The Great Scot. Donna Kauffman

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       Chapter 5

       T he instant he had a spare minute to call his own, his brother was going to hear from him and quite loudly. Not that he hadn’t thought of contacting Erin himself. But he’d like to think that was his conclusion, drawn after a long, sleepless night of deep contemplation about the business ramifications of her offer. But the truth was, he’d had a hard time putting her out of his mind.

      It was bad enough he’d had to turn even a portion of his family’s ancestral home into an inn. He had zero desire to turn Glenshire over to some American film crew. After all the blood, sweat, and tears he’d literally poured into both restoration and renovation, they’d come storming in, setting up all their cameras and cables, causing untold damage in the process. No. He’d accepted the commercialization of their Chisholm heritage. He wouldn’t further sell out their integrity by allowing it to be used as a backdrop to some crass dating show.

      But the devil on his other shoulder wouldn’t stop whispering that if the check was big enough, and they agreed in writing to repair anything they damaged, how could he not at least hear her out? And, though it felt unseemly, there was no getting around the fact that the promotion for future bookings was something to consider in getting the bed and breakfast off the ground. Even with Daisy’s marketing savvy, Glenbuie wasn’t exactly a hotbed of tourism. The television show could change all that.

      He’d fallen asleep last night with the battle still waging, only to have Ms. MacGregor play a starring role in his dreams. Which had nothing whatsoever to do with television programming or keeping four hundred years of Chisholm history from crumbling to dust, and far more to do with the images he’d wrestled with most of the way home last night. Images that followed him into sleep if the rock hard state of his body when he woke up was any indication.

      So he’d steamed those confusing images of Erin’s ready smile, her spontaneous laughter, her natural joie de vivre from his mind with a long morning shower, intent on putting his thoughts back into focus. In the end, however, one thing had led to another and it had taken a bit more creative use of soap and suds, taking the matter in hand, so to speak, to finally make that happen. He should have just done that the night before as he’d planned. Maybe then he’d have at least gotten a good night’s sleep.

      Then, bang, there she was again, right on his doorstep, first thing in the morning, lease agreement clutched in hand, and an entirely too cheerful smile on her pixie face. He hadn’t blushed since he was a very young lad, but it had taken a considerable toll on his willpower to hold her gaze steadily for more than one second and not flame up, as he was incapable of not thinking about the very different version of her he’d been envisioning a mere hour or so earlier, while he’d been…doing what he’d been doing.

      Hell, even now his body was stirring just thinking about it. He angled himself more toward the wall. Just in case. What the bloody hell had gotten into him anyway? He’d all but run up the stairs in front of her just to get enough distance between them to will himself back under control. Only to get trapped with her all but plastered against him back there in the doorway. She hadn’t seemed to have the least clue of the rather insanely bawdy direction his thoughts had taken, but then he’d been so disconcerted by the whole thing, he’d all but shoved one of his old shirts in her face and escaped to his paint brush and drip tray.

      His sole concern was supposed to be what to do about the bloody lease offer, which was the only thing he should be considering leasing out. He slapped the brush against the wall and dragged his recalcitrant thoughts back to the real business at hand.

      “Oh!” came a surprised gasp from behind him.

      He turned to find her looking quite put out. Though, given the rather large splotch of pale blue paint presently oozing its way into the open neckline of his dress shirt, and between her breasts, he couldn’t say he blamed her.

      She looked down, then up at him, but rather than complain, she laughed and sort of thrust her chest out in an exaggerated fashion pose. “And blue is so not my color.”

      Dylan found his lips twitching. She was just so…real. His gaze was drawn back to the splotch. “I don’t know,” he said, considering, then immediately bit back the rest of what he’d been about to say, which would have sounded suspiciously like flirting. He didn’t flirt. Or hadn’t, anyway, in a very long time. He certainly had no business being compelled now. Erin was an obstacle of sorts, and witty banter of any fashion was not the way to clear that particular hurdle. She already had more of an edge than she realized. He’d be a fool to give so much as a toehold more when there was negotiating to be done.

      Belatedly realizing he was still staring, he grabbed a rag from the pile on the floor. “Here. If you get it off now, likely it won’t leave a mark.”

      She took the rag and plucked his shirt away from her skin so she could scrape off the offending blob. It was only after several moments of watching her dab at the spot between her breasts that he realized he was still staring. He quickly jerked his attention back to his own paint brush and the stretch of window trim awaiting his attention.

      “How long have you been working on renovating the place?”

      Yes, innocuous banter. Good. Anything to distract him from the fact that he’d noticed that while she might not have a sexy swing to her hips, she had far more of a curve to her bosom than he’d have suspected. And if the nipples pressing against his old shirt were any indication, quite perky, too. He cleared his throat and stared at the wall. “I’m fairly certain a Chisholm has been renovating some part of this place since the moment they laid the final stone.” He glanced in her direction, testing himself. “Perhaps even before that.”

      She shot him a grin before turning back to her section of wall. There was a blue smear across her cheek, her hair stuck out at odd angles, apparently on purpose as it had been much the same yesterday, and she seemed entirely unconcerned with how she came off. Appearance-wise anyway. He was already quite certain when it came to her business mien, she was more than concerned. Or she wouldn’t be wearing his shirt and slopping paint all over herself.

      And looking somehow quite charming doing so. Get hold of yourself, lad.

      “How much of the place, overall, are you turning into the B & B?”

      Her questions seemed casually asked, but he knew they were anything but. Calculating her offer most likely. “The upstairs wing on the north side—that was the hallway we entered earlier—and these three central loft rooms. Fourteen rooms all total. Various sizes.”

      She made a noncommittal noise and didn’t look up, focusing instead on keeping the brush steady as she drew it down alongside the trim. He saw that when she was really concentrating, she bit the corner of her bottom lip. Which was entirely alluring. On the right kind of woman, of course.

      She turned and caught him looking at her, but didn’t react in any overt way. “What about the other first floor on this side? Any plans to expand further if things go well? Do you plan to use anything downstairs?”

      So many questions. All of them about business. He should have been happier about that. He attacked his trim with renewed determination. “The rooms along the second upper hallway are in various stages of renovation, one whole section has been completely shut off for years. I don’t foresee the need to add them to the list of available rooms, but I suppose if I were to change my mind, I’d start with the more readily available rooms there. The first floor in this wing has only one common hallway. The rooms below are considerably larger, meant for social gatherings, some in better shape than others. СКАЧАТЬ