Isle of Mull was one of the most picturesque of the Scottish Isles. The terrain ranged from softly rising mountains cloaked in fragrant pines to wind-savaged stretches of coast framed by the winding single-track roads that skirted the island. Toni was certain she had a bruise for each rut in the road that bisected the small fishing village of Tobermory.
The island, usually a mecca of solitude, was inundated with visitors. The little hamlets teamed with campers and day trekkers who’d come not only for the field trial but because of Mull’s deep burns and shaded glens, pretty greenness and hushed beauty. In short, Mull made as spectacular a setting as a sheepherding competition could want. Indeed, the local inhabitants had raised a fair around the official trial proceedings.
There were handlers, trainers, owners, spectators, and families, all enjoying the festival atmosphere. As such, every small inn and bed-and-breakfast on the island had been booked.
It was pure chance that Dev and Toni walked into a farmhouse B&B just as the proprietress was taking a phone cancellation. The rate she quoted them was outrageous. Toni could see by the set of Dev’s jaw that he didn’t like being taken advantage of, but he looked at her wind-burned face, and the combativeness drained from his expression.
“Fine, we’ll take it,” he said. She looked at him gratefully, and his expression softened further.
The stout, grim Scotswoman led them up a steep flight of stairs, her back stiff with disapproval as she flung open the small door and stood aside. The room inside was charming, decorated in pale blue-sprigged wallpaper and starched white cotton eyelet curtains. A delft-blue slipper chair stood at the foot of a single white bed…single…
Toni’s gaze flew to Dev’s face. He was regarding the narrow white counterpane with bland disinterest. An image of all six-foot-whatever of him and all six-foot-one-and-one-half-inch of her together on that bed flooded her imagination. They wouldn’t be able to draw breath without smashing into one another.
But there was really nowhere else either of them could sleep. The slipper chair was too dainty, and the floor, well, only a braided rag rug covered the rough boards. If Dev felt as battered as she did, he wouldn’t be thrilled at the prospect of camping out. She steeled herself against weakening. Too bad. Just because she’d acted like…like some sort of nympho yesterday didn’t mean she was easy. Not that he’d given any indication he— She frowned. What was wrong with him anyway?
“Do you have anything else?” she asked the proprietress. “Anything with a bigger bed?”
“This ain’t Cupid’s gymnasium, missie,” the Scotswoman clipped out. Toni’s lips twitched, her humor restored.
“Believe me, lady,” she answered, “Cupid could shoot his entire quiver into my hind end, and I wouldn’t so much as twitch. We just want to sleep.” She turned to Dev. “Right?”
He nodded. “Right.”
Toni scowled. He needn’t be so agreeable.
“Well, you’ll have to make do,” their hostess said, not in the least mollified. “This is all that’s available, and yer lucky to have it. How many days did you say ye’ll be staying?”
Dev grimaced. “Best make it two.” He held up his hand, stopping Toni’s protest before it began. “Look. You’ve seen the place. It’s overrun. If we don’t find McGill tomorrow, we’ll need to look until we do. If time gets too tight, you can hire a car to get you to Glasgow.”
“Oh, yeah?” she said, trying unsuccessfully to keep the panic out of her voice. “And who’s going to pay for this car? I’m maxed out on my credit card!”
The proprietress nailed her with a glower that proclaimed her every dark suspicion justified. “If you’re staying two days, I’ll be needing the next day’s rent. In advance. In cash.”
“Smooth move, Minnesota,” Dev muttered, pulling out his wallet. He peeled off three-quarters of his remaining bills and plopped them in the woman’s outstretched hand. “And I’ll pay for your car, if it comes to that. It’s the least I can do for all the trouble McGill has caused.”
The woman sniffed once, to make sure she left no doubt about her opinion on her two new tenants’ morals, and left, closing the door behind her.
“Okay,” Dev said, moving toward the bed and flopping down on his back in the middle, “I’ve got thirty pounds ten in my wallet. If we don’t eat too much, that should last us the next few days.” He eyed her up and down. “I suspect you eat a lot.”
And here she’d just been thinking how charming he’d been. “No more than any other Amazon,” she said flatly, winning a laugh from him.
She swung her backpack up onto the slipper chair. The day’s drive had flung mud all over her jeans, and her once pink sweater looked more “ashes of roses” if one was being kind, “dingy Kool-Aid stain” if one wasn’t.
