Among the Heather (The Highlands, #2)

I stared at North, seeing him in a whole new light. There was a lot of depth to this man, and I was ashamed of assuming so much about him. More curious than I knew was good for me, I pressed, “What happened to you after they went to juvie?”

“In exchange for my witness statement at court, social services agreed to move me out of Falkirk for my protection. They placed me in a village near Edinburgh with a couple who only fostered three kids at a time. Emma and Nick were nice. Wary of me at first, I think, but then once I showed them I was willing to work hard, to improve, they were very generous with their time and money.” He smiled softly, and I felt another wild flutter in my belly that I attempted to ignore. “I tried to pay off their house for them when I got my first big check, but they were having none of it.”

“They sound like nice people.”

“They are. Don’t get me wrong, I’d stayed with nice foster parents before, but they just had too many kids under their roof. Emma and Nick could give us the attention we needed.” He went on to tell me about how he buckled down at school, earned excellent grades, and how his high school girlfriend got him into theater.

“And then you got accepted into RCS?” I was super impressed by that when I was researching him for membership because it’s such a prestigious school.

“Aye. And the rest, as they say, is history.” North sipped at his whisky and lounged back in his chair. “So now that I’ve spilled my guts, tell me the truth.”

I frowned, confused. “About what?”

“You obviously knew about some of my background before I came here. Did your research. Is that why you treated me like a foul smell from the moment we met? Because you thought I was scum?”

Indignation flooded me, and I was so agitated I stood up. “Is that what you think? That I think I’m better than you because I grew up with money and you didn’t?”

He shrugged lazily, and I wanted to throw my whisky in his face for his assumptions. Yes, I knew that was hypocritical, but this guy really got under my skin. “What else am I to think?”

“Not that.” I marched across the room and poured the Lagavulin into my glass.

“I’ll have some more, thanks.”

Grumbling under my breath, I strode over to him with the bottle and snarled, “You’re lucky I’m not pouring it over your head.”

Amusement glinted in North’s beautiful eyes as I filled his glass. “Then tell me why.”

Later, I’d blame it on the whisky and the fact that he’d lowered my defenses with his brutal honesty about his past. Settling back down, I locked eyes with him and admitted, “I don’t trust actors.”

Surprise slackened his features. “At all?”

“Except for Lachlan, and perhaps Brodan Adair, yeah. I don’t trust actors.”

“Why the fuck not?”

His boyish ire made me smile, but I smothered it since he looked so piqued. Then he shook his head. “No, that can’t be it. You are far nicer to other actors here than to me. It’s a ‘me thing.’”

With more nonchalance than I felt, I confessed, “You’re kind of my type. And I have a terrible record of dating actors like you who treated me like shit.”

Stunned, North stared at me for a second too long and too fiercely. Heat crawled over my skin, and I could feel my body reacting to his focused attention. “Are you …” He cleared his throat. “Are you telling me that you’re attracted to me and that’s why you hate me?”

That tension stretched between us again, but this time it was straining to snap for a different reason. Like, if it snapped, it was because we’d jumped each other.

Wrenching my eyes from him, I looked down at my glass. My cheeks burned hot, and my body thrummed with need. Oh, shit. “I don’t hate you.” I forced out and then said as a reminder to myself, “I just don’t trust you.”

“That’s nice to hear after what I just confessed.”

I winced at the slight hurt in his voice. “Sorry. I really am. It’s not your fault. But I can’t change how I feel.”

“Well, that’s not good enough.” North shook his head. “I want to know why, when you know so little about me, that you’ve decided I’m untrustworthy.”

“I’m sure you’re great. But I have a no-actors rule because of my unhealthy attraction to your type.”

“To my type?” My explanation seemed to piss him off more.

This was going so well.

“I’m not being judged for myself? I’m being lumped together with a bunch of guys you think are exactly like me? Well, that’s wonderful. That’s what everyone wants to hear—how not fucking special you are. One of many! Just like all the others.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re being a drama king right now.”

“Fuck you. See how you’d like it if I lumped you in with a ‘type.’”

Hmm. That would hurt my feelings. Why did I always say the wrong things to this man? And why couldn’t he be an asshole who bottled up his feelings and didn’t tell you what he was thinking? For the second time, I apologized. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

“Not good enough,” he repeated. “I told you my sob story. Now you tell me why you’ve treated me like crap for the misdeeds of others.”

God, when he put it like that … I groaned and rested my head back on the armchair. “I have been kind of a bitch, haven’t I?”

“Terse and unfriendly, yes.”

My lips twitched. He couldn’t even call me a bitch. I melted a little more. And then thought, what the hell? North had just laid out some pretty vulnerable stuff about himself.

Guess it was my turn.

I lifted my head to meet his inquiring gaze. “Guys have hurt me a lot. Not just guys. Friends too.”

He scowled unhappily. “In what ways?”

I shrugged. “I grew up in Malibu where everyone knew who my dad was. My first boyfriend, Montana, was cool. His dad was an actor so Montana didn’t give a shit who my dad was. We broke up because he went to college on the East Coast and I stayed behind to look out for Allegra. I guess I didn’t realize that a guy might use me because Montana was so sweet.” Feeling my skirt dig into my side, I unzipped it without thinking. “That’s better.”

North’s attention zeroed in on the area where my skirt had loosened, and I felt a shiver of insecurity. Could he see my belly rolls? Could he tell that I did not have a flat stomach and never would?

“Continue,” he forced out, his voice sounding hoarse to my ears.

“What is there to say?” I replied with a false insouciance. “My next boyfriend was a struggling actor who fucked me until he realized I would not get him an audition for my dad’s next movie. He said to my face when he broke up with me, ‘What is the point of sleeping with you if you won’t help me out?’”

“That motherfucker,” North fumed, leaning forward in his seat, his glass held so tight in his hand I could see his knuckles straining.

I smiled at him for taking umbrage on my behalf. “Yup. And he wasn’t the last. I dated Preston Holden for three years.”