Can't Stop the Feeling (Sinclair Sisters 2)

“Aye.” Duncan stroked her hair before taking his seat. “That’s how it is.”

As Duncan and Marcus started a staring contest, Donna slowly floated back to reality. “Would it be faster if someone just peed on me to mark their territory?”

Marcus made gagging noises while Duncan shot her a look of bewildered disgust. She shrugged and reached for a breadstick.

“Don’t hurt her,” Marcus pointed at Duncan, who nodded once.

As Marcus turned to leave, Donna called after him. “I’m going to need cake. Send in the dessert menu.”

There was no way she’d get through this evening without it. Hermione was right. This date was a bad idea—on so many levels.

***

It took all of Duncan’s meagre self-control not to follow Marcus and teach him not to poach from another man. If the kiss didn’t make him back off, then Duncan planned on coming into town in the morning and having a wee word with the man—using his fists.

“Will you stop glaring at the door?” Donna said, bringing his attention back to her.

Man, but he loved the colour of her lips after he’d kissed her. He needed to get that look into a painting. The thought of painting Donna after an afternoon in bed together left him feeling light-headed. He grabbed his water, took too large a gulp and ended up choking.

“Are you okay?” She got up to rub his back. “We can go home if this is stressing you out. I don’t mind.” The concern in her eyes told him she was telling the truth. This wasn’t just another attempt to get out of their dinner.

“I’m fine. I swallowed the wrong way. Sit back down and tell me what you do in your free time.”

She froze while bending to sit. “You want to know what I do in my free time?”

“Aye.” Was asking that something else he shouldn’t be doing? He needed a bloody dating manual.

She sat down, smoothed the skirt of her dress and then sipped at her water. All the while keeping her eyes on him, with a look that made him wonder if he was growing another head.

“It’s no’ a hard question,” he grumbled. “I only want to talk about something that isn’t to do with the mansion.”

“Ooookaaay.” She put the glass down. “I hang out with my sisters. And I used to babysit for Isobel, but she’s in London now.”

He looked around for something else to say. This was brutally painful, but outside of the mansion, he had no idea what to talk to her about. He didn’t have the patience to watch TV, and he’d lost interest in reading when Fiona died. All he did with his time was pace the confines of his home like a caged tiger, work out in the gym, and harass Donna. Well, what did you know? He did have a hobby after all—annoying his housekeeper.

He cleared his throat. “Did you always want to be a housekeeper?” As soon as the question was out of his mouth, he remembered he’d forced her into taking the job in the first place. “Forget that. How are your sisters and the kids?” At last, a safe topic. He hoped.

“Fine. Mairi’s starting a matchmaking business. A

gnes sits her final exams for her hotel management degree soon. Isobel’s working as a receptionist at her husband’s security company. Jack loves school, and Sophie has a London accent now.” She sounded wistful, and he imagined she must miss her niece and nephew.

“How old are they?”

“The kids?”

He nodded.

“Jack’s seventeen now, and Sophie just turned four.”

“Difficult ages for both of them,” he said, because he didn’t know what else to say and that sounded like something someone normal would say.

“Aren’t all ages hard?”

“Aye.”

They lapsed into another heavy silence, and Donna nervously spilled pepper while fidgeting with the bottle, then spent the rest of her time making patterns with it on the white tablecloth. Every minute stretched until it was unbearable in its awkwardness. Which made him unreasonably thankful when the waiter came in with their meals.

Duncan was grateful they hadn’t ordered starters because it looked like the time it would take to get through their main course would be painful enough. He tried to remember if he’d always had this problem talking to women, but he couldn’t. It had been so long since he’d tried, and when he’d been in art school, he’d talked art—or politics. The people around him had plenty of opinions on both.