“Not to worry,” Dev said from behind her. “We’ll eat on the cheap, but we’ll eat well. It’s something of a point of pride with me.”
He really was being awfully nice. And he hadn’t once brought up her outrageous behavior of the previous day. She owed him an apology and, by gum, she’d give him one. There was a reason the media had coined the term “Minnesota Nice.” Most of them thought nice was synonymous with placid.
Toni knew differently. She suspected the Minnesotan temperament was the result of a gene seeded eons ago during the interminably long Scandinavian winters, when frigid weather kept people huddled inside together for weeks on end. If you didn’t learn to keep your thoughts to yourself and remain obstinately polite in the face of any provocation, you’d likely end up arguing with, say, Uncle Sven—who didn’t tolerate cabin fever very well, but had had the foresight to bring his ax with him into Der Winterhut. Those who made it through the “long night” in one piece were generally those predisposed to reticence. Yup, everything she’d done after that fourth Scotch had been totally out of character and she needed to own up to her sins.
She drew a deep breath and turned to face Dev. “I’m sorry for whooping at you like that yesterday, and, ah…for trying to look up your kilt, and for, er, any untoward comments I might have made. Did make.”
He’d folded his hands behind his head and was regarding her oddly. “Did you just say ‘untoward’? I didn’t think people really spoke like that except in old Merchant-Ivory films.”
She would not be sidetracked. She needed to do this. “We use those words in Minnesota. Sometimes. If warranted.”
“Warranted?”
“Stop it. I was rude. Please accept my apology.”
He grinned, an absolutely delicious, wicked, and incorrigible grin. “Don’t think twice about it.”
Women probably whooped at him all the time. “Thank you,” Toni said. “I mean it. You’ve been really decent about all this. I mean, here I’ve come to take your dog away, a dog you didn’t even know was sold, and you go out of your way to see that he’s returned to—”
“Hold on, Snow Princess. I’m reuniting you and McGill. I’m not conceding anything about Blackie yet, all right?”
“But he’s mine!”
“Nah-uh.” He shook his finger. “Not gonna discuss it until I hear McGill’s side of the story. Then, calmly and collectedly, we’ll all decide what we’re going to do about the situation.”
“I’ve told you. I don’t have the time or the money to sit around Scotland and let you decide anything. As far as I can see, you’re not even involved.”
“I own the dog.”
“Your manager, who I assume was invested by you with the authority to make these sorts of decisions, sold the dog to me.”
Aha! She had him. She could see it by the slight flicker in his eyes.
“Let’s just find McGill first. Agreed?”
What else could she do? She needed him, and he knew it. Not only did he have the financial resources to continue this search, he knew the land and the people. He knew who to ask, and what. She nodded unhappily, and he suddenly sat up, reached out, and chucked her lightly under the chin.
“Ach! Don’t be lookin’ like a lost lambikins, lassie. Things’ll come oot right as rain, ye’ll see.”
She couldn’t help but laugh at the thick accent.
The smile died from his mouth, but the warmth stayed in his eyes as he held out his hand. “Truce?”
She held out her hand. Slowly his long fingers wrapped around hers, their heat sinking into hers, just as the heat from his big body had warmed her all day, his solid breadth protecting her from the wind.
He was big, strong, quick-witted, and trustworthy. Oh, yeah. And drop-dead gorgeous.
He moved closer, his gaze becoming sharper, more intent. The air seemed to have fled her lungs, leaving her a little light-headed, a touch breathless. She could see the rise and fall of his chest beneath the soft, worn chambray shirt. He was breathing harder, too. His hand still held hers, tightening, drawing her nearer, and she was going, melting toward him like candle wax beneath a flame.
Warning bells went off just in time. What the devil was she doing? In three days she’d be gone and never see him again. She’d be chasing geese around golf courses in Minneapolis, and he’d be here, bricking up his castle walls, melting other women with his dimples and smoldering gaze. No matter what he said, no matter that she’d really believed him when he’d said there weren’t any notches in his bedpost, she wasn’t going to be the first because… Because why?
Because that’s not the type of woman she was.
She pulled back, smiling nervously. A flicker of irritation? distress? passed over his features, and then he let her go, turning aside, and the moment was gone. She felt empty and uncertain, as though she’d misunderstood something important. But a woman like her, a woman alone, with no one but herself to look after her, couldn’t afford to take chances with her heart.
Heart? What was the matter with her? Next she’d be convincing herself she was involved in the love affair of the century.
