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He dropped a kiss on her nose but released her. “I thought I might have to send out search and rescue. I had no idea where you were. For all I knew, you might have tripped and fallen down a hill.”
“Your concern is touching. I might point out, though, that if you hadn’t been sneaking around like a ghost earlier today, I could have told you my plans. Where were you, anyway?”
He led the way to the kitchen and set the bag on the table, sniffing appreciatively. “Smells wonderful.” He grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge and started peeling back the foil around the cork. “When I realized you had company, I spent some time in Finley’s workshop. If I had stayed in my room, your friend would have heard the floors creak. I didn’t want to make things awkward for you.”
Bella scowled, but it was halfhearted at best. “Well, if that was your concern, you should have stayed in London,” she muttered.
Ian handed her a chilled glass of chardonnay. “Not nice, Bella. Not nice at all. What would Finley say?”
She took a long slug of wine and sighed. “Finley can go stuff it. I never signed on to be an innkeeper.”
“Someone’s in a pleasant mood,” Ian said, eyeing her over the rim of his glass. His steady regard made her squirm.
“For once, it’s not your fault. I went to tour Eilean Donan Castle this afternoon. It’s been on my to-do list forever, but it didn’t occur to me that medieval castles aren’t retrofitted for crutches and wheelchairs. I looked rather foolish, if you must know. I think the guy who wouldn’t sell me a ticket felt sorry for me.”
“Poor Bella. I’ll take you back when you can walk again, I promise.”
“How long exactly are you planning to stay?” The question came out more sharply than she intended. The uncertainty of their cohabitation situation made her ill at ease.
Instead of answering, Ian carefully set down his glass of wine, fetched a couple of plates from the cabinet, and began putting the food out on the table. When Bella tried to stand and help, he shot her a hot, irritated glance. “For God’s sake, sit down. I’ve got this. If you so much as move a muscle, I’ll tie you to that chair.”
And just like that, the specter of intimacy appeared again.
Bella looked down at her food, her heart racing. She was afraid to pick up her fork, because her hand was trembling, and she didn’t want him to see.
The silence after his heated rebuke lasted for twelve and a half minutes. She knew, because she tracked the awkward void on the kitchen clock. Little by little she forced herself to take bites, but the food stuck in her throat.
Ian ate quickly, either because he was starving or because he wanted to get away from her and back to his computer. Was she imagining his sexual subtext? It wasn’t a skill she’d ever excelled at… gauging a man’s interest.
When she had eaten enough to make it look as though everything was normal, she poked at the remainder with her fork. “Did you have a productive day?”
Ian looked at her, his eyebrow raised. “Small talk? Really? Are we having afternoon tea? Should I extend my pinkie finger?”
“Don’t be a sarcastic ass.”
“It’s the only kind of ass I know.”
The droll comment made her laugh, and oddly enough unraveled the knot in her stomach. “What exactly is it that you do?” She couldn’t believe they had shared a roof for several days now and she still didn’t know.
He shrugged. “It’s hard to explain.”
“’Cause I’m not as smart as you?”
For a moment she thought he was going to jam his fork, tines down, in Finley’s old-fashioned, already scarred oak table. “You have to be the most impossible, contermacious woman I’ve ever met.”
“You’re not exactly easy, now are you? Go ahead. Try me. Tell me about a day in the life of Ian Larrimore.” She wasn’t familiar with that Scottish adjective he used, but from the context, she could guess.
He rubbed two fingers in the center of his forehead. “I’m part of an experimental think tank. We’re funded by a handful of nonprofits and charged with creating ways to make the world a safer and better place.”
“We?”
“There are nine of us. Each with his or her own specialty. We brainstorm together twice a month, but when we have an idea, we run with it on an individual basis. Most of us are not comfortable with creation by committee, though we’ve come to learn that there really is something to the idea that two heads are better than one.”
“I’m impressed.”
“Sarcasm?” He lifted an eyebrow.
“Not at all. You’re the first person I’ve ever known who works in a fish tank.”
