Page 54 of The Tartan Thesis

I’ll do my best

Freya

But no promises

I should’ve known better than to ask her to keep it between the lines. Freya is entirely herself all the time and has made a study out of the myriad ways to push my buttons, and now she has a hot American historian to work with. The heat of anxiety returns to my chest.

I’m picking up my bags when I hear Beau knock. I grab the last one and head for the door. I have no intention of letting him inside—not when my flat looks like this. I don’t want him comparing my cramped little place to his. I open the door before he has a chance to knock again.

And immediately forget whatever I was thinking.

Beau fills the doorway, large and sexy, and I immediately think of Freya’s text. She wasn’t wrong. He really is one hot colleague. He’s wearing brown leather boots, jeans that fit every part of him perfectly, a dark gray coat, and a deep red scarf. Perched on his head are reindeer antlers, complete with flashing red lights.

“Merry Christmas Eve!” he belts out.

“You too,” I say, trying not to smile at his combination of stylish and completely absurd.

He points to my bags. “Want any help? I know you’re more than strong enough to carry them yourself, but…”

“Sure, Blitzen.”

He laughs as I hand him the heaviest one. “I’m actually Dancer.”

“Oh?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.

“Absolutely. One day you’ll witness my mad dance skills and understand.” He punctuates his claim with a wink.

“Looking forward to it,” I say, my tone making it clear I have serious doubts. As we load my bags into the boot of his Range Rover, I have a fleeting mental image of him rolling his hips against me on a low-lit dance floor, and blood rushes south, but I get off the lustful thought train when I see how much stuff Beau already has in his car. Packages are stacked against the back seat, and a large leather duffel is wedged in front of them.

“What is all this?” I ask.

“Oh.” He smiles sheepishly—an oddly appropriate expression given the number of sheep he’s about to meet in the Highlands, ones I hope he doesn’t try to ride. “I’m crashing their holidays last minute and want to make sure I’m contributing to the festivities. In addition to my sparkling personality, of course.”

“My mother is going to love you so much,” I say. And she will, but I worry about how she and my dad will react to his obvious wealth. Arriving in a Range Rover with whatever posh items Beau has stuffed into those boxes might be intimidating for them.

He closes the back hatch with the press of a button, and we get in, Beau tossing his antlers into the back seat so he can fit his large frame into the car. The heat comes on quickly when he starts the ignition, as does a loud recording of Wham! singing “Last Christmas.” He fumbles for the volume knob and turns it down, blushing.

“Sorry,” he says as I chuckle.

“I expected nothing less.”

He puts the car in reverse, and even though there are something like one million camera angles showing on the various screens, he reaches a hand behind my seat and looks through the rear window as he backs out onto the street.

Heat curls low in my belly and not from the vents. My mind goes to The List. Puts hand behind the passenger seat to look back when reversing the car claims spot #5. I can’t explain why something so simple is such a turn-on, but somehow it makes Beau even hotter. Which is saying something.

He hands me his phone. “Mind putting the address in?”

I have half a mind to look at his camera roll to see what pictures he might have of himself that I haven’t seen before, preferably shirtless, but I pull myself together and type into the satnav. We drive in silence for a bit, and it’s making me squirm.

I’m trying to think of something to say, but Beau beats me to it, always the conversationalist. “So, tell me about your family.”

Fair request. He is about to meet them after all. “They’re…” I search for the right word and land on “boisterous.”

“Oh, come on,” he says, glancing at me. “You’ve got to give me more than that!”

“Well, be specific!” I say. “What do you want to know?”

“Alright,” he says and thinks for a second. “Are y’all close?” I love it when he says “y’all.” His accent always comes out a little more on that word.