Among the Heather (The Highlands, #2) (9)

I dreaded to think what state it was in.

Attempting diplomacy, I knocked hard on the door. When no answer was forthcoming, I rang the doorbell. Not even a whisper of a footstep. I rang the doorbell again.

“Go away!” a belligerent male voice yelled from inside.

Charming.

“Mr. Hunter, it’s Aria Howard. Please open the door.”

No answer.

“Mr. Hunter!”

His muffled “Piss aff!” heated my skin with indignation.

I swiped the key card and strode inside, letting the door slowly shut behind me. Blinking against the dim light spilling in through the half-closed curtains, I allowed my eyes to adjust.

“Whit part eh piss aff dae ye no understand?”

My eyes moved over the unmade bed, the half-eaten sandwich molding on the bedside table, the clothes strewn everywhere … to North. He was slumped in an armchair in the sitting room, a bottle of beer dangling from his fingers. He was also only wearing pajama trousers. They hung low on his hips as his legs sprawled out, and I noted the carved definition of his obliques. North didn’t have massive broad shoulders and bulging biceps. But I was momentarily stunned to notice the hardest six-pack I’d ever seen in my life. The man looked sculpted from stone, not an inch of fat on him. Surprising, considering the amount of alcohol he’d consumed this week.

“Did ye jist come here tae leer at me?” He slurred his words, his eyes low-lidded as he watched me like I was prey. His accent was so thick, I could barely understand him. But I understood enough.

The smell of stale beer and sweat filtered into my nostrils, and I grimaced. “I came here to ask you to vacate the room so we can clean it.”

North scoffed. “Dae ye no mean so the wee maids can get in tae clean it? Ah doubt ye even wipe yer ain arse.”

“Housekeepers, not maids,” I answered stiffly, not responding to his last comment. Striding past the bed toward the window, I could feel him watching me as I reached for the curtains and drew them open in jerky, annoyed movements.

“Fuck!” he snarled, and I turned to see he’d dropped the beer bottle, which was thankfully empty. North covered his eyes. “Get oot ma room, ye she-divil!”

I smirked, taking malicious pleasure in his discomfort. “You are incredibly Scottish when you’re drunk. Did you know that?”

He blinked rapidly, somehow scowling at the same time. “Ah’ll gee ye incredibly fuckin’ Scottish, ye pain in the utter arsehole. Gee a man some warnin’ before ye burn his fuckin’ retinas aff.”

“It’s called daylight.” I swiped up clothes as I wandered around the musty space. “You should try walking around in it. Sober. But first, take a shower. You smell as bad as the room.” Dumping his clothes at the door for housekeeping to collect, I said, “We’ll wash and dry-clean these for you. Do you have anything to wear in the meantime?”

“Who needs clothes?”

I glanced back at the sullen purr in his voice. It wasn’t anger in his eyes but something else. Tension stiffened my spine. “This isn’t a nudist resort, Mr. Hunter. Clothes are a requirement.”

“C’mon.” He winked at me as he patted his abs. “Ah saw ye lookin’. Ye prefer me naked. Admit it.”

Oh, dear God. “I’d shut up before you say something you regret.”

“Maybe Ah’ll shut up if ye shut up with me. If ye get ma drift.” He winked.

“I’m going to pretend I don’t.”

“Because ye think am beneath ye?”

Surprised by the bitterness in his tone, I huffed. “Absolutely not. But I do think right now you’re acting like a self-indulgent playboy wallowing in self-pity. Take a shower, get dressed, and go for a walk.” I turned to stride toward his door but was startled at the sound of hard footsteps behind me. As I glanced over my shoulder, I saw North was almost upon me, and I spun to face him, eyebrows raised. Nervousness skittered down my spine, but I lifted my chin, not letting him think for one second he intimidated me.

Beer reeked from his pores, and I wrinkled my nose. Just how drunk was he?

North leaned into me, his face almost touching mine as he whispered harshly, “Huv ye always been sae coldhearted? Whit’s the problem? Whit wid it take tae melt yer frigid fuckin’ heart?”

Refusing to let him see his words hurt, I said sternly, “You stepping back might be a good place to start.”

“Why? Afraid ye’d like whit ah could might make ye feel?”

A shiver cascaded around the curve of my breasts and between my legs. Furious that even when he was drunk I could be attracted to this asshole, I was rendered momentarily speechless. He seemed to understand my silence.

North cupped my hip, drawing me against him as he murmured silkily in my ear, “Ye wouldnae let me near ye wi’ a barge pole, wid ye? Aria Howard, ice queen. Dae ye even like men?”

Angry with him, with myself, I stepped back, curled my hand into a fist, and punched it between his legs with as much force as I had in me.

North’s knees buckled and his lips parted in an O of pained shock seconds before his eyes widened and he fell to the floor, holding himself. His expression turned mottled with agony as he nodded frantically, fell onto his back, and gasped, “Aye. Ah deserved that. Ah deserved it.”

With one last look of disgust, I marched out of the room and walked straight into Theodore Cavendish.