assistant in absentia, somewhat comforted by the sound of her own sardonic tone. See? She wasn’t that far gone. She still had her edge.
She opened the note and read it as she crossed the room, back to her bed. There was a single scrawled line, more of a slash really, across the middle. She read it out loud. “Come out to Glenshire in the morning at 8 A.M . Just you. Dylan.” Her eyebrows arched high on her forehead. “Wow. Surprise, surprise.”
She tapped the note against her chin, wondering what had happened to change his mind. Had he gone back in the pub maybe? Or had Brodie said something to finally convince him to hear her out? Not that she was going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Hell, she’d head up there right now if she thought it would make a difference.
Visions of getting Dylan out of bed, seeing what he looked like half naked, hair all tousled. Or maybe all the way naked. He probably slept in the buff. She shut that track down immediately. Well, almost immediately.
“Get a grip,” she schooled herself. She had to see him again in less than seven hours and she needed to be on her utmost professional behavior. Whatever the reason was he’d agreed to see her, it wasn’t because he’d suddenly decided she was a raving beauty. More like she was a raving loon, with her crazy American reality show. She didn’t think that opinion had miraculously changed, especially after she’d tromped all over his feet during their two whole minutes of dancing.
She wasted another minute reliving those glorious two minutes. Well, glorious for her, anyway. Outside of being very self-conscious of her clumsiness and the fact that everyone was watching them, she had rather enjoyed the way his hand had engulfed hers, and how the other had rested so confidently on her waist, guiding her through the crowd. She’d half wished the crowd would have jostled them together, so she could feel what it would be like to be held against that broad chest.
“And just how pathetic are you?” she murmured, then read the note again, still not quite believing her good fortune. Good business fortune. “Just you,” she repeated. Hmm. Where had that come from? Did he think she’d show up with half the village in tow? Maybe he thought she already had a whole camera crew stashed here in town or something and would take any sign of capitulation on his part as a reason to show up in full force. He didn’t know she was a force to be reckoned with all by herself. She grinned and tossed the note on the nightstand. “But he will.”
She climbed into bed and reached for the lamp, but instead picked up the note again. The writing was decidedly masculine, but it was likely just the hand of whoever had taken the message. Except, as far as she knew, the desk clerks were all women. Meaning he’d come into the hotel tonight. Why not just ask to see her, or at least have them ring her room? Of course, it was pretty late…
She put the note aside once more, shut off the light, then lay there, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts refusing to stray from the man she’d be seeing again in a few short hours.
Interesting how the village was playing matchmaker for him. Although they were getting desperate if they were going after passers-through. Of course, maybe it had nothing to do with matchmaking. Maybe they’d hoped if the two of them had struck sparks, he’d agree to the filming. Could an entire town be so mercenary?
Erin snuggled more deeply into the soft, down bed. She almost felt sorry for Dylan, even though she could see he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. She knew what a pain it was just having one well-meaning person climbing all over her social life. And Dana only wanted her to get laid regularly. She couldn’t imagine having a family nosing about her love life, much less an entire village. She didn’t blame him for wanting to get out of there tonight, although it would have been nice if he’d at least pretended he wasn’t just as anxious to get away from her.
She forced a mental shift back to business. How was she going to present her case? She wondered briefly if losing his wife was yet another roadblock to having a show based on finding true love filmed right in his own home. It would certainly be understandable. Definitely better to talk money and economy over love and romance. Sleep claimed her as she mulled over her options.
Which did nothing to explain why the images that wound their way into her dreams had absolutely nothing to do with profit margins and ratings spikes, and everything to do with other things…spiking.
The following morning, as she headed back out to Glenshire, the skies were a stunning robin’s egg blue, not a cloud on the horizon, and the valley was such a vibrant, verdant green she still swore that the grass had to be genetically engineered. Even the sheep seemed especially perky and cute that morning.
She, however, was not. It had taken a hot shower, followed by a cold one, followed by two cups of espresso and a big, sticky pastry from the tray in the lobby before Erin had finally, mercifully managed to push aside every detail of last night’s hot and sweaty dreams—and wasn’t it amazing how the more she wanted to forget, the more details she recalled? She gripped the steering wheel more tightly. But she was fully focused on her job now. Dylan was merely a means to an end. One that didn’t have anything to do with either of their ends getting naked.
Nope. Business, business, business. She wouldn’t even imagine him in bed. Much less naked. In the bed. Or in the shower. Hot, steamy water running all over his slick skin. Nope. Not even imagining that. Not if she could absolutely help it anyway. So what if he was that perfect tragic figure who appealed to her secret romantic soul? The reclusive, wounded hero, burying himself in his work to push aside the pain of losing the woman he’d given his heart to? To her he was a business opportunity, nothing more, nothing less. Besides, he didn’t seem all that wounded anymore. Mostly he just seemed annoyed.
Which suited her fine. She was relieved, in fact, that she seemed to be the only one suffering from delusions of infatuation. Thankful, even. It would make her job that much easier.
Liar.
She swallowed against a suddenly dry throat as she rolled to a stop in front of Glenshire’s massive front door and put her car into park. If anything, the place was even more impressive and perfect in its romantic decay by morning sunrise than it had been in the late afternoon light.
She got out of the car, smoothed her pants, then her hair, before she realized what she was doing and stopped instantly. She’d bet a full ratings share that the only thing that mattered to Dylan where Erin MacGregor was concerned was how big an offer she was bringing to the negotiation table.
Which didn’t explain why she slipped her lip balm out of her jacket pocket and ran it quickly across her lips. “Damn Brigadoon,” she swore under her breath as she made her way to the front door.
She looked for a buzzer, and, not finding one, lifted the heavy brass knocker instead. Shaped like a boar’s head, it was shining brass and weighed a ton. She rapped once, heard the ominous echoing sound it made, and decided that was enough. She shifted her weight back and forth as she waited, refusing to smooth her hair again, or check her teeth in the newly polished knocker. Her pulse rate had kicked up a few notches in anticipation. Not of seeing Dylan again, of course. She was simply excited to finally be getting a peek inside her newest location. And she would prevail. He had a price, she just had to find out what it was.
She was leaning in, looking at her warped reflection as she pushed her hair from her face—only because there was a wayward strand poking her in the eye, of course—when the door suddenly swung open. An instant later she was eyeball to impressive pectorals with the object of her midnight fantasies.
“You’re back,” he said flatly.
She quickly stepped back and smiled, not at all liking how this meeting was starting. Taking in the full impact of Dylan’s
