“I’m so sorry. I wish I had known. I feel terrible that I put you in that position.”
“It’s not something you need to worry about.” I push my hand through her hair, a sense of understanding passing through us. “But he was the reason I was harsh with you—probably why I’m harsh with everybody.”
“You haven’t gotten over his death.”
“Does anyone ever get over losing someone they love?”
“No, I suppose not,” she answers softly.
Gently, she rests her cheek on my bare chest and wraps her arm around my waist, pressing tight against my body, almost as if she’s trying to fuse us together. I welcome it—the warmth, the comfort.
Hell, when was the last time I actually felt another person try to comfort me like this? I honestly can’t recall . . . maybe never.
“Was that the change you were talking about in the coffee shop? Why you never left town?”
“How did I know you were going to ask that?”
She lifts up. “I’m sorry if I’m being nosy.”
“You are. But it’s okay.” I yawn, covering my mouth. “Maybe we save it for another day.”
Understanding softens her eyes as she sits up and looks over at the clock on the oven. “Jeez, I didn’t realize how late it was. I’m sorry. I should head home.” A loud crack of thunder rattles the cottage, and she winces. “Or, you know, this couch is pretty comfortable.”
Chuckling, I stand as I bring her to her feet, and we link our hands together for a brief moment. I give her a squeeze, pulling a small smile from her lips right before I move around the cottage, taking care of the dishes and locking up. I lead her to my bedroom, which is off the back, and then rummage through my dresser for a shirt.
“To sleep in,” I say, handing it to her. “There’s toothpaste and an extra toothbrush in the cabinet in the bathroom.”
“Okay. Thank you. Let me text Dakota to let her know I’m staying so she doesn’t worry. I’ll probably just need a blanket and a pillow for the couch.”
I walk up to her and pinch her chin with my forefinger and thumb. “You’re sleeping in my bed tonight . . . with me.”
Her mouth drops open, forming a bonny little O. I take off to the bathroom, where I get ready quickly, mentally preparing myself for a long night of yearning and no touching.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
BONNIE
Cake consumed today: Happily, two and a half pieces.
Days since last male-induced orgasm: Uh . . . ninety? Ninety-nine? Hopefully zero soon.
Number of hot Scots who said I’d be sleeping with them: One . . . THE one and only.
Men I’m crushing on hard: One. See above.
His shirt smells like heaven. His toothpaste tastes like heaven. His face is pure heaven. I think I may have passed out and gone to heaven.
And I’m not leaving.
“So should I just hop in?” I ask, standing at the foot of Rowan’s large bed, in his shirt, staring at the way he’s casually lying under the covers, his torso uncovered and his hands behind his head.
“Not going to bite, lass.”
Yeah . . . but I might.
Slowly I make my way to my side of the bed. “You know, this was easier when I was drunk.”
“Do you even remember it?”
“No, which made it easier, because I will for sure remember how awkward I am right now.”
He flips the covers over for me, welcoming me in. How can he be so cool about it? As if this isn’t monumental? As if we haven’t had this on-again, off-again, fun-yet-tumultuous relationship ever since I got here? As if me climbing into bed next to him is the most natural thing in the world?
And maybe it is for him.
Once settled, I lie stiffly next to him, keeping all my limbs to myself and staring straight up at the ceiling. He flips the nightstand light off and then turns toward me, his hand scooping me around the waist and pulling me close so we’re facing each other.
His minty breath floats between us as his wide palm keeps hold on my back. My hand falls to his chest, and my fingers lightly stroke the dark ink on his pec.
“Does your tattoo hold any meaning?”
“Aye. It’s the MacGregor clan crest woven into a Celtic knot—a tribute to my brother.”
“That’s . . . that’s beautiful, Rowan.”
“It’s how I can keep him close to my heart,” he answers, his grip growing tighter.
I smooth my hand up his neck, to his jaw, trying to calm my rattling nerves. I’ve never been this nervous when it comes to a man. I’m usually so confident, but Rowan has me out of sorts. I’m not sure if what I’m doing is okay, or if he wants me touching him at all.