Which surely made him even more of a depraved prat for enjoying it.
‘I mean in the skirt department,’ he clarified, pointedly hiding behind his punnets when she whipped around.
‘What?’ A sharp gasp fell from her, and she piled her containers onto his before tugging the hem down to her knees, her face the same colour as the fabric. ‘Crap! I knew there was a reason I didn’t take this skirt when I moved out!’
‘I didn’t see anything,’ he lied, squeezing his eyes closed to block out the shrill alarm ringing in his ears. It didn’t work, white cotton and pale skin imprinted on the back of his lids. Now he knew what was under her skirt, he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it. He loved curves, especially supple ones that spilled and moulded, and Jesus, it had been a while since he’d last touched someone. Since anyone had last touchedhim. That starvation seemed to cling to him like a second skin, radiating in palms that longed to squeeze and a mouth that longed to kiss and—
A stapler would be too kind. Martha deserved to use a shredder. Or a guillotine. One for paper or public punishment; either was deserved.
‘Well, obviously I need to go and get changed,’ Rae murmured, footsteps crunching away in the gravel. ‘Come on. I’ll show you in.’
He followed, only realising his lids were still closed when Rae hissed, ‘You can open your eyes now!’
Good job, too, because he was seconds away from tripping over one of the dogs, still hoping for another spell of strawberry rain. He warily opened only one eye first, afraid of the lustful imaginings his mind might conjure if he saw anything else he shouldn’t, but Rae kept one hand on the hem of her skirt as they climbed the porch steps. He had to duck to keep from being attacked by a set of wind chimes hanging from the portico, then wiped his boots on the welcome mat an excessive amount before dropping the fruit under a row of coat hooks in the hallway.
‘I’m going to go upstairs,’ she announced. ‘When I come back down, you’re going to have wiped whatever you saw from your brain, and we’re going to pretend this never happened. Okay?’
‘Excellent plan.’
‘For the record, they might not be pretty, but they’re very comfortable.’
‘I wouldn’t know.’ His heart racketed against his ribs. What he really wanted to say was that they’d seemed pretty enough to him, especially with how they’d stretched to near transparency to accommodate her shape. Perhaps they didn’t deserve the credit for that, though: her plump arse had done all the work.
‘Good,’ she said.
‘Good,’ he agreed.
She backed away one step at a time, a warning in her narrowed eyes. It was painful, trying to keep himself composed, gaze following her all the way through the hallway until she eventually turned her back to him.
He truly was terrible, because every sway of her hips only fanned the sparks igniting through him. He was still standing there like a gormless fool minutes later, when Doug limped out of the living room with an empty mug, surprised to find Struan there.
‘Are you lost, lad?’ he questioned.
Oh, you have no idea, thought Struan.
7
By the time Rae returned, Struan had checked on Doug’s ankle and was really only finding excuses to continue hovering in the house. She barely spared either of them a glance as she poked her head around the door, a trace of pink lingering on her cheeks. All had not been forgotten on her side either, then.
‘I’m heading into town to give out some samples, Dad. Am I okay to take your car?’
‘No, you’re bloody not,’ grumbled Doug, already clad in his wellies and faded jeans. ‘I’ve got a blood test scheduled this afternoon—’
‘I can take you,’ Struan offered absurdly quickly.
‘There you go. Problem solved.’
‘No, problemnotsolved,’ Rae said. ‘I can walk.’
He tried not to take her obvious rejection personally, though he supposed he’d earned it after underwear-gate. Still, he met her defiance with his own. ‘I was planning to go down there, anyway. I don’t see why you can’t join me, unless you really want to take that juggling act of yours on the road.’
Rae swiped her tongue over her teeth like the kind offer was highly inconvenient.
‘Oh, Rae, stop faffing about and take the lad up on his offer,’ groused Doug over his fresh cup of tea. ‘Why does everything have to be such a big song and dance with you?’
She dipped her chin, though Doug had always been fairly blunt and likely didn’t mean anything by it. Struan wondered if he was just imagining the tension pulling like a tug of war rope between them. He stood up in an effort to break – or at least redirect – it. ‘I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to help.’
Resigned, Rae turned on her heel, gathering the bags she’d dropped at the door before. Struan bid goodbye to Doug, making sure to remind him that his number was on the coffee table if needed, then grabbed the fruit and headed outside. Though she’d changed out of that rebellious skirt, it was still an effort not to let his gaze wander to the blue denim now stretched over her curves. With early July’s humidity baked into the earth, she wore only a T-shirt tucked into the belted waist of her jeans, and he caught a glimpse of a tattoo just above her elbow. The rough edge of a country’s border, it looked like. A fragment of a map. How many more pieces of herself were memorialised in places he’d never see?
