To Tempt a Scotsman (Somerhart 1)

She speared him with a look of disgust. "I can plan a dinner for thirty in my sleep. It's not so difficult."

Collin rubbed a hard hand over his face.

"I have the life I want, for now at any rate. But it is lonely sometimes. That is where you came in."

"Like a rabbit into a wolf's den."

She snorted and the sound brought a smile to his lips. Her eyes brightened, and his anger dissolved like mist before the sun, proving just how stupid he was for this woman.

"You should not have misled me." Even he recognized it for a pitiful reproach.

"I know and I understand that you'll leave now. I will not hold it against you."

"I should leave. And so should you. But I don't neces­sarily want to."

Her eyes blinked at him. Twice. Then she stared. Collin pulled his feet under him and stood, held out his hand to her. "Why don't we go for a walk? I noticed a trail through the woods."

"Oh. Yes, all right." With a small shake of her head, she stood also, eyes wide. "I'd like to change first, if you don't mind waiting."

"Not at all."

She flashed a nervous smile and darted from the room and up the stairs.

Frowning, Collin stared at the ceiling, listening to the click of her boots above him and wondering what the hell he was doing.

He might stay?

Alex stripped off her clothes and threw them on the floor before remembering she had to keep them clean and unwrin­kled herself. She'd brought only a satchel, after all. So she picked up the riding habit, brushed it with a hasty slap, and hung it carefully in the wardrobe before stepping back to stare at the other choices. Three simple dresses she could wear over her loosened corset. A light wrap. She hadn't thought she'd have much use for any of them. Shrugging, Alex pulled out the lilac dress, dug a shift from a drawer, and began to dress, trying not to imagine what Collin was planning.

He might stay. Apprehension and excitement fizzed in her chest. She hadn't thought of him staying and now she wondered if she even wanted him to. How could she pos­sibly tell him she had no wish to . . . to. . . take him inside her again?

A sigh of frustration escaped her mouth. What a mess she'd made of this. Perhaps he'd been right after all. Per­haps she wasn't the type of woma

n who could carry on a casual affair. Still, she felt like that kind of woman.

A quick glance at her reflection made her cringe. She didn't look like a mistress, she looked tired and pale, and the knot she'd pulled her hair into didn't help. She jerked out the pins and did her best to smooth out the tangled curls, then lifted her skirt to her ankles to frown at her boots. They weren't made for walking, but neither were the one pair of silk slippers she'd shoved into her bag. Her rump hit the floor with a smack, and she tugged off the black riding boots. Barefoot again. That seemed best. But she'd have to ask Collin to fasten the back of her dress.

Torn between stalling and hurrying, she finally stood and left the room. Below, she found Collin already outside, his brown hair glinting copper in the sun.

Her chest tightened at the sight of him, so straight and stern. She felt like weeping, though she didn't know why. . . relief that he was no longer so angry with her maybe. Or something more?

Curls flying with a quick shake of her head, Alexandra straightened her spine and pushed away the thought of loving him. He'd made it clear how he felt about her—liked her well enough, she supposed, but not so well as to trust her. And the chance of the man ever declaring undying love to anyone brought a smile to her lips. Her staid, serious Scotsman. Far too in control to love beyond reason. Fine, then. She would not love him either. And she certainly wouldn't try mating with him again.

They strolled along the path, heading toward the green archway of trees past the stable. She was conscious of the foot of space between them, conscious that they should have been holding hands or walking so close as to brush the other's clothing. Instead, they went awkward and uneasy, silence a boulder between them.

She vowed she would not start the conversation, regard­less that the quiet made her itch. What could she say? Please stay. Stay and make love to me, but keep that thing to yourself, if you don't mind. No, that would probably be the beginning of a bad end between them. My God, who would've thought she'd be half-hoping for him to leave on their second day together?

"I should leave," he said suddenly, with such darkness she thought he must be talking to himself. "I should leave," he repeated, looking to her this time. "But I do believe some of your pragmatism is rubbing off on me."

"My pragmatism?" Her distracted mind noticed the glint of water through the trees just over his shoulder.

"I'm angry on one hand, but on the other. . ." He ran a hand through his hair. "A little voice in my head whispers, 'It is done now. Where is the harm?'"

"And what do you say to that little voice?"

His bitter chuckle tickled her belly. "I say nothing. I tremble before it."

Oh, God. "Collin, I. . ." She stumbled over words and wrapped shaking hands in her skirts to hide them. His brows rose in question. "I don't. . . I don't think we fit."