Page 93 of A Scottish Lighthouse Escape

It took a few moments for me to realise who Mitch was talking about. ‘Me?’

‘Well, she wasn’t talking about Kane.’

I laughed it off, but my insides were turning to water. This was ridiculous. I’d come here to lick my wounds and vanish into myself. And how is that working out for you, Rosie?

We studied each other, oblivious to the fresh squall of winter rain picking up again.

I huddled deeper into my coat. ‘I don’t want you to feel sorry for me, Mitch.’

Mitch’s eyes widened. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

Bronte and Kane were jumping over branches and letting out barks of happiness.

I tugged my gloved hands out of my coat pockets. They flailed around as I spoke. ‘Joe, me desperate to make Tilda’s dream a reality, me deciding not to write any more books.’

Mitch took me by surprise by moving even closer to me. I could make out the flecks of mint in his eyes. ‘You’re something else, Rosie.’

‘Gee, thanks. I think.’

His attention rested on my mouth. ‘When you get nervous, you talk a lot.’

‘No, I don’t. I just feel like I have to explain the situation and make it clear that…’

‘You’re doing it now.’

I pulled a face at him. ‘Well, what do you want me to do about it?’

Mitch gave me a long, hot look that turned my insides to butter. ‘I don’t expect you to do anything about it.’ He laced his fingers through my hair. ‘I’m just going to have to kiss you to shut you up.’

Mitch lowered his mouth onto mine. The realisation that I was being kissed by another man and not Joe made my heart give an odd jump. But Mitch was gentle at first, tasting my lips, caressing them. Then his kisses deepened. I moulded my body against his. I had to. My nerve endings were giving me no choice. I became oblivious to the fresh, darting rain that was splatting against the woodland floor. I clung to him, kissing him back. We pushed ourselves against one another. I felt like all our contours aligned. Excitement raced through me. I didn’t want him to stop.

After what seemed like forever, we reluctantly took a step back and clutched each other’s hands. The rain continued to come down in sharp, silver arrows, but we didn’t care.

The swish of the harbour water in the distance was like a faint lullaby.

‘You, okay?’ he asked, picking up my hand and caressing it.

I drank him in. ‘Yes. I think I am.’

Mitch’s gaze was soft. ‘Take a chance on me, Rosie. Please. Give romance another go.’

Tears nudged the corners of my eyes.

‘I’m not perfect. I talk in my sleep and dump my loose change in the kitchen.’ I noticed him lacing and unlacing his gloved hands.

‘I’m glad you’re you,’ I managed, my voice wavering. ‘But I’m scared.’

His face adopted a more serious edge. ‘Give me a chance, Rosie. I promise that I’d never cheat on you.’ He rubbed at his strong chin. ‘If I’ve learnt anything from what happened to Noah and losing my business, it’s that we have to be happy when and while we can and not to take anything for granted.’ He took my hands in his again and stroked them. ‘If someone had said to me two months ago that I’d fall for a widowed, titian-haired romance writer, I’d have laughed.’

He shook his dark head in wonder. ‘I came to Rowan Bay to escape from everyone and everything. I thought that if I could be the local lighthouse keeper and save people – give something back for what happened to Noah – then that would be more than enough for me.’

My stomach rocked. ‘I’ve seen first-hand you saving people, remember? When you rescued Rhea?’

Mitch grinned and gave me a sexy wink. Then his expression became more pensive again. ‘You’re kind, funny, beautiful and thoughtful. Stop putting everyone else first for a change.’ He forced a hand through his tangle of curls. ‘Let me prove to you that you were wrong about love and being loved.’

I was struggling to speak. My throat was clogged with emotion.

‘You deserve to be loved again after Joe. You need to know that you weren’t writing about something that doesn’t last.’ His expression was appealing. ‘You know what I think? I think your heart is ready for someone else. And I want that someone else to be me.’