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“All this time and I never knew you weren’t a morning person.” His eyes sparkled with amusement and Donna almost choked again, this time on nothing. It was the first time she’d seen him amused, and it softened his features, turning his brooding sexuality into an irresistible rugged magnetism.
She tore her eyes from him and looked away, but not before she spotted cook eyeing them with speculation. Her cheeks began to heat, and she had to fight the urge to run.
“Can I have more bacon, Grace?” she said instead.
“I could use some coffee,” Duncan added.
Donna frowned at him. “I’m sure Grace wouldn’t mind making you up a tray. You can take it upstairs and eat in your office. Like you usually do.”
His lips twitched. “I’m fine here.”
“I’m not,” she muttered.
She prodded at her food, which had lost its appeal, now that she had company. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat before reaching for her tea and trying to hide behind the mug.
Grace placed a coffee mug in front of Duncan. “I’ll make you an omelette.”
“I’d rather have a full breakfast. Heavy on the meat if you don’t mind.” He reached for his coffee.
“I do mind,” Grace said. “If you want a plate of fried food for breakfast, you’d better head on out to the pub. You’re getting an omelette.”
Duncan heaved a sigh and turned to Donna. “Remind me why you hired her?”
“She’s the best cook in Kintyre, and I was starving to death.”
“Is that right?” Duncan sipped his coffee, but his eyes were on Donna, studying her like she was a math problem he needed to solve.
“Why are you here?”
“I’m here to eat.”
He seemed mesmerised by her hair. She self-consciously ran a hand through it as she tried to remember if she’d been awake enough to brush it before she came downstairs. When he continued to stare, she decided she’d had enough of his weird behaviour.
She slammed down her fork and glared at him. “Do I have something on my face? Is my hair tangled? Is my shirt buttoned up wrong?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Then why are you staring at me like you’ve never seen me before this morning?”
***
Duncan had come to realise that there was no getting away from his need to paint Donna. The only way to get rid of the images in his head was to paint them out. And for that, he required her help. He’d intended to work up to his request. To ease into it. To gently and politely ask her for a favour. Instead, the words rushed out of his mouth and landed on the table between them in a tactless heap.
“I want to paint you.”
There was silence. Nothing moved. He wasn’t even sure the women were still breathing. He may as well have dropped a bomb right into the middle of the kitchen.
“W-what?” Donna whispered.
There was no going back now. He felt his palms become clammy and his heart race. It would be his first painting since Fiona got sick. His first step towards a new life without her. Bile bit at his throat, and a wave of uncertainty hit him. Could he do it?
And then he noticed the stark vulnerability in Donna’s eyes. He couldn’t back out now. Not for either of their sakes.
He placed his empty coffee mug in front of him. “I want to paint you. I want you to pose for me.”
Grace gasped, but Duncan didn’t take his eyes from Donna. She was stunned and confused, trying to work things out, and knowing her, she would come to the wrong conclusion and run. He had to make things clear for both of them.
He leaned forwards, resting his elbows on the table. “I realise this is a weird request when you work for me. I don’t want you to feel obligated to say yes.” Cook barked out a laugh, and he shot her a look. She didn’t need to tell him that Donna had problems saying no, he’d benefited from it more than once. “Is breakfast coming?” he asked Grace.
