Page 11 of Beneath the Quiet

I rub a hand over my heart beating hard, but Aidan’s relaxed stance and polite expression make me settle down. “What are you doing, lurking out here in the middle of the night?”

“I’m not lurking.” He scratches the bristles on his chin. “I’m just out enjoying the spring air, minding my own business.”

I take a deep breath through my nose. “Right, I see.”

But I don’t. It’s colder than a witch’s tit, and he knows it.

“If we were in Dublin, I’d find it very odd meeting a stranger on a dark road this late in the evening.”

He lifts his mug to his lips and takes a sip. “You’re not in Dublin. You’re in Cloonmara. You’ll see far stranger things than a farmer enjoying a quiet evening outside from time to time.”

“Oh.”

Awkward silence settles between us, and I rack my brain for something to say.

“Sooo,” he drawls. “What made you take an evening stroll?”

“I wasn’t. A disturbance at the church called me out.”

“Did this disturbance concern our gentle vicar, his exact opposite, moody brother, and a board game with phrases only people with a highly mathematical brain know how to play?”

An unladylike snort escapes me, and I clap a hand over my mouth.

He winks at me. “Go on, now. You can tell me.”

I smile at him. “I can’t share the specifics, but harsh words were exchanged between the parties. However, they quietened down eventually and went their separate ways. Peace restored once again.”

Aidan frowns and takes a step closer towards me. “You’re shivering. Want a cuppa?” He half turns and jerks his head in the direction he came from. “My farm’s only a few minutes away.”

The cold is seeping through my clothes now. “Is it the tea Mrs. McCarthy makes herself?”

“Yes. It’s the best.” He pushes his glasses up his nose, frown firmly in place. “Come on, it won’t take long. You can borrow one of my travel mugs and take the tea back to your cottage with you.”

A full-blown body shiver makes the decision for me. “Thank you. Lead the way.”

Aidan holds out his arm for me, showing me that, despite his impatience, he can be civil, and I nod in thanks. He takes another long pull of the tea and then pours out the rest in the grass before he takes off. Despite doing my best to match his purposeful strides, I have to almost run to keep up with him. My brows furrow but years in the police force have taught me not to show weakness, even when it’s sorely tempting.

I’m no weakling, but the twinge in my lower abdomen reminds me that I haven’t fully recovered yet.

Still, I try to push it far from my mind by focusing on the man walking next to me.

He’s not wearing wellies or overalls tonight. I’d hardly take him for the same man I met earlier. Instead of wellies, he’s wearing suede loafers, and his muscled legs are covered in a pair of fitted black jeans that hug a very delectable arse. From what I can see in the dim evening light, his lean, toned torso is hidden behind an olive-green sweater and a dark-brown oilskin jacket. The light scruff covering his strong jawline is more trimmed than this morning, and he’s done something with his sandy-coloured hair that makes it look more styled, in a messy kind of way that makes my fingers itch with the temptation to run them through the locks.

I wonder if it’s as soft to touch as it looks.

If I were into this type of country gentleman, he’d be the perfect candidate.

Luckily, he’s not my type.

Nope. Not one bit.

Even so, my gaze flicks down to his cute arse more than once during our walk.

Oh my God. I’m such a mess.

“We’re here.”

Aidan’s voice pulls my lust-befuddled brain back from rosy-tinged clouds, and I return to reality by almost running into his back. My quick reflexes stop me, and I suck in a deep breath, trying to mask my exhaustion. He opens a white wooden gate that looks a lot like the one at Rose Hill cottage and steps back, silently showing me to go first.