Page 74 of A Scottish Lighthouse Escape

God, he was very handsome. There. I admitted it to myself. Again. But that didn’t mean I was attracted to him; I struggled to reason in my addled head. Of course, it didn’t. Gorgeous though Mitch was, I would implement iron restraint. My heart couldn’t and wouldn’t take any more.

He’d ordered me not to go out in the car because he was worried about my safety in the snow. He’d checked up on me, to make sure I was alright when Rhea Stafford said she’d seen a stranger near the cottage. Yes, gratitude. I was grateful to him.

My eyelids were fluttering closed. I forced myself to sit up straighter. I must’ve looked like a struggling tortoise.

‘No more Talisker for you tonight, young lady,’ wafted Mitch’s deep, Scottish accent.

‘Spoilsport,’ I mumbled, grabbing one of the cushions behind me and wrapping my arms around it.

‘Now, I’m going to make you a coffee whether you like it or not.’

I let out a snort. ‘Okay, Mr Lighthouse Man.’ I gripped the cushion and my mouth went into overdrive. ‘I hate to burst your bubble but I have to tell you, I don’t find you in the slightest bit attractive.’ My face blossomed with colour when I said it.

Mitch erupted with laughter. ‘Yeah, right.’

An indignant gasp shot out of me. Then Mitch threw me a jokey wink over his shoulder and vanished into his kitchen area. I heard him put the kettle on.

The arrogance of the man! He just laughed at me, as though me not finding him attractive was incomprehensible.

I conjured up in my head pictures of Mitch’s sea-coloured eyes and the way his mouth hitched up at one corner when he smiled.

Oh boy, I was struggling to keep my eyes open…