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“Thank you, Lachlan,” she says in a whispery voice that makes me want to protect her and fuck her.
“We’ll get the furniture business settled in the morning. It’s late, and I promise you I’ll keep to myself.”
“What is it with hot men and the universe tonight?” she grumbles. She cranes her head to look into my bedroom and the rumpled sheets, her top tooth snagging on her bottom lip again.
Jesus, that look.
“Nope. Not happening. I’ve gotten into enough trouble tonight.”
I have no clue what she’s talking about, but I can do nothing but grin. She sounds so cute.
“There’s always tomorrow night.”
She flashes me a full-wattage smile.
Yeah, I like this girl.
The critical problem is, will she want to stick around in the morning and get to know me?
Chapter Nine
GEORGIA
He moves around the small space like a panther, all lean-packed muscle under smooth skin, constantly raking his hands through his messy light brown hair. I must look like something the cat dragged in, but his soulful, beautiful blue eyes keep landing on me. He must be six foot, built with hair that needed cutting about a month ago that drops in lazy thick layers to his neck. A small, tender smile on his full lips. Lord have mercy. I’m going to tell my cousin Savannah about Scotland and its abundance of hot men.
“Sorry for waking you.” I dig my hand through my hair, something I do when I’m tired or nervous, and yelp when my hair hooks around my earring. Before I can react, his hands are in my hair, gently detangling it. Warmth radiates out of him, and he smells divine. Another thing to tell Savannah: men in Scotland smell delicious. I lean in a little to give him better access; his scent is all man. No aftershave on this man, just soap, a vaguely familiar citrus scent, and a clean man. I wobble a little with his proximity, tiredness, and how carefully he’s detangling my hair. Dark blue eyes crinkle at the corners as he concentrates on the task.
“Thanks,” I whisper when he smooths his hand down my head, ever so gently. As if I’m an injured fawn he’s just freed.
“Always,” he replies softly, looking down at me with a tenderness that brings a lump to my throat. He moves back, and I immediately feel his loss of heat. My heart skips like crazy.
He makes short work of stripping the sheets on his bed. Lord, I wish he wouldn’t. I would love to wrap myself in the warm, scented cotton and drift off.
I look around the space. Male-tidy. Clothes sort of in a hamper like they’ve been thrown in with only half a thought. Bedside table with a lamp and a book. I crane my neck but can’t make out the title. He moves past me like a shadow. Even when he’s not moving, he is. Stretching. Shifting. It makes me want to run my hand down his arms and soothe him. All this for a guy I’ve only just met, after the night I’ve had.
Lordy, where are my manners again?
“I’m so sorry. Let me help.” I move into his room where he’s stuffing pillows into cases. A warm, dark blue quilt is on the bed.
“I’m good. Help yourself to a bevvy in the fridge.”
I can see the title of the book now. Triumph Owners Handbook. There are pictures of what I think are vintage motorcycles on the cover. Not that I have a working knowledge of bikes, but I appreciate the science behind them.
“Are you into motorcycles?” There are hundreds of Post-It notes stuck to pages with beautiful cursive handwriting.
“Not particularly. I’m doing up a vintage Triumph 3T 350cc. I met an old bloke in Aberdeen, and I swapped it for a Jensen Healey car I’d been working on for a year.”
“So, you’re into cars?” I ask, taking in his bedroom more closely. No pictures, no photos. Nothing that shows who he is. Now when you walked into my apartment, you’d be assaulted by pillows of every color on my bed and comfy throws on the back of chairs in the living room so you can sit down and curl up with a book. Pretty much my whole apartment is a burst of color. Candles and oil diffusers on every surface. The scent of jasmine, lily, and grapefruit lingers. I can’t wait to move into my little house with it’s white-washed walls, warm polished floors waiting for bursts of color. I shiver in anticipation.
For the first time I’ll have a home.
“Grapefruit,” I blurt out like an idiot.
His eyebrows rise.
“You smell like citrusy grapefruit.”
He gifts me a heart-stopping smile. “It’s my soap.”
