The Great Scot. Donna Kauffman

his, and looked up at him with laughter in her eyes and a quick apology on her lips…and he found his own lips curving. And his hold on her tightening. And his body responded when she tightened her own as well.

      Good thing she really was a remarkably bad dancer.

      More for his own safety and that of his toes than anything else, he maneuvered them closer to the pub door. Of course, he was well aware that the village would be buzzing if they left together, but he thought that might work to his benefit. Maybe they’d back off a little if they saw him actually showing interest in the opposite sex. Maybe he could convince them he could take it from there, and they’d ease up a little, stop looking at him with that dread mix of determination and pity. Especially that last part. Och, the puir widower Chisholm. He felt like such a fraud.

      Several people noticed his trajectory and tried to intercept, but fortunately Dylan was able to catch Alastair’s eye. The auld mechanic was still pretty spry and managed to twirl himself and his partner expertly into the path of the interlopers. Now Dylan knew why he admired and respected his new sister-in-law. She got her smarts from a good man.

      He didn’t waste any time taking advantage of what little edge he had. He maneuvered Erin in front of him and they were out and closing the door behind them before the song came to an end.

      They both came to a staggering halt just at the edge of the sidewalk. He was careful to steady her before finally letting her go and taking a sanity-restoring step back himself. He was quite ready to head around back, hop in his lorry, and drive straight back to hearth and home. If he had his way, he’d stay there. Preferably till the next millennium. But the situation demanded that he at least be a gentleman. “You staying at the hotel?” It didn’t come out sounding quite as polite as he’d intended, judging by the way her smile faltered, before making a swift, if forced encore.

      “Yes, but I can see myself home. Thank you for the rescue. Again.” Her smile relaxed a bit. “I’m sorry if my presence in there ruined your evening. I—I didn’t know—I mean, I never thought they’d…you know…” Her voice trailed off and even under the lamplight he could see the pink that stained her cheeks.

      She was an interesting duck. So confident about some things, yet very disconcerted about others. “No’ to worry. Feel free to head back in. Now that I’m gone, you’ll likely have a better time of it.” He wanted to smack himself the instant the suggestion left his lips. All he needed was to give her any more time to persuade anyone else what a great idea it would be to invade their peaceful village with television cameras and crew.

      “Oh, I think I’ve done enough for one day.” She stuck her hand out. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

      Nonplussed by the gesture—he’d been sure she was going to hit him up again on her offer—he shook her hand without thinking. So he was taken quite off guard by the warmth and strength he found there. So much so he dropped her hand a bit abruptly. What was this effect she had on him anyway? He either needed to get out a great deal more…or never leave home. “You certain you don’t need an escort?”

      “I’m thinking crime is probably not high on the list of problems in your little burg. I’m betting I can safely cross the square. But I appreciate the offer. Good-night.” She lifted her hand, then paused for just a second, staring at him. Then her cheeks went pink again and she abruptly turned and headed off in a straight line toward the hotel. She didn’t look back.

      “Good-night,” he responded, only realizing when she disappeared inside the front hotel doors that he’d stood there watching her the entire way, much as he had earlier today when she’d driven out of his life. Or so he’d thought. Shaking his head, he turned and made the trek around the pub to the rear lot. “Curious bird,” he murmured, then vowed to put her out of his mind. He heard the music pulsing inside the pub, and was surprised by the sudden urge he had to step back inside. He’d made the decision to come down tonight to assuage the Lettys of the village—hiding from them hadn’t worked out too well, so perhaps it was better to join them—and also because he’d wanted to make sure they weren’t working themselves into some frenzy over the idea of being on the American telly.

      For the most part, he’d enjoyed himself. Enough so, that he looked forward to making it a more regular event. But if he went back in there now, he’d be hounded about Erin, or worse, thrown at somebody local who wouldn’t be checking out of her hotel room and leaving town in the morning. Better to let them have their hopes and dreams, at least for the remainder of the evening. It was a small enough town. They’d all know soon enough that Erin had checked back into her hotel room immediately. Alone.

      And by then he’d be safely back on his mountain. When he descended into town again, they’d all have long forgotten about the crazy American. Once calmer heads had prevailed, they’d see he’d been right to turn her down. Glenbuie did not need to be turned into an American reality show spectacle to remain economically sound. They were doing just fine, and would continue to do so. Just as soon as he got that bed and breakfast open.

      His mind mercifully turned to the list of jobs he had lined up for tomorrow, starting with calls to track down the parts needed to fix the loo. His mind wandered down the list, mentally adding on to it, but as he drove around the square and past the hotel, he couldn’t keep from glancing up at the windows…and wondering which room she was in. Was she dressing for bed? Was she already, right now, naked in the shower? His mind immediately flashed on that image, and for a split second, he was sorry he’d been so quick to dismiss her.

      His body stirred again at the idea of where the evening could have gone instead, and he couldn’t lie to himself and say it wouldn’t have felt damn good. She might not be a head turner, but she had intrigued him. He’d turned into something of a recluse while getting Glenshire up and running, but he wasn’t a monk. He just lived like one. For now. Small towns made anonymous flings impossible and he didn’t have the time or energy to run into the city for anything other than plumbing supplies.

      He slowed, glanced up at the only window that was lit up, the one on the top floor. She’d likely gotten his attention only because she’d been available and not a local. Even monks had needs. He pressed down on the gas and drove out of the village and toward home before he could do something really foolish. She might be leaving in the morning, but she wanted something from him that he wasn’t willing to give. And no way was he giving her another shot at convincing him, especially in that kind of situation. He hadn’t spent much time with her, but enough to know she was a determined sort. Determined enough to swap sex for a favor? He couldn’t say.

      Miles of moonlit green fields and stacked stone boundary walls passed by him in a blur as his thoughts stubbornly refused to abandon the track he’d stupidly put them on. So fine, he let his mind wander. No harm in that. He’d be home shortly, where there was a cold shower waiting for him. He smiled. Or maybe a hot one, with a lot of slippery soap. Like he’d said, even monks had needs. He might have to embellish reality a bit to get the job done, but she’d never have to know.

      He thought it was pretty funny actually…here she’d come to Glenshire looking for something from him, only to go away empty-handed. While, this evening anyway, he was going to be anything but empty-handed.

       Chapter 4

       E rin had just climbed out of the shower, where she’d spent a very unsuccessful thirty minutes trying to get Dylan Chisholm, hot Scot, out of her mind, and back on Dylan Chisholm, manor owner and sole obstacle to her keeping her job, back into it. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been standing there with hot, steamy water streaming over her body as she rubbed lavender-scented soap all over her skin. “Yeah, that might have helped,” she muttered, rubbing her hair dry with another towel, then shaking it out. “Or not.” She sighed and pulled on her gray boxer shorts and faded Lakers shirt. She glanced at the bedside clock. One in the morning. Check out was at eleven. Didn’t give her much time to develop a battle plan.

      At the moment, her plan was to track down Daisy MacDonnell in the morning at her stationery store. She was both a fellow American and Reese Chisholm’s fiancée. Erin had met her earlier today during her first visit to Hagg’s.