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She would have landed on her face, but he shot out a hand and steadied her.
“I need to clear up. I know. So many ways to die here, and none of them would make sexy headlines.”
She clutched at his arm until she’d regained her balance. She could feel the swell of muscle under her fingers. Strong biceps, Dr McIntyre. “You’re doing it again, Brodie. Pushing that horror theme. Good job I’m not the nervous type.”
“In this place you’re more likely to be killed by bacteria than a serial killer.” He let go of her and gestured with the hand holding the mugs. “I’m going to wash these. Just—pick up that blanket and throw it somewhere.”
Blanket? That thing on the floor that had almost broken her neck was a blanket?
“You don’t have a bedroom?”
“Next door, but sometimes I don’t want to walk that far. I just nap where I’m working and then work again. Sorry. Damn, I shouldn’t have brought you here.”
“Why not?”
“Because normally people don’t see this side of me. It’s a bit too—undiluted.”
She thought about that phone call. “Then I guess we’re even.”
He nodded. “I guess we are. If you don’t want coffee, then we’ll go for wine. In fact I should have thought of wine to begin with.”
She followed him to the kitchen and took the mugs from him. “I’ll wash those.”
“No, you can’t do that. I don’t want you—”
“You rescued me, Brodie. The least I can do is help.” She ran the water until it was hot and soaked the mugs. Through the window the moon sent a wash of ghostly light across the surface of the loch and the snowy peaks. “This place is a jewel.”
“You’re not nervous? Most people would find it too isolated.”
“I’m not nervous, which is weird because in Boston if a man wanted to drive me to his shack in the middle of nowhere, I’d definitely say no.”
“Good. Sensible.” He unloaded the food from the bags into the fridge. Juice. Butter. Eggs. Bacon. “I would hope you’d have a strong sense of self-preservation.”
“So what am I doing here with you?”
“Escaping your family who make you want to scream.” He lit the woodburning stove. “That’s also a kind of self-preservation. I’m the least threatening of the two options.”
He wasn’t wrong about that.
She finished cleaning the mugs, and when she was satisfied that nothing toxic had been left alive, she put them to drain. Then she hung up their coats and made herself comfortable on the sofa, watching as he lit candles. “You don’t have lights?”
“I do, but I look better by candlelight.”
Would it fluster him if she said he looked good in every light? “I probably do, too.” She brushed her fingers under her eyes. “Do I have mascara all over my face? I probably look like a panda.”
“You look good to me.” His voice was rough. “And a panda happens to be my favorite animal.”
“An hour ago I wanted to scream, but now I want to laugh. You’re a funny guy, Dr McIntyre.”
“That’s not good, is it? Funny guys don’t usually get the girls.”
She looked at the curve of his mouth and the way his dark hair fell across his forehead. “I’m sure you do just fine.” Her heart kicked against her chest. “Thank you for bringing me here, Brodie. It was kind.”
“It was selfish. I need you to have a good time so that you recommend this place to all your rich clients.”
“Whatever happens, I’m going to do that.”
“You are?” He dropped the box of matches and retrieved it. “Best if I don’t burn the place down, then. This is a little nerve-racking. You’re only the second woman I’ve ever brought here. And the first time didn’t go well.”
