Her Highland Boss. Jessica Gilmore

both times? I know you agreed to marry so I could inherit, but there’s also a part of you that wants another year of safe. Jeanie, don’t you want to see the puffins?’

      ‘I...’

      ‘Come with me, Jeanie,’ he said and he couldn’t help himself then, he did reach out to her. He touched her cheek, a feather-light touch, a trace of finger against skin, and why it had the power to make him feel...make him feel...

      As if the next two minutes were important. Really important. Would she pull away and tell him to get lost, or would she finally cut herself some slack? Come play with him...

      ‘I shouldn’t,’ she whispered, but she didn’t pull back.

      ‘When did you last see puffins?’

      She didn’t reply. He let his hand fall, though it took effort. He wanted to keep touching. He wanted to take that look of fear from her face.

      What had they done to her? he wondered. Nice, safe Rory, and low-life Alan...

      There was spirit in this woman and somehow it had been crushed.

      And then he thought of the slap and he thought, No, it hadn’t quite been crushed. Jeanie was still under there.

      ‘Not since I was a little girl,’ she admitted. ‘With my mam. Rory’s uncle took us out to see them.’

      ‘Just the once?’

      ‘I... Yes. He took tourists, you see. There were never places—or time—to take us.’

      What about your own dad? he wanted to ask. Jeanie’s father was a fisherman. He’d had his own boat. Yes, it was almost two hours out to the isolated isles, the massive crags where the puffins nested, but people came from all over the world to see them. To live here and not see...

      His own grandparents had taken him out every summer. When he’d turned sixteen they’d given him a boat, made sure he had the best instruction, and then they’d trusted him. When his grandfather had died he’d taken Eileen out there to scatter his ashes.

      ‘Come with me,’ he said now, gently, and she looked up at him and he could see sense and desire warring behind her eyes.

      ‘It’s not a honeymoon.’

      ‘It’s a day trip. You need a holiday so I’m organising a series of day trips.’

      ‘More than one!’

      ‘You deserve a month off. More. I know you won’t take that. You don’t trust me and we’re forced to stay together and you don’t want that, but for now...you’ve given me an amazing gift, Jeanie Lochlan. Allow me to give you something in return.’

      She compressed her lips and stared up at him, trying to read his face.

      ‘Are you safe to operate a boat out there?’ she demanded at last.

      ‘You know Dougal. Do you think he’d lend me the Mary-Jane if I wasn’t safe?’

      Dougal’s uncle had taught him how to handle himself at sea. Once upon a time this island had been his second home, his refuge when life with his parents got too bad, and sailing had become his passion.

      ‘He wouldn’t,’ Jeanie conceded. ‘So we’re going alone?’

      ‘Yes.’ He would have asked Dougal to take them if it would have made Jeanie feel safer but this weather was so good every fisherman worth his salt was putting to sea today. ‘You can trust me, Jeanie. We’re interested in puffins, that’s all.’

      ‘But when you touch me, I feel...’

      And there it was, out in the open. This thing between them.

      ‘If we’re to survive these twelve months, we need to avoid personal attraction,’ he told her.

      Her face stilled. ‘You feel it, too.’

      Of course I do. He wanted to shout it, but the wariness in her eyes was enough to give a man pause. That and reason. Hell, all they needed was a hot affair, a passionate few weeks, a massive split, and this whole arrangement would be blown out of the water. Even he had the sense to see hormones needed to take a back seat.

      ‘Jeanie, this whole year is about being sensible. You’re an attractive woman...’

      She snorted.

      ‘With a great smile and a big heart,’ he continued. ‘And if you put a single woman and a single man together for a year, then it’s inevitable that sparks will fly. But we’re both old enough and sensible enough to know how to douse those sparks.’

      ‘So that’s what we’re doing for the next twelve months. Dousing sparks?’ She ventured a smile. ‘So do I pack the fire extinguisher today?’

      ‘If we feel the smallest spark, we hit the water. The water temperature around here is barely above freezing. That should do it. Will you come?’

      There was a moment’s hesitation and then: ‘Foolish or not, I never could resist a puffin,’ she told him. ‘My only stipulation is that you don’t wear a kilt. Because sparks are all very well, Alasdair McBride, but you put a kilt on that body and sparks could well turn into a wildfire.’

      He was free to make of that as he willed. She turned away, grabbed a picnic basket and started to pack.

      * * *

      He couldn’t just manage a boat; he was one with the thing.

      Jeanie had been in enough boats with enough men—she’d even worked as crew on Rory’s fishing trawler—to recognise a seaman when she saw one.

      Who could have guessed this smooth, suave businessman from Edinburgh, this kilted lord of all he surveyed at Duncairn, was a man who seemed almost as at home at sea as the fishermen who worked the island’s waters.

      The Mary-Jane was tied at the harbour wharf when they arrived, with a note from Dougal to Alasdair taped to the bollard.

      Keep in radio contact and keep her safe. And I don’t mean the boat.

      Alasdair had grinned, leaped lightly onto the deck and turned to help Jeanie down. She’d ignored his hand and climbed down herself—a woman had some pride. And she was being very wary of sparks.

      The Mary-Jane was a sturdy cabin cruiser, built to take emergency supplies out to a broken-down fishing trawler, or as a general harbour runabout. She was tough and serviceable—but so was the man at the helm. He was wearing faded trousers, heavy boots and an ancient sweater. He hadn’t shaved this morning. He was looking...

      Don’t think about how he looks, she told herself fiercely, so instead she concentrated on watching him handle the boat. The Duncairn bar was tricky. You had to know your way, but Alasdair did, steering towards the right channel, then pausing, waiting, watching the sea on the far side, judging the perfect time to cross and then nailing it so they cruised across the bar as if they’d been crossing a lake.

      And as they entered open water Jeanie found herself relaxing. How long since she’d done this? Taken a day just for her? Had someone think about her?

      He wanted to see the puffins himself, she told herself, but a voice inside her head corrected her.

      He didn’t have to do this. He didn’t have to bring me. He’s doing it because I need a break.

      It was a seductive thought all by itself.

      And the day was seductive. The sun was warm on her face. Alasdair adjusted his course so they were facing into the waves, so she hardly felt the swell—but she did feel the power of the sea beneath them, and she watched Alasdair and she thought, There’s power there, too.

      He didn’t talk. Maybe he thought she needed silence. She did and she was grateful. She sat and let the day, the sea, the sun soak into her.

      This was as if something momentous had happened. This was as if she’d walked through