Off Kilter. Donna Kauffman

he said, gathering himself rather quickly. “Quite. You—carry on with what you were doing, then. And I’ll—”

      “Walk into town. Looking like a creature from the black lagoon. Perhaps I’ll join you on the hike in. Maybe snap a few pictures as we go along. Could be amusing. Who knows, maybe you’ll actually like those.”

      “What do ye mean?”

      “Well, from what I hear, you couldn’t be bothered to even glance at the ones I took of you last week. Pretty sure of your appeal”—she shrugged and gave him a frank onceover—“with reason, I suppose. I guess we should all own our assets.”

      He took a step closer, real irritation on his face. “You’re so smug, thinking you have me pegged. But you have no idea, in the least, who I am, or what motivates me to do anything I choose to do.”

      “Me, smug?”

      “Aye. But then, I’ve read your resume and I guess, likewise, you have reason to be. Owning your assets and all that. I’ll just say that while your career impresses me—mightily, in fact—I dinnae know how it is you’ve done all ye’ve done.”

      “Because I’m a woman, you mean?”

      He looked honestly confused. “What does gender have to do with pointing a camera at something? No, I was speaking of yer attitude about the rest of us poor blokes.”

      It was her turn to be confused. “What on earth are you talking about?”

      “Your people skills leave a lot to be desired, lass. Although, I suppose, anyone who has seen all of the things that you have, wouldn’t be expected to have much softness left.”

      He hadn’t said the last part unkindly, which was why it undid her. Or that’s what she told herself, anyway. It was easier to think of him as an opinionated, uninformed, too-good-looking-for-his-own-good jackass. “Why on earth would you take the time to look at my career highlights?”

      “I just insult you and you’re only concerned that I peeked at yer curriculum vitae?”

      “You didn’t insult me. You just spoke the truth. You’re probably right—too right—about my people skills. But given your lack of enthusiasm regarding my involvement with this project in general, and you in particular, it just struck me as odd that you’d spend any amount of time digging up information on me.”

      “No’ so difficult. You’re quite Google-able. I looked you up because we’re trustin’ yer judgment on something that might seem trivial to you, but could bring us a great deal of help.”

      “Kira explained,” she said. “And I get that the … ah … added exposure could potentially be a boon for your basket sales. And probably boost tourism. I just hope you’re not banking all your marketing on a Hunks of the Highlands calendar.”

      Rather than be insulted, he laughed. “No, it sounded ridiculous to me, too, at first. But when it comes to the welfare of this island and every last person on it, I’m willing to do whatever it takes. It’s the only reason I agreed to gettin’ Kira to ask you to man the camera, or stand in front of it myself. I needed to know who I was trustin’ to make what might turn out to be an important decision. But did I need to see the photos of my smiling, idiotic face? No. I didn’t look at any of them, no offense meant to you. I looked at your history, and I trusted you with the choice.”

      Strangely enough, she believed him even though it didn’t jibe with who she thought he was. “Me and Katie McAuley, you mean.

      “What?” she asked, when he looked surprised. “I know you asked her to double check my choices. Do you honestly think anything stays secret around here? I haven’t met a single soul other than you since setting out on this hike, but I’m fairly certain someone could probably tell you the color underwear I have on right now.”

      Bad example, she thought immediately, when his gaze drifted over her. There’d been nothing remotely lascivious about it. More a casual cataloging. Like he’d done with her career highlights—which annoyed her, but for all the wrong reasons. Surely she didn’t care what he thought of her? As a photographer, or as a woman.

      “We’re a tightly knit group. We rely on each other,” he said as his gaze returned to hers. “It’s like that on a wee island. Has to be.”

      “I understand that, but correct me if I’m wrong—in the grand scheme of things, you’ve only known Katie McAuley slightly longer than you’ve known me.”

      “Aye, ‘tis true. But … it’s different with Katie. Spend any time with her, and it’s like ye’ve known her yer whole life. Everyone here feels it.”

      “Good people skills, then,” she said dryly, and earned a smile.

      “Something like that. We’re all close, but we’re not close-minded. We have our differences here, but we’re accepting of new people, new ideas. We’d never have survived otherwise. We respect and hold each other in high esteem, or we certainly try to.”

      “Yes, I believe I witnessed a whole raft of that esteem the other day, while you were undressing for me.”

      She’d meant the comment to be amusing, but perhaps her delivery was even rustier than she’d thought. He folded his arms and rocked back a little on his heels. How it was that all the mud and muck made him look sexy, she had no idea. She had a lot of personal experience with mud and muck and there was usually nothing remotely attractive about it.

      “What was it that put you off me?” he asked, sounding surprisingly sincere, like it really mattered.

      “Is it so hard for you to take, having one less woman giggling and blushing when she’s around you?”

      He grinned. “I’m a likable guy. What can I say? Except to you.”

      She smiled briefly. “You’ll get over the loss, I’m sure. Since you seem to have pretty much the same impression of me, I can’t imagine why my thoughts on you matter one way or the other.”

      He lifted a shoulder, continued to regard her with that dimple-flashing, half smile of his. “I don’t know that they do. Although I admit I’d be interested to know if you’ve got a giggle in you.” He just laughed when she rolled her eyes. “Mostly, I’m … curious. It’s no’ an ego thing. You’re right, it’s healthy enough, with or without your admiration of my manly bits.”

      She couldn’t help it, she laughed. More like a snort. But still. Dammit. “Yes, well, given I chose your manly bits exclusively as potential daydream fodder for women everywhere from ages sixteen to sixty, I’m fairly certain your ego is fully intact, if not additionally inflated. If you do make the calendar, your throngs of admirers will merely grow to an international level. World domination is surely only a centerfold away after that.”

      She paused because he was frowning. “What?” she asked. “Don’t try to tell me you’re not going to eat that up. You’re a red-blooded man who is quite well aware of his charms.”

      “Aye. Believe it or not, I’d rather my charms, as you call them, weren’t put on display for the masses. The idea of hanging on walls in places ye dinnae even know of, being ogled by God only knows who … that’s a wee bit odd to contemplate, now isn’t it?”

      “Are you honestly telling me this was some kind of sacrifice for you?”

      “Did I, at any point, look like I was having a good time? Was I encouraging you in any way, other than to mercifully get it over with as soon as possible?”

      “You loved playing the crowd and—”

      “I was trying to get them to leave!”

      She thought about that for a moment, and realized he had a point.

      He walked closer to her, until she could see his green eyes quite clearly through all the muck still splattering his face and neck. It must have been the contrast with all that mud that