don’t need an escort?”
“I’m thinking crime is probably not high on the list of problems in your little burg. I’m betting I can safely cross the square. But I appreciate the offer. Good-night.” She lifted her hand, then paused for just a second, staring at him. Then her cheeks went pink again and she abruptly turned and headed off in a straight line toward the hotel. She didn’t look back.
“Good-night,” he responded, only realizing when she disappeared inside the front hotel doors that he’d stood there watching her the entire way, much as he had earlier today when she’d driven out of his life. Or so he’d thought. Shaking his head, he turned and made the trek around the pub to the rear lot. “Curious bird,” he murmured, then vowed to put her out of his mind. He heard the music pulsing inside the pub, and was surprised by the sudden urge he had to step back inside. He’d made the decision to come down tonight to assuage the Lettys of the village—hiding from them hadn’t worked out too well, so perhaps it was better to join them—and also because he’d wanted to make sure they weren’t working themselves into some frenzy over the idea of being on the American telly.
For the most part, he’d enjoyed himself. Enough so, that he looked forward to making it a more regular event. But if he went back in there now, he’d be hounded about Erin, or worse, thrown at somebody local who wouldn’t be checking out of her hotel room and leaving town in the morning. Better to let them have their hopes and dreams, at least for the remainder of the evening. It was a small enough town. They’d all know soon enough that Erin had checked back into her hotel room immediately. Alone.
And by then he’d be safely back on his mountain. When he descended into town again, they’d all have long forgotten about the crazy American. Once calmer heads had prevailed, they’d see he’d been right to turn her down. Glenbuie did not need to be turned into an American reality show spectacle to remain economically sound. They were doing just fine, and would continue to do so. Just as soon as he got that bed and breakfast open.
His mind mercifully turned to the list of jobs he had lined up for tomorrow, starting with calls to track down the parts needed to fix the loo. His mind wandered down the list, mentally adding on to it, but as he drove around the square and past the hotel, he couldn’t keep from glancing up at the windows…and wondering which room she was in. Was she dressing for bed? Was she already, right now, naked in the shower? His mind immediately flashed on that image, and for a split second, he was sorry he’d been so quick to dismiss her.
His body stirred again at the idea of where the evening could have gone instead, and he couldn’t lie to himself and say it wouldn’t have felt damn good. She might not be a head turner, but she had intrigued him. He’d turned into something of a recluse while getting Glenshire up and running, but he wasn’t a monk. He just lived like one. For now. Small towns made anonymous flings impossible and he didn’t have the time or energy to run into the city for anything other than plumbing supplies.
He slowed, glanced up at the only window that was lit up, the one on the top floor. She’d likely gotten his attention only because she’d been available and not a local. Even monks had needs. He pressed down on the gas and drove out of the village and toward home before he could do something really foolish. She might be leaving in the morning, but she wanted something from him that he wasn’t willing to give. And no way was he giving her another shot at convincing him, especially in that kind of situation. He hadn’t spent much time with her, but enough to know she was a determined sort. Determined enough to swap sex for a favor? He couldn’t say.
Miles of moonlit green fields and stacked stone boundary walls passed by him in a blur as his thoughts stubbornly refused to abandon the track he’d stupidly put them on. So fine, he let his mind wander. No harm in that. He’d be home shortly, where there was a cold shower waiting for him. He smiled. Or maybe a hot one, with a lot of slippery soap. Like he’d said, even monks had needs. He might have to embellish reality a bit to get the job done, but she’d never have to know.
He thought it was pretty funny actually…here she’d come to Glenshire looking for something from him, only to go away empty-handed. While, this evening anyway, he was going to be anything but empty-handed.
Chapter 4
E rin had just climbed out of the shower, where she’d spent a very unsuccessful thirty minutes trying to get Dylan Chisholm, hot Scot, out of her mind, and back on Dylan Chisholm, manor owner and sole obstacle to her keeping her job, back into it. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been standing there with hot, steamy water streaming over her body as she rubbed lavender-scented soap all over her skin. “Yeah, that might have helped,” she muttered, rubbing her hair dry with another towel, then shaking it out. “Or not.” She sighed and pulled on her gray boxer shorts and faded Lakers shirt. She glanced at the bedside clock. One in the morning. Check out was at eleven. Didn’t give her much time to develop a battle plan.
At the moment, her plan was to track down Daisy MacDonnell in the morning at her stationery store. She was both a fellow American and Reese Chisholm’s fiancée. Erin had met her earlier today during her first visit to Hagg’s. Daisy was a former advertising guru who’d escaped the rat race in the States upon inheriting her aunt’s shop. She hadn’t left her career behind, though. She’d brought the internet to Glenbuie and had been successful in putting up websites for the distillery, along with a number of the village shops, as well as one advertising Glenshire as a bed and breakfast. In fact, she’d been the one who’d first brought up the idea of Erin checking out Glenshire for her show when they’d all been sitting at the bar eating Marta’s stew.
Seeing as how Daisy had worked with Dylan in creating the website, Erin hoped maybe she had some insight on what other kind of approach to take. Other than going back to Brodie, or one of the other Chisholm brothers—and they seemed more interested in getting their brother laid than anything else—she wasn’t sure what else to do.
She was just about to climb into bed when there was a knock on the door. Startled, she immediately looked around for something else to pull on. Could Dylan have come back? It was a small enough village that everyone in it probably knew what room the American was staying in.
“Front desk with a message,” came a lilting female voice on the other side.
Erin rolled her eyes. “You only think you’re in Brigadoon,” she muttered. “You’re still Cinderella before the ball and there’s no fairy godmother in sight.” Clearly needing to get over herself, she walked to the door in her boxers and T-shirt, because, honestly, who cared? She opened the door to find a young woman named Amelia standing there, according to her hotel name badge, anyway.
She gave Erin a bright, but apologetic smile. “Sorry to disturb, but the light was still on, and I thought you might be wantin’ this.” She handed Erin a folded piece of stationery.
“Thanks.” Erin took the note, then patted her gym shorts for change she immediately realized she wasn’t carrying. “Wait, let me get you—”
“Oh, that won’t be necessary,” Amelia said, cheerfully waving away the tip. “We’ll prosper well enough when the camera crews arrive.”
Oh god . Erin opened her mouth to warn the perky Amelia not to count her chickens, but the young woman had already gone merrily off, back down the hallway toward the elevators. Erin watched her depart, thinking she’d have been only half surprised to see the young clerk suddenly burst into song and perform a perfectly choreographed dance routine down the carpeted corridor, quite naturally involving the two maids and one bellman she passed along the way. Brigadoon indeed.
Erin clicked the door shut and thought it was a good thing Dana wasn’t here. Her assistant would be having a field day if she only knew
