The Great Scot. Donna Kauffman

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СКАЧАТЬ sleeves and tattered neckline. His arms were impressively muscled and surprisingly tanned. Apparently all of the work on the house hadn’t been indoors.

      “Why?” he asked, dipping his chin just slightly to snag her wayward gaze.

      Caught staring, and confused by his less than cordial greeting, she faltered. “I’m—” She stopped, looked down at her watch to check the time, and absently noticed he was barefoot, which for some reason struck her as incredibly sexy. Apparently any naked part of him was enough to send her vivid imagination on a detailed romp, so she countered by shifting her gaze swiftly back up to his face. Bigger mistake. He was even more imposing today, hard as that was to believe.

      He was standing in a doorframe that would, in any other setting, be considered massive. Yet, somehow he managed to fill that empty space quite commandingly and that with cream-colored paint tipping the ends of his shaggy hair and a swipe of baby blue across his un-shaven jaw. And really, what a jawline, huh? The camera would love him, all of him really, from that hard, stubbled curve to those defined biceps, and—and she realized where her thoughts were going and quickly reined them in. If only it were so easy to do the same with her jackrabbit pulse.

      She drew on every last bit of her extensive under-Tommy’s-fire training and mustered her brightest smile. She didn’t know exactly what was going on, but in her experience it was always better to go with the supposed program until someone else derailed it.

      “It’s eight o’clock,” she said brightly. “I’m right on time.”

      His frown deepened, if that were possible. “For what?”

      And it was at that moment Erin realized why she’d looked twice at the handwriting on the note last night. She’d seen it before, only she hadn’t realized it at the time. On the chalkboard at Hagg’s, toting the dart scores. Brodie Chisholm’s handwriting, to be exact. “I can’t believe it. He set us up. Again.”

      “I beg your pardon?”

      She looked back at Dylan. “When was the last time you talked to your brother? Brodie, I mean.”

      “Before we left the pub last night, why?”

      “You didn’t go back inside after I left?”

      Dylan folded his arms over his chest, which only served to point out just how divinely muscular his shoulders were, too. “No. Why?”

      “I should have known you didn’t send that note.” Why hadn’t she had this little handwriting epiphany last night when it might have done her some good? But oh no, she was far too busy running hot, sexcapade scenarios through her fevered brain. Now she’d barged in and bungled the one final chance she had.

      “What note?”

      “I got a message at the hotel last night, ostensibly from you, requesting I meet you here, alone, at eight A.M .” And she hadn’t brought it with her, dammit, the one piece of proof she had. But why would she?

      “I thought I made myself quite clear yesterday.”

      “Oh, you did. I thought perhaps Brodie had talked to you, or anyone back in the pub, maybe Alastair,” she added, playing her only ace. And she wasn’t even sure he was one. “I thought maybe he’d changed your mind. Made you realize that the good of the village and your family bank balance would be worth inconveniencing yourself for a little while.”

      “Inconvenience? Is that what you call it? And for ‘a little while’ is it? I believe you mentioned eight weeks. Have you no idea what all must be done to ready this place? And that’s the mere tip of it. I’ve guests booked. An inn to run. I canno’ walk away from the place for so long a time.”

      This was so not going how she’d envisioned it. She hadn’t even gotten inside the place yet. Tommy was going to kill her. Unless Dylan tossed her off the cliff located conveniently a hundred yards behind her and saved her boss the trouble. Her heart sank. This place was so prime, so perfect, and she’d taken her eye off the damn ball. “What if we worked it out so you could stay here?” she blurted, desperate. Tommy would never go for it. And even if he did, the network’s legal beagles would have a stroke. They’d learned that particular lesson the hard way on season one when a tiff with the owner had ended in a nasty lawsuit.

      But when Dylan didn’t immediately close the door in her face, Erin finally, mercifully, flipped into negotiator mode and pushed her tiny advantage. Even a tiny crack had the chance to become a wall-crumbling fissure if the right pressure was applied in exactly the right place. All she had to do was find that precise spot…and push.

      Visions of soft spots and just what could be pushing on them punched with ridiculous ease through her tough combatant armor. She’d never really believed in Dana’s whole “you just need to get laid” theory, but she was beginning to think maybe there was some merit to it after all.

      “The lease offer will compensate you above the business loss. And, as I told you, we’ll gladly pay to relocate whatever guests can’t rebook for a future date, not to mention that from the exposure you’ll get, you’ll replace those guests with many, many more. You’ll book up—”

      “Far and away into the future, aye,” he grumbled. “So ye’ve said. Do you have statistical proof of that claim? How many bed and breakfasts or hotels have you used in the past?”

      Exactly none, was the answer. They usually used privately owned property with little to no public access. But she wasn’t completely unarmed. “I have documented proof that the communities we’ve been located in have always experienced an extended, noticeable economic surge. In fact—”

      “Will you back up that claim with a written guarantee? If I lose business, or if I have to shut down in order to repair any damage done, will you guarantee I’ll be fully compensated to my complete satisfaction?”

      Erin’s heart rate kicked into overdrive. He was negotiating. He might not realize it, given he was still scowling and his arms were banded across his chest like they were barring entry to a fortress with a pair of broad beams, but he was talking. He wasn’t shutting the door in her face.

      “We return every alteration to its original state, and we always repair anything that might suffer any unforeseen damage. You will have that in writing.” Seeing the shrewd gleam in his eyes, she added, “We run a videography of the entire location before and after, so any alterations and repairs are easily determined by both you and the production crew. There’s no way to hide anything.” Which worked both ways as it also kept owners from claiming damage or repairs already needed before the crew ever set foot on the property. “If, for whatever reason, anything is irretrievably broken, altered, or damaged, we would, of course, be responsible for settling with you on an appropriate reimbursement.” She tugged her satchel around and slipped the catch open. “I have the entire agreement here. Perhaps I could come in and we could discuss it in more detail? You can have your attorney look it over as well if you’d like.”

      It had been her experience that most people were so flattered and eager to have anything they owned be connected with a television show, they often signed without the hassle and delay of getting lawyers directly involved. She didn’t think Dylan fell into that category. She could only pray his lawyer was local. And reasonable. They didn’t have time for an extended review period.

      “I’m no’ exactly at a place in my work load where I can stop and sit. In fact, I need to get back to it.” He shifted his weight and unfolded his arms and she went from hopeful to panicked all over again.

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