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The table was between us. Nice and strong for whatever antics humans might think up to do. Finley lifted one shoulder in a graceful, masculine shrug. “We’ll drink together. Up on the roof. How does that sound? You’re all about fitting in and learning the local culture. You need to know and love whiskey.”
A smile tugged at my lips. “That’s all it takes to be a Scot?”
“It’s a start.”
I didn’t know what we were doing. Well, I did know we were flirting, but I didn’t know why. Finley had some sort of chip on his shoulder about me. I, on the other hand, knew that this dark angel, this leather-clad bad boy had the power to derail my trip to Scotland.
Still, it was only a drink between acquaintances. No harm in that. “Okay,” I said. “A drink sounds nice.”
Finley grabbed a bottle of amber liquid and a couple of glasses. Then he led me on an excursion up through the various levels of his whimsical house. When we reached the attic, he lowered a set of stairs. “Up you go.”
It was uncomfortable shimmying up the ladder and knowing his eyes were on a level with my butt. He was carrying stuff, so maybe he was too preoccupied to notice. In the attic, the air was noticeably cooler. There wasn’t much insulation and vents on either end let in the night air.
“One more climb,” Finley said.
This time he went first. The ladder was straight up, not on a slant. At the top, Finley reached up and pushed at a storm-cellar type of door. It creaked and groaned but finally flopped to one side. Now I could see stars.
“Doesn’t it leak in the rain?” I asked as I looked up from below.
“Sometimes. Hold on.” Finley disappeared only to return a few seconds later without the whiskey and glasses. He extended his arm in my direction. “Come on up, Duchess.”