He walked past her, heading for the en suite bath. “I need a shower,” he said.
She opened her mouth to reply and slammed it shut.
He didn’t mean… Nah. They’d been on the road all afternoon. She needed a shower, too. But after he came out and it was her turn to clean up and she’d shed her dusty clothes and stepped into the tub and grasped the handle to turn on the water, she couldn’t help noticing the chrome was ice cold.
Somehow he was going to get through this night. He wasn’t precisely sure how yet, but if he kept her up long enough, he was certain he’d think of something. So far the best diversion he’d managed was to stumble around Fionnport’s three streets, eating pub grub and chatting up some of the local boys in hopes of finding McGill.
Happily, the old reprobate wasn’t to be found; the truth was that Dev was far more interested in being with Toni Olson than finding Donald McGill. And Dev had the oddest feeling Toni felt the same. Time and again they’d be laughing or discussing something, and Toni would suddenly get a frosty expression and withdraw from the conversation, as though she had to remind herself, and sternly too, that she was here on business and that theirs was simply an expedient and temporary relationship. She was right, of course. How could it be anything else? And it was for the best. It really was, because he had a feeling Toni Olson would take a lot of getting over if a man was so inclined. And he wasn’t…
But damn, he was having a hard time keeping his hands off her.
Especially now, when they were back in this warm, cozy room while the wind lashed the windows and the rain beat on the roof and she looked like something a man conjured from erotic dreams, sitting cross-legged on the bed, her hair spilling down her back, her eyes dark in the soft glow of the single lamp.
They’d also decided early on that the only sensible thing to do was share the bed, he on one side on top of the blankets, and her on the other, beneath. But since then, no one had mentioned it. Beds. Sleeping. Or anything vaguely related to either.
He glanced at the clock. It was twelve forty-five, and Toni was punch-drunk with fatigue. But she didn’t seem any more anxious to crawl into bed than he did. She squirmed on the bed, wincing a little.
“Something wrong?” he asked.
“Cramp in my calf. I’ve never ridden a bike that long before.”
He ducked his head guiltily. She’d spent more than an extra hour on that bike, clinging to him simply because he liked the feel of her there. He should make amends. He rose from the slipper chair and sat down at the foot of the bed, reaching out and encircling her ankle. She straightened, startled.
“Relax,” he said, drawing her leg out and over his thighs. Gently, he began massaging her calf, but the red cowboy boot impeded him in his self-assigned task. He grasped the heel of the boot and stripped it off her leg before working his fingers under her jeans and up her calf. He kneaded the svelte muscle deeply.
Had he thought of this as a task? He meant “penance.” She drew in a little hiss of pleasure, letting her head fall back, her throat arched for a lover’s kiss. She groaned. He tensed.
“That,” she said, “is incredible.”
This suddenly didn’t seem like such a great idea anymore. Sure, she might be feeling no pain, but the same could most definitely not be said for him. He had one hell of an erection, and he didn’t think he could stand another thirty minutes of frigid water.
“We better get to sleep,” he said suddenly, dumping her foot off his lap and avoiding her look of surprise. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”
She looked hurt. Hurt and bewildered, and his reaction, in his current state, was to become irritable. Couldn’t she understand he was trying his damnedest to be noble here? What was wrong with American women that they couldn’t appreciate a bloke’s gallantry?
He stood up. “You want the bathroom first?”
Her eyes shot sparks. She rose in one fluid, mouth-drying move and, without glancing at him, snagged her backpack from the floor, went into the bathroom, and closed the door.
Dev closed his eyes and prayed for a little self-understanding, a little bit of enlightenment as to what was going on here. He couldn’t remember ever being so powerfully attracted to a woman. Not only on the physical level, on other levels as well. It didn’t make sense. He’d known all sorts of wise, smart, pretty women. Okay, not too many had been built like Valkyries and had eyes that you’d never forget no matter how long you lived, or lips that smiled that easily, that piquantly.
It was probably just that she was American and therefore a little exotic… The door swung open, and Toni came out, blushing as red as a beet, but her expression defiant.
She was wearing a plaid negligee. An honest-to-God Black Watch plaid baby doll with little neon purple thistles forming spaghetti straps. But most startling, in place of panties she appeared to be wearing a piece of shag carpet, or a muppet, or a… With a start, Dev realized it was supposed to be a sporran. A fake fur sporran.
