The Great Scot. Donna Kauffman

moment on the dance floor when she’d first bumped against him. Then again, just now, at the top of the stairs, when they’d been wedged in the doorframe. It had been a rather charged moment, but he assumed it was his own folly, given the fresh memories of his morning shower activities.

      “So,” Erin went on, “what is it about opening Glenshire’s doors that bothers you most?”

      “Who said it bothered me?”

      She just gave him a stop kidding yourself look and continued. “Are you afraid she’ll come up lacking? Or is it a heritage issue, beneath the family name to take in boarders, that kind of thing?”

      “I’m no’ afraid of what people will think of Glenshire,” he responded truthfully. He was a wee bit more concerned what his guests would think of him, but only because he needed their patronage to keep the place from complete ruin. Were it up to him, he’d have far rather continued managing his stock portfolio, investing as wisely as possible, and repairing the place as the funds became available. But while his personal portfolio had benefited them all over the years, the market was too unpredictable to trust their fortunes exclusively to his investment prowess, no matter that he was still largely successful at it.

      And, frankly, sitting in this drafty auld place, tapping away at a computer terminal as years passed by, wasn’t exactly an enticing future for him to contemplate either. “As to opening her doors, it’s no’ beneath us. It’s far from the first time Chisholms have taken on the role of host within these walls.” It was the first time they’d charged money for the privilege, but she was far too nosey for her own good. No need to give her any more information than was necessary.

      She bent and dipped her brush in the pan, and he couldn’t help but notice the way her pants pulled tight across her bum. Huh, he thought. Not much of one there, as it turned out. Her legs were a bit on the spindly side, too, though she wasn’t all that narrow of hip or waist. Add to that her long arms, which gave her the appearance of being taller than she really was. She straightened and turned back to the trim work, reaching above her head. She wasn’t skinny, more gangly, like a baby giraffe, all stick limbs, blocky torso, and slender neck.

      No, not at all his type. There wasn’t a sleek, sophisticated bone in her, nor the curves to make up for their absence. He shook his head slightly and returned to his own spot of trim. And thought about his morning shower. And started to get hard all over again. Christ.

      “So you’re doing it for family, then. Clan leader, oldest son commitment,” she commented after a few minutes had passed, as if there hadn’t been a break in their conversational flow.

      He wondered if she had any inkling of how keenly aware he was of her. She didn’t seem conscious of her impact much at all, to be honest. Maybe because she typically didn’t make one, not of the sort he was thinking about anyway. And why was he thinking like that? He really had to reconsider the whole monk thing. And he would. Just as soon as she left town. “Like all that came before me, we do what we must to maintain the family assets,” he said, at length.

      She finished carefully running her brush along the inside edge of the sill, before turning to face him once again. “But that doesn’t mean you have to like it.”

      He stopped and looked at her. “No, no it doesn’t.” He found it impossible to be anything other than candid in the face of her own easy frankness. And yet, he wondered how she would respond if he were the interrogator and she the object of his inquisition?

      She propped her brush on the pan and wiped her fingers on the edges of his increasingly paint-spattered loaner shirt, then grinned at him. “So, why don’t you let me get you away from all of this?” She gestured to the room as if she were a game show presenter. “An eight week, all expenses paid vacation. You’ll come home to a place in better shape than when you left it, starting with us finishing up all this detail work and including any reworking and refinishing necessary for our production, and with the added bonus of a nice check to put in the bank as well.” Her grin broadened. “A win-win proposition. I don’t see how you could turn it down.”

      Standing there like that, all twinkly eyed, cocksure smile, and paint-spattered cheeks, he was having a hard time remembering why he was fighting this so hard himself. A chance to get away for eight minutes would have been more than welcome at this point. Had he anywhere to go. He missed the city in some ways, but not the drama that went along with it. Too many ghosts there, not to mention Maribel’s family and friends, who were well meaning, but suffocating. Even a short visit would allow them to drag him right back into the emotional birl he’d spent the past two years successfully working his way out of. But he hadn’t exactly found an even footing yet in Glenbuie, either. He was living in a sort of surreal limbo.

      So Erin’s offer to escape the life he’d somehow found himself inhabiting was far more attractive than even she could have known. And she never would. Surreal or not, fulfilling or not, his commitment was here. And if his marriage had proven anything, it was that when he made a commitment, he stuck with it. No matter what.

      The fly in the ointment here was the money. He needed it. Or more to the point, Glenshire needed it. But he couldn’t, wouldn’t, relinquish the place to a cordon of strangers, and allow them the kind of unfettered access they’d likely demand. He couldn’t risk his heritage in that way for any amount of money or accidental repair riders attached to the contract. Some things weren’t reparable. However…perhaps there was room for a compromise.

      “So, what do you say?” she said, cocking her head to one side as he continued his silent regard of her.

      “I canno’ vacate the premises here,” he stated flatly.

      Her entire body seemed to vibrate then. She’d sensed victory within her grasp. But her voice when she spoke was calm, even. “I promise, we would ensure that any—”

      He held up his hand. “I’ll no’ vacate the premises.”

      To her credit, she said nothing. She wasn’t a fool, far from it from what she’d displayed so far.

      “As noted previously, the other wing of the house is off limits to guests. I’ll need to see exactly what you’re offering me in terms of compensation for relocating or rebooking my guests. And I’d also need to discuss in detail exactly what adjustments your crew would make to my home in order to set up shop here.”

      “We have resources that you don’t. I could have a team of people in here less than twenty-four hours from now. We could finish a lot of this type of—”

      Again he silenced her with a raised hand, or brush, as was the case. “I’ll need a free flow of communication throughout the production.” He could see that didn’t set well with her at all. He completely understood her reluctance to have the owner underfoot, but she’d learn he wouldn’t be swayed on that point. “To that end, will you be staying for the duration of the filming?”

      She looked surprised by the question. “Why do you ask?”

      “I realize you’d prefer me not to get in the way of your filming, and I’d definitely prefer to steer as clear of the entire endeavor as possible.”

      “So let us put you up in town, then,” she offered quickly, banked excitement in her tone now. “We would pick up the tab, of course, and I’d work it out for you to get frequent reports and updates, addressing any concerns you might have. We’ve done this for seven seasons, now. Trust me, we know what we’re doing.”

      “Be that as it may, I’m responsible for the welfare of my family’s heritage. We’ve done so for over four centuries now, and we’re quite good at it as well.”

      She gave him a rueful smile. “Point taken. Surely we can come up with some kind of compromise that will ease your concerns and make the entire event as easy on both sides as possible.”

      She’d used the word event, but he’d heard the word ordeal. It would be both, of that he was certain. “I’ve already come up with such a plan. But you hav’nae answered my question.”

      “About me staying on?