Real Men Wear Plaid!. Rhonda Nelson

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СКАЧАТЬ her cheek. “In fact, women aren’t his type at all.”

      A beat slid to three, then “Oh,” he said, shooting her a significant look. “He’s—”

      “—gay,” she finished. Coming out hadn’t been a particularly easy experience for him, but he’d had the support of his friends and family and was determined not to live a lie. She admired her friend for that. It took a tremendous amount of courage to be different.

      Ewan merely shrugged. “To each his own,” he said, earning golden brownie points for his attitude. Any guy who’d ever been uncomfortable being around her friend went immediately on her Do Not Date list.

      They walked in silence for a few moments and she simply enjoyed the kiss of the breeze on her face, the sound of music ebbing in and out of a pub farther up the street. The shop fronts were smaller here—she hadn’t seen a single big box store—as were the cars and streets. Odd when one considered the vastness of the land, the sheer size of the mountains, burns and lochs. Stone houses with roses climbing their faces and spilling over the fences marched in cozy rows along the street, reminding her of Thomas Kincaid paintings. She was hammeringly aware of Ewan—he towered over her, making her feel quite dainty as he walked beside her, adjusting his longer stride to accommodate her shorter one, and a smooth woodsy fragrance accompanied his heat.

      Because she’d taken every opportunity to covertly observe him for the past several days, she knew his hair was more brown than red, naturally curly and his ruddy complexion complemented his striking hazel eyes. Those eyes… They simply made her melt when she looked into them—and his smile? Mercy. He had a noble brow and a bold nose and a mouth that was unrepentantly sexy. Beneath it was an auburn soul patch and something about that little bit of groomed hair made him look strangely aristocratic and rebellious. She rather liked it and found herself struck with the urge to rub her thumb over it, to see if it was as soft as it looked.

      Furthermore, because she was innately curious, she couldn’t help but wonder what it felt like when he kissed a woman. Gemma had never cared for a mustache or a beard—too abrasive—but she suspected the soul patch would feel different…particularly against the more sensitive parts of her body. Like her nipples. They instantly pearled behind her bra and she smothered a whimper.

      She’d bypassed ogling and moved directly into lust.

      Not good. Particularly when one considered the way he made her feel, breathless and shaky and expectant.

      “I’m Ewan MacKinnon, by the way,” he told her extending his hand in a courtly gesture. “I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced.”

      They hadn’t, but she’d known his name because she’d overheard him say it to someone else. His hand engulfed hers and the combination of warmth, size and electricity made her fingers tingle and a tangle of sensation snake low in her belly. She felt the reaction to his touch spread through her, setting off a bizarre warning she knew she wasn’t going to heed. He made her ache, made her want, made her need in a way more powerful than she’d ever experienced, as though something stronger than sexual attraction was pulling them together.

      “Gemma Wentworth,” she said breathlessly.

      “From the States,” he remarked. “The South, I would assume.”

      She laughed. She was used to getting the you’re-not-from-around-here speech when she was visiting other areas of her own country, but having people an ocean away remark upon it was a bit surreal. “Mississippi,” she confirmed. “Jackson, specifically. What about you? You’re a native, right?”

      “I am.”

      When he didn’t elaborate, she didn’t press. “And have you always wanted to make this walk?” Was that a B&B ahead? Gemma squinted. It definitely looked like it. Her kingdom for a scone, a hot shower and a bed.

      “Not always,” Ewan admitted with a chuckle. “It was more of a spur of the moment thing.”

      For whatever reason, she imagined that Ewan Mac Kinnon and spur of the moment were well-acquainted.

      “It was supposed to be a journey of self-discovery,” he confided, shooting her a charmingly wry smile. Her heart gave another jump in response, then a squeeze for good measure.

      She inclined her head. “Ah. And what have you discovered thus far?”

      He blew out a breath and grinned, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Not a whole hell of a lot, actually.”

      She laughed, finding both the admission and the accompanying smile ridiculously endearing. “I know what you mean,” she murmured under her breath, her eyes widening significantly. Her gaze darted ahead. That was definitely a bed and breakfast. The Waterhouse, the sign said. It sounded wonderful. Beyond wonderful. Heavenly. Though she was thrilled to be walking with him and appreciated his company, she quickened her pace.

      “In a hurry now, are you?” Laughter lurked in his voice.

      “There’s a B&B ahead and I’m beat.”

      “You passed two already,” he remarked.

      “Did I?” she asked breezily, knowing full well that she had. She cast him a sidelong glance and that bizarre sense of expectancy struck her again. She hadn’t looked forward to the evening alone, but now that he was walking with her—and clearly had no intention of leaving her—her outlook had changed.

      Most drastically.

      In fact, she might be inclined to forgive Jeffrey more quickly than anticipated because she suspected her friend had, through his own selfish nature, done her a big favor.

      And that big favor was walking right beside her.

      4

      HER CHEEKS PINKENED from the change in temperature, a rosier hue on her especially ripe mouth, Gemma Wentworth was even prettier in proper lighting. There was a stubbornness in the tilt of her chin, and something about her up-turned nose and the slope of her jaw, the creamy porcelain skin, was particularly adorable.

      Just looking at her—and he couldn’t seem to be able to keep from looking at her—made an odd sensation swell in his chest. Though he’d only met her, everything about her seemed strangely familiar, new but…not. His hands perpetually itched to touch her—just to feel her skin against his—and though it was counterproductive to what he was supposed to be doing on this walk, he knew that he was going to have to touch her.

      A lot.

      In intimate places.

      Furthermore, though it sounded improbable to his own mind, he felt on a level deeper than logic and intuition that he was supposed to meet her, that their paths had crossed for a reason. He could feel that connection even now—a low thrum between them—and wondered if she sensed it as well.

      With brisk efficiency the innkeeper checked them in and assigned rooms. “Dinner’s over, of course, but I’ve got meat pies, bread and cheese.”

      Gemma shuddered with unabashed delight. “That sounds marvelous.”

      The older lady smiled kindly. “Why don’t you go upstairs and wash up and I’ll put a tray in the parlor for you?”

      “Thank you,” СКАЧАТЬ