about the gun she needed to dispose of made her glance nervously over her shoulder now. Except no one else knew about the gun. Her secret was safe.
Just as the secret of her identity and her purpose for coming to England were safe, no matter how jumpy she was. It was time to stop worrying.
The little restaurant in the hotel’s courtyard was deserted at this early hour. Kiera finished her scone with clotted cream, stretched and reached for the big wool bag that held her knitting. When she was restless, knitting was her drug of choice. Right now her fingers itched for wool slipping in soft rows and smooth loops settling into place.
But even with patterned cables racing off her needles, she still couldn’t relax. Something told her it would take more than fine threads to put the attack out of her mind. Maybe she needed to concentrate harder…
A shadow fell over her table.
“That’s lovely tweed yarn you have there.”
A living, breathing man who knew quality yarn? Be still my beating heart.
Kiera craned her head back, looking up. And her heart dove straight down to her unmanicured toes.
The man was at least six foot four. He wore his rough Harris tweed jacket as if it had been hand cut to fit his lean body. Which it probably had been.
Who had the money for that in these trying times?
He was handsome as sin, to boot. Rich azure eyes blazed from a tanned face that made her think of priests, poets and ancient highland warriors. So did his rough voice with its gentle lilt of Scotland.
“Sorry to intrude, but I couldn’t help noticing your yarn.”
“Excuse me?”
“Knitting’s something of a tradition in my neck of the woods. My aunts used to win prizes for their sweaters every year.”
His voice was deep, smoky like good, aged whiskey. It settled onto Kiera’s senses with the same volatile kick. Smoke and heat. Depth and complexity. For some reason the man made her think of all those things.
Not that it mattered.
She cleared her throat. “You’re from Scotland, I take it?”
“That’s right. From a little slip of land on a quiet ocean inlet that time forgot. A lovely place, as long as you want to leave the modern world behind.”
Kiera wondered vaguely if you could fall in love with a voice. If so, this man had the perfect requirements.
She frowned.
Love?
Not on her flight plan. Not for another five years at least. She had treks to plan and valleys to cross, assessing cost and safety for her tour groups. Men, with their theatrics and emotional demands, took far too much time away from everything that mattered. The idea comforted her, reassured her that her calm, orderly world was exactly as it should be.
So this heat she felt was the simple nudge of hormones, which she had managed to ignore nicely for months.
But something told Kiera the hormone-free zone had just been left behind in a blaze of glory. All because of blue eyes and a smoky voice.
She realized he was waiting for a reply. She’d been too distracted by her tangled thoughts to notice the question. But there was something remarkably distracting about the man, and not just his voice or his damnable good looks. Not even the calm power of his presence. Suddenly it became very important to understand why this man was different from the others who had slid past, never catching her attention.
His eyes were the oddest shade. Almost gray one minute, they shifted to azure and icy aqua. Probably a trick of the light, caused by clouds racing overhead. And right now his eyes were focused completely on her. As if she…mattered. When was the last time a man had looked at her that way?
Never.
And this utter focus was why he seemed different.
“What?”
“I asked if I could sit down. Is that a problem?”
“Sit here with me, you mean?” Kiera took a short, irritated breath. What was wrong with her? “It’s just—clearly every other table is available. So why sit here? I don’t even know you.”
He leaned over and refilled her teacup calmly. “I’ll take a chance if you will.”
Way too smooth, Kiera thought. She should wave him off and be done with it.
But she didn’t. Couldn’t.
“You may have noticed that this place is empty.”
He just kept waiting, polite but firm.
She still didn’t ask him to sit down. Kiera was pretty sure that if he sat down, it would be dangerous to her peace of mind.
“All I seem to notice is you. And for the record, that isn’t a line. I’ve been watching you from the doorway ever since you took out your wool and needles. I like how you work. You’re slow and thoughtful, but there’s sensuality in your hands.”
Boom. This went way off the pickup-meter. He had watched her knit and called it sensual?
“Nice try.”
“Beg your pardon?”
“Something tells me you’ve scored with lines like that before. Some women might even be fascinated. Not me.”
“I simply told you what I saw.”
She’d give him points for delivery, Kiera decided. But that didn’t mean he was going to sit down. A man like this could turn a woman inside out if she let him.
“I’m sorry, but I’m waiting for someone.”
“Then I’ll keep you company until he comes.”
He.
Kiera didn’t bother to correct him. “You don’t seem to take no for an answer, do you, Mr.—?”
“MacKay.” His brow rose. “You’re right. I don’t like wasting time. If I want something, which isn’t very often, I go after it.”
Heat swirled through her, working slowly up her chest. “Is that a warning?”
“Not at all. I’m just explaining what could appear to be rudeness. But it’s the practical thing to do. You’re alone. I’m alone. Why not share this beautiful morning, even if we both just read the paper? The waiter will have less work, and we’ll have companionable silence.”
Kiera shook her head. “I know one thing. This is way too good to be true. All of it.”
“I don’t understand you.”
“Sure you don’t.” Frowning, Kiera stood up and began to gather her notebook and papers. “I’m not in the market for conversation or companionable silence