It should have been ridiculous. He should have been laughing himself sick. He wasn’t. His mouth was bone-dry, and he could feel his pulse hammering away in certain parts of his anatomy.
The deep vee of the neckline revealed twin mounds of pale honey-colored flesh and the fascinating valley between them. The silk fabric flirted with the tops of thighs so smooth and silky the light seemed to gild them. She put her hands on her hips, and the movement set her breasts jouncing. His throat closed.
What the hell did she think she was doing?
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, his voice rough.
“I grabbed the wrong backpack out of the van.”
“Huh?”
“I took the wrong backpack. I had two. One with my things in it, and one with souvenirs I’d brought for my friends. This was supposed to be a gift for my college roommate.”
“That?”
“A gag gift,” she bit off between clenched teeth, her fiery complexion burning even brighter.
“Well, you can’t wear that to bed.”
She stared at him, her mouth slackening before snapping shut and her eyes flashing. “What do you mean, I can’t wear it to bed?”
“Nah-uh.” He shook his head back and forth vigorously. He wouldn’t get an instant of sleep lying next to her knowing she was wearing nothing but that. “You’re not wearing that. Not if I’m going to share the bed with you.”
“Why?” she demanded. “Because this little number just jettisons me into the ranks of Ultimate Seductress? Right.” She cocked a brow, challenging him to agree.
What could he say? “No.”
She heaved a gusty sigh. “Oh, can it, Montgomery. I’ll be under the blankets.”
She thought he was mocking her. He felt the blood climb in his own throat this time, feeling more than a little ridiculous that the sight of her in that thing could affect him so.
She started to brush past him. He stepped in front of her, blocking her way. Anger, frustration, and the humiliating realization that she didn’t see him as a threat drove him. “You’ll be under me, if you wear that thing into that bed.”
She gasped, and the color drained from her cheeks, leaving her eyes looking even bluer than before. Blue like the heart of a flame. Blue as in blue words. Blue as in furious.
“Look,” he said, gritting his teeth. “You just go back in that bathroom and put back on that pink sweater thing and your jeans.”
Her eyes flashed more blue fire, but she didn’t say a word. She merely spun on her heels and marched back into the bathroom. Thank God. He relaxed. If he’d had to—
Splat!
A soggy, heavy wad of denim hit him squarely in the chest and fell to his feet. It was Toni’s jeans, sopping wet.
He looked up. She was still wearing that plaid baby doll, her arms crossed squarely over her breasts.
“I washed my jeans, but since you’re so hot and bothered, you can wear them!”
He stared at her, the wet splotch on his shirt spreading. She didn’t understand. Not at all.
“I’m tired,” she said grimly. “I’m going to bed. I suggest you do the same. Somewhere you can feel relatively certain you’ll be able to resist my irresistible allure.”
She paced past him and snatched the cover back from the bed, sat down, and snapped the blankets back over her. She glared at him once, scooted to the far side, and flipped over, presenting him with her back. “Men!”
The light blanket molded to her shoulders and followed the flowing line of her torso to the sharp dip at her waist before climbing the sweet, round curve of her hip. He stared at her.
Jeans or baby-doll plaid. Fully clad or half undressed. It didn’t matter at all. With a soft curse he strode over to the tiny slipper chair and flopped down in it. He made his hands relax over the ends of the arms and stared purposefully out the window into the black island night.
Toni must have drifted off to sleep, because when she opened her eyes, the room was steeped in darkness, only the light from the car park outside offering any illumination. She pushed herself to her elbows and looked around. She was alone in the bed. Dev was sprawled over the slipper chair, on the ottoman, and on a little table he must have dragged over to prop up one stocking-clad foot.
It was that drat stocking—argyle, of course—that tugged at her heart. Everything about Devlin Montgomery testified to his being self-possessed, confident, and supremely competent. But that sock, worn at the heel, bleached by too many washes, reminded her that he was only human, sometimes uncertain, even vulnerable. Even a little stupid in the way men were so often stupid: about women.
Like she really believed he found her irresistible in this stupid plaid nightie with its absurd polyester fur underpants. Worse, she’d suspected that he was making fun of her womanliness. She hadn’t been amused.
But that sock made her forget her anger and want him. Right now. She wanted to nip his strong, dark throat, to run her fingers through his crisp, tousled hair, to feel the rasp of his beard on her palms as she held his face and nibbled at his lower lip.
If only there were more time. But they didn’t have time, and how could she trust emotions and desires that had bloomed full-blown in one short day?