“I would tell you to make yourself comfortable, but it appears you already have.”
She had never felt so thoroughly disliked by a person. She wondered if she would feel this wounded if he wasn’t so good-looking. If he didn’t have those cutting eyes and strong jawline and deep brogue. If there wasn’t that delicious-looking beard, a dark pelt that beckoned her fingers.
She gave herself a mental slap. He was a sheep farmer, for God’s sake. He was a broody Scottish hermit farmer, and she could almost hear Gina’s voice in her head. What are you waiting for, Thea? Jump his bones. Get feral with that farmer.
God. She really needed to get out of her if she was fantasizing about sex with this thoroughly unpleasant man.
“Maybe I should just go,” she said quickly, the words a rush.
“Out there?” He laughed roughly. “Didn’t you hear me? The road is flooded and it’s still raining.” He waved toward the door. “You’ll freeze to death … if you don’t fall into a bog and drown.”
She shrugged. She didn’t care. She’d take her chances with the storm.
She moved to the door and lifted up her pack. She glanced back at him. His big body blocked the door to the bathroom where her clothes hung to dry. She glanced down at herself in his too-big T-shirt. It would offer little protection against the elements.
“Don’t be a fool.” As though to illustrate his point, he strode across the house, right past her, and yanked open the front door. Immediately a gust of wet wind swept into the house. Shivering, she stared out the door into that blackest night she had ever seen. The cold reached out to her, grabbed her in its grip and squeezed. “You’ll die out there,” he announced.
She flinched at the words, knowing them for truth. He might be the rudest man alive, but she was stuck here. Stuck with him.
And he was stuck with her.
He shut and locked the front door. Turning, he disappeared into the bathroom, closing the door between them with a resounding thud. She was grateful for that barrier. It put distance between them and would give her a little time to compose herself … and try not to think about her underwear and bra hanging over the shower he was about to use.
Running water soon carried from the other side of the door and she knew he was doing the same thing she had done—ridding himself of his sodden clothes and stepping beneath the warm spray of water.
Closing her eyes in one weary blink, she rubbed her fingers against her forehead. Of all places she had to get stranded, it was with this surly Scot. Why couldn’t he have been a kind old man?
She claimed the blanket draped over the back of the couch, settling in for the night. With a huff, she arranged the afghan around her. Sleep. That’s what she would do. Sleep so the night would pass quickly and when she woke she would be able to leave this place.
The shower stopped and she tensed. She couldn’t help it. She was stuck in this house all alone with a stranger. Totally at his mercy. For some reason, she didn’t think he would harm her. He could have done that already if he was inclined. He didn’t want to be bothered with her. Murdering her would be too much of an inconvenience for him.
The bathroom door yanked open and the jerk himself emerged.
Wearing only a towel.
Oh, holy hell. Her gaze traveled over him. She’d known he was big beneath his clothing. He’d towered over her, but she had no idea his body looked like this.
Charlie had worked out and subscribed to Men’s Health magazine, reading every issue cover to cover. He’d wanted a body like this, but could never quite manage it. Hotty Scotty, on the other hand, was built. Toned and hard-bodied. Apparently working a farm and running sheep in the Highlands got you washboard abs, muscular shoulders, toned biceps, and a narrow waist.
And a crappy disposition.
She gulped against the sudden dryness of her throat. He might be a grump, but she was still female and all her girl parts (her long-neglected girl parts) were doing somersaults.
Water beaded his chest and arms and traveled down his happy trail, disappearing beneath his towel. She couldn’t help following that line of water with her eyes, and that mortified her. She shouldn’t be so affected. He might have a body that belonged on the cover of a romance novel, but that didn’t change the fact he was a jerk.
His lips curled in a smirk, and she knew he was aware of how he looked and his impact on her. A man didn’t look like him and not know.
He strolled into his room, presenting her with his back as he opened the doors to his bureau. The view of his back was as lovely as the front. Nicely formed, muscles and sinew rippