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Chastened and hurting, I paced the floor, barely noticing the loud tick of the clock. I should go back to my room. Cinnamon’s presence in the house had saved me from making a bad mistake. Clearly, the time-out had brought Finley to his senses, as well.
It was time for me to go. I had my hand on the door when it opened abruptly, whacking me in the head. “Ouch,” I cried, stumbling backward.
Finley gaped at me. “McKenzie. What were you doing?”
I rubbed the red spot on my forehead. “So this is my fault?” I asked crossly.
He picked me up by the waist and set me on the bed. “Let me see.”
His thumb feathered across my eyebrow as he examined my injury. “It may bruise. I’m sorry, Duchess.”
I shrugged. “It’s fine.” I couldn’t quite look him in the eye. “It’s late,” I said. “I should get some sleep. I have a big day tomorrow.”
He sat down beside me, making the mattress dip and tumbling me against his shoulder. “What’s wrong, McKenzie?”
“Nothing. Everything. I don’t want to remind you of her.” I folded my arms across my chest. “You were gone so long I thought you must have changed your mind.”
“About having sex with you?”
I nodded jerkily.
“Look at me,” he demanded.
When I reluctantly complied, he turned sideways to face me and held out his hands. “This is what took so long.”
His long masculine fingers distracted me for a moment. Then I noticed the angry red burn on his right hand. The flesh in the center of his palm was raw. “Oh, Finley. What happened?”
“Cinnamon,” he said ruefully. “She heard something in the woods and caught me off guard. I tried to stop her and got a rope burn when she yanked the leash right out of my hand.”
“I’m sorry that happened. I was going to my room, because I thought we weren’t going to…well, you know.”
His gentle smile was quizzical. “No. That’s not it at all. I had to catch up with my wretched dog, drag her back to the house, and put her away for the night. Then I had to clean my hand. I never meant to leave you for so long.”
This was as good a time as any to call a halt before we did something that might look very different in the cold light of morning. I took a deep breath. “I don’t want to have sex with you because I remind you of Vanessa.”
Finley didn’t react at first. In fact, if I hadn’t been studying him so closely, I might not even have seen the barest flicker of his eyelashes. “Why would you think that?”
“She’s a myth. Somebody frozen in the past. No matter who she really is, you have this painful, decade-old memory of her.”
His jaw turned to granite. A look I was beginning to understand was his reaction to anyone who pissed him off or dared to enter emotional rooms labeled hands off.
The muscles in his throat worked. “I don’t need a shrink, Duchess. And even if I did, you’re not exactly qualified.”
His chilly tone gave me goose bumps. I’d always believed that heated confrontations were healthier than icy ones. Sometimes his blue eyes glowed with fire and life. Now, they were cold enough to shatter.
Near tears, I pressed on, knowing even as I did so that I was going to regret my honesty. “You’re welcome to hide out here in Scotland until you’re a shriveled-up old man,” I said. “Despite the chemistry you and I have between us, I won’t be a stand-in for another woman, no matter what your twisted reasons for making love to me.”
“Fucking,” he said. “It’s called fucking. Don’t paint this as some kind of romantic fantasy.”
I stared at him, incredulous that the charming man I knew could be so deliberately cruel. Shaking all over, I stood up on legs the consistency of spaghetti. All I wanted to do was make it out of the room without collapsing. “I appreciate your honesty,” I said, my throat raw. “I doubt we’ll see each other again, so I’ll say goodbye. Thank you for the roadside rescue and for the room and board.”
I waited for him to stop me. To tell me he was sorry. To erase the hurtful words with soft kisses.
But he didn’t.
He let me walk out of his bedroom and close the door behind me.
When I got to my own room, I locked the door and stripped off my clothes. I was so cold I didn’t think I’d ever be warm again. In the tiny bathroom, I started the shower and ran it as hot as I could bear it.
Then I stepped into the tub so no one would hear me sob.
I cried because I missed my friends and for the aching emptiness inside me and because Finley had tarnished my dream of Scotland. The trip of a lifetime had been reduced to a date-night gone bad. One more in a line of sad stories about men who weren’t worth my time or my emotional investment.
The trouble was, crying never solved anything. In the end, it left you with a stuffy nose and a hollow certainty that few things in life lived up to the hype. Perhaps I was becoming as cynical as my host.
I found my comfiest pajamas and pulled on fluffy woolen socks. My feet were numb. Despite the hot shower, I still felt cold to the bone. After climbing into the big bed, I huddled under the covers, flung an arm across my face, and listened to myself breathe.
How could I have such a pain in my chest? It’s not as if Finley Craig was the love of my life. Even so, my pillowcase was damp when I finally managed to fall asleep.
