Much Ado About You

The question drew my attention to his mouth. A somewhat scruffy beard surrounded compelling lips, the bottom full in comparison to the top. My mother would call it a Harrison Ford mouth. I’d call it a Matt Davis mouth.

Oh my God, how long had I been staring at his mouth?

“We need to get you off this road.” He nodded encouragingly. “Are you okay to move? Or is my dog in danger of being sued?” That devastating mouth of his curled at the corners to let me know he was teasing.

Realizing I was staring at him like a moron, I glanced back at his dog. “I can move.”

“Are you hurt?” The stranger stood, pulling the Great Dane into his side with one hand, while he held out the other to me.

Still a little dazed, I reached for the proffered hand. Strong fingers curled around mine, and as he pulled me gently to my feet, his calloused palm rubbed against my softer one. A shiver skated down my spine, and I felt a little breathless. On my feet, I was startled to realize the man was a good few inches taller than me, the powerful breadth of his shoulders making his height seem even more substantial.

He grinned at me, a flash of white teeth, before he said, “We could stay here but Shadow might have to rescue us next. He’s acting like a wild thing, so I’m not sure he’s a good bet as a hero today. Unlike some people.”

I realized he had an accent like Milly. Although they both sounded a lot like Penny, the defining character of their accent—the “yuh” instead of “you,” the dropped g’s, and the abrupt final syllables—was less pronounced and easier to understand than Penny’s.

“Shadow, heel,” the man said, his tone sharp with demand. Then he tugged on my hand and led me across the road, with Shadow following closely.

Once on the sidewalk, I opened my mouth to thank the man, when a new voice stopped me. “Roane, is she okay?”

The man’s gaze moved beyond me, and I turned to see Milly from The Anchor standing at the top of the hill, her eyebrows knitted in concern. A group of people at her back were watching curiously.

“Everything’s fine, Milly,” the man called up to her.

She scowled at him. “What the bloody hell has gotten into Shadow?”

I felt a squeeze on my hand and looked down to see he was still holding it as he responded, “He’s only two and a half, Milly. Sometimes he regresses to puppy.”

She harrumphed at that. “You all right, Evie, lass?”

Grateful for her concern but feeling fine, I waved it away. “I’m good, thanks.”

With that, Milly nodded and turned back toward her pub.

“Evie, is it?”

My attention lowered to the hand the man had not yet released, before returning to his eyes. He seemed to study my every feature with open appreciation.

I shivered again.

“Did the fall affect your vocal cords? Or do you just not want me to know your name?”

“Evangeline Starling,” I blurted out, still feeling disoriented. “But everyone calls me Evie.”

His mouth spread into a wide smile, and his grip on my hand tightened as he gave it a little shake. “I’m Roane Robson. It’s nice to meet you, Evie Starling.”

Flustered by Roane’s intense regard, I pulled my hand out of his and took in the rest of him. Thick dark hair with a slight curl to it ruffled in the breeze coming up off the sea. A worn, forest-green cable-knit sweater covered his broad shoulders, a loose thread dangling from the hem. Dark-wash denim jeans, covered in mud splatters, were tucked into knee-high Wellington boots. His skin was olive toned, and considering it was May in England and still somewhat cool, he was naturally tan, or years of laboring out in the sun had given him a permanent tan.

Shadow was sitting at attention by his side, the dog’s head level with Roane’s waist. Roane rubbed the top of it absentmindedly. He seemed to understand the question in my eyes. “I’m the local farmer hereabouts.”

Now his clothing made sense.

Not that I minded his rugged appearance.

He was altogether the most masculine specimen I had ever come across. Even his voice was deep and rumbling. I felt that voice in places I had no business feeling it.

I did not come here to meet a gorgeous farmer. Even if he was looking at me as though he’d like to gobble me up. Seriously, his expression was so transparent and . . . awestruck.

A flush moved through me again. I was not a woman who inspired such open and blatant admiration. At least, I never had been.

“It was nice to meet you.” I looked down at the dog. “I’m glad he’s okay. He’s a beauty.”

“He’s my best pal and that arsehole tourist was too busy looking at his phone and not the road. He would have hit him if you hadn’t dragged him out of the middle of the street.” Roane stepped toward me, and my skin tingled with awareness. “Please tell me you’re not just visiting for one day. I’d love to buy you a drink in thanks.”