Page 65 of Wild Scottish Love


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“Munroe, thank you for thinking of me,” I began, refusing to walk forward and admire the pretty bike. Instead, I put my hands behind my back. “Truly. I appreciate it, but I can take care of myself.”

“But you don’t have any way to get around. I thought this would be a nice option for you. I even got a matching one, in a manly color, of course, so we can ride together if we feel like it.”

My stomach twisted, and I shifted on my feet, uncertain how to accept this gift. It was incredibly sweet of him,but…

“Thank you for getting this for me,” I said, looking up at him. “How much was it? I can reimburse you.”

“No, Lia. It’s a gift.” A stubborn look crossed Munroe’s face, which I ignored, and went to get my purse.

“I’m not sure how much I have on me here, but if you just tell me how much I owe you, I’ll be happy to pay for it,” I said. The words hung heavy on my tongue, and I knew that I was doing something wrong, and yet I couldn’t stop myself from trying to pay for the bike. It was too much, and it made me uncomfortable. Already, Munroe had bought me the pretty cutting board and the sparkly grasshopper pendant, what would be next? I wondered if he thought he had to buy my love.

Love.

Huh, that was also an uncomfortable, and yet not entirely unwelcome, thought.

Turning, I winced at Munroe’s expression. Hurt filled his eyes, and I opened my mouth to try and explain myself—that I needed to be able to take care of myself, that I couldn’t have my future ripped away from me again because of someone else’s choices, that I needed to know I could support myself—but before I could say anything, the kitchen erupted in chaos.

Metal mixing bowls flew from the shelves, narrowly missing my head, as the spice cabinet shifted and wobbled. A ceramic platter launched at my head and shattered on the wall behind me, and Munroe ducked a flying stool as he dove for me, pulling me to his body to protect me from the onslaught of flying utensils.

“Brice!” I shrieked, my face pressed into Munroe’s chest. “Stop! Stop it!”

Instantly, the chaos stopped, and Munroe pulled me outside before dropping his hands from around me and storming back into the kitchen.

“Oh, shit.”

“Brice, you clarty bastard. Show yourself,” Munroe thundered, and I raced after him to find him in the pantry, knife in hand, towering over where Brice cowered in a dark corner.

“Munroe, no.” I schooled my tone, trying to bring the tension down, and eased forward.

“He almost hurt you,” Munroe said, the knife raised in his hand. “You could have been killed.”

“But he didn’t. Hedidn’t,” I said, reaching up to gently tug Munroe’s arm. It didn’t move, not even an inch. “Munroe. I’m safe. Listen to me. I’m just fine. I’m sure Brice wouldn’t mean to actually hurt me. It was just an accident is all.” Sweat broke out across my brow, and the seconds ticked by as I waited for Munroe to come to his senses. I truly didn’t know what I would do if he actually tried to hurt Brice. In fact, I wasn’t sure what the broonie would do either, if he knew his life to be in danger.

“You willnothurt her. Understood?” Munroe barked at Brice.

The broonie’s small body trembled, but he lifted a head and nodded, his eyes watery with tears. My heart twisted.

“If I even think, for a second, that she is in danger—I’m coming after you. This is your one and only warning.”

With that, Munroe dropped his hand and pulled me from the pantry, slamming the door behind him.

“Munroe, you can’t threaten him like that,” I said, my nerves pulled tight. Frustration filled me, and I don’t know if it was from the gift, or the mess that my kitchen was now in, but I rounded on Munroe. “He’s little. You scared him.”

“I…Iscared him?” Munroe pointed a finger at his chest and then at the destroyed kitchen. “He threw a platter at your head. You could have gotten a concussion. Or worse. And you’re mad at me?”

“I’m not…it’s just…” I waved my hands in the air, unable to articulate all the emotions bouncing around inside of me. It was too much. Munroe’s gift, his need to take care of me, the broonie using magick at a whim… My brain basically short-circuited and shut down, so I just gaped at Munroe, unable to speak.

An alarm sounded from Munroe’s bag, and he pinched his nose.

“I have to go to my meeting. I’ll be back to help clean this up afterward. We’ll talk then.”

“Munroe, it’s fine, I can clean…” I stopped when he snapped his fingers in the air.

“Not another word, Lia. I’m this close to losing it.”

I raised my eyes at the ever-unflappable Munroe, surprised to see that he did, indeed, have a temper. Without another word, he grabbed his laptop bag and stormed from the kitchen while I stood in the middle of the shattered mess. Picking up the stool that had fallen over, I dropped onto it and cradled my head in my hand as tears welled.

Maybe I was in over my head.

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