic,” which really meant there was still some crime, but nothing like a big city. She turned the key in the door and invited him in, rather like inviting a vampire to cross the threshold.
“Please don’t let him murder me in my sleep,” she muttered.