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I saw his shoulders tense the slightest bit. I only noticed because I was above him.
“He died. Four years ago. Left his crazy old house to me. I couldn’t accept, of course. The authorities found a daughter down in England. She hadn’t seen the old man in a decade. Didn’t even make it north for the funeral. The solicitors contacted her and explained the situation. She sent a letter abandoning all claim to the estate.”
“Why?”
“I suppose she had a falling out with her father. And she probably knew there were debts.”
“So that’s how you became a Scottish landowner.”
“In a nutshell, yes.”
I sensed there was more he wasn’t saying, but I let the subject drop in favor of a more pressing one. “You mentioned something about helping me meet Scottish men?”
Finley groaned. “I’m starting to regret it now.”
“No take-backs,” I teased. “I’m going to be living in a remote house all alone, so my social life will need all the help it can get.”
“Fine. I know several single blokes who would be more than happy to meet you. I’ll throw together something for tomorrow night. Hamish has a big room he rents out upstairs over the restaurant. He’ll give it to me for no charge since it’s a weeknight. Some drinks, a wee bit of food and music, and we’ll be good to go.”
“Wait a minute,” I said, incredulous. “Are you actually going to organize an entire event for me?”
“Not really organized.” Finley’s lazy smile was at my expense, no doubt. “More of an impromptu ceilidh. Around here we love our parties. And while we’re on the subject, I need to know your parameters.”
“Parameters?” I parroted the word.
“You know. Age. Height. Weight. I already know he has to be a Scotsman. You made that abundantly clear.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, but Finley didn’t back down. Had I insulted my host by taking him out of the running? Was he actually going through with this idea? Or was it all an elaborate scheme to pull my leg? “I don’t have parameters,” I insisted. “Well, maybe age. I’m thirty-two, so anything from thirty to forty-five would be acceptable.”
“Duly noted. What about red hair? Your Jamie Fraser crush has red hair, doesn’t he?”
“I’m not looking to meet a Jamie Fraser clone,” I insisted. “All I’m interested in is finding someone who is Scottish, a gentleman, and fun to be with. Not that I’m expect him to entertain me 24/7. I’m here in the Highlands to expand my horizons. A bit of romance on the side is merely the icing on the cake.”
This was an odd game of chicken we were playing. Finley pretending to pimp me out to his friends at a party, and me giving every appearance of agreeing. One of us had to back down. Unluckily for Finley, I was as stubborn as they came. If he was going to perpetuate this ludicrous idea, then I sure as heck would let it ride.
I couldn’t wait to see the look on his face when he admitted he’d only been yanking my chain. That would be priceless.
We turned for the stroll back up the hill. Though we hadn’t gone far, the air held a noticeable chill now. I wrapped my arms around myself and shivered. The prospect of staying in Cedric’s damp, cold house was not appealing at all, especially now that I had made myself at home with Finley and Cinnamon.
Nevertheless, I’d be moving out very soon. Maybe even tomorrow evening if Mrs. Clark and her daughter were miracle workers.
In Finley’s kitchen once again, I felt a sudden awkwardness. He’d never mentioned the blond and gorgeous comment again. Now I had waited too long to push for an answer. I was very conscious of infringing upon his time and his good nature. Plus, I didn’t want to be teased anymore about the party full of eligible men. “I think I’ll head upstairs,” I said.
“So soon?”
We both glanced at the clock. It wasn’t even nine. “I’m sure you have things to do,” I said, the words stilted. “And I want to write a few postcards I picked up today.”
I was not imagining the level of sexual tension in the room. It was as if our bodies were carrying out a seductive conversation that had nothing to do with politeness or social propriety.
Finley was right. I did know when a man wanted me. And there he stood, only an arm’s length away.
Poor Cinnamon had been consigned to the study again. Without the dog to run interference, now it was just Finley and me. I found myself getting all hot and bothered. My pulse rate accelerated. My breathing fractured. My hands were cold as ice. “Goodnight,” I muttered, as for the second time I prepared to leave.
“Don’t go.”
The words were hoarse. I was almost certain Finley hadn’t meant to say them. They were sincere. Not teasing. Not condescending.
I took my time answering. Because it was important I get this right. “Why would I stay?”
