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Our eyes met, his bright blue gaze locking with my brown, wary one. Absently, he rubbed the back of my wrist with his thumb, as if he’d forgotten he was holding me. “Don’t be coy, McKenzie. You’re a sophisticated woman. You know when a man wants you.”
Oh, lordy. My throat closed up and my thighs clenched. Arousal, hot and sweet, flooded my abdomen. “Is that what this is?” I challenged him, wanting the truth. Needing confirmation.
“It is, and it’s not. I’m far past the age where I act on every hormonal reaction to a woman’s smile.”
“How reassuring.” Confusion and hurt made me snappy.
“Sit down, McKenzie. I’ll tell you my sad tale, and maybe it will keep both of us from doing something stupid.”
I let myself be persuaded…mostly because he was spot on about wanting to do something stupid. For a dollar, I’d consign old Cedric’s house to the garbage collectors, and I’d hole up here in Portree with the fascinating but apparently unavailable Finley.
He released my wrist. I subsided into my chair and wrapped my arms around my waist. My chest still hurt the same way it used to when my father criticized my report cards or my friends.
“I’m listening.” I wasn’t prepared to cut him any slack. The man was a beast. A gorgeous, sexy, almost-but-not-quite adorable beast. He had bruised my feelings.
I sensed that he already regretted what he had said. The hour was late, the kitchen shadowy. Neither of us moved to turn on the lights. Cinnamon snoozed in the corner, apparently unconcerned that her master was a horse’s ass.
To keep from staring at my companion, I let my gaze drift around the old-fashioned kitchen. A small photograph on the wall caught my eye. In it, a teenage boy had his arm around a much younger girl. There was a strong family resemblance between the two. What I zeroed in on was something very familiar about the picture. Behind the two teenagers was a neon marquee recognizable to everyone in the developed world. The photo had been taken in Times Square. Although the Craigs might have done some traveling overseas, I didn’t think that was the case in this instance.
Finally, the thing that had niggled at my subconscious for a full day now made sense. Finley’s accent was a little different than most of the people I had met. A certain way of phrasing things. “You’re not Scottish at all, are you?”
I felt betrayed and embarrassed for reasons Finley had no hint about. How could he know I was in search of my own Jamie Fraser?
He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his chin. “No. I’m not. Is that a problem?”
“Of course not,” I lied. “I’m merely surprised. You don’t sound American, not exactly. Then again, you don’t talk like your neighbors either.”
“I’ve lived here a decade. ‘Tis not surprising that I’ve picked up some of the lingo.”
Ah, life wasn’t fair.Hadn’t I learned that lesson a hundred different ways? I’d come to Scotland for a great adventure and in search of a man who was romantic and dashing and different. Instead, Finley was just another American. Expatriate or no, he wasn’t my hero.
“I should go,” I said. “And leave you in peace.” Oddly, I didn’t move.
Finley’s intense gaze seemed to settle on the rise and fall of my breasts as I breathed deeply. “A man doesn’t like admitting his mistakes.”
“Then don’t,” I said sharply. “I’m not trying to drag secrets out of you. Believe me. I have my own problems. Feel free to keep your twisted past private.”
He laughed out loud. And oh, the transformation. Grumpy Finley was a gorgeous hunk of man. Smiling Finley was lethal. I actually caught my breath. If a woman could spend the next fifty years making the man light up like that, she’d be darned lucky. It was hard work, but the results were magical.
Leaning his chair back on two legs, Finley laced his hands over his flat belly. “What problems could you possibly have, Duchess? Other than a rat-hole of a house and a wrecked car…both of which are temporary.”
“Money doesn’t buy happiness,” I pointed out primly.
“But it’s way ahead of what’s in second place,” Finley said. My host shook his head. “Are you telling me you aren’t happy?”
I’d never really thought about it in those terms. “Of course I’m happy. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He held up his hands. “Fine. You’re happy. I get it. Let’s back up. Tell me why you came to Scotland.”
“You have to promise not to laugh.”
“Scout’s honor.”
Now, that sounded American. “Have you heard of a television show called Outlander? Or even the books?”
Finley winced. “Lord, yes.”
“What does that mean?”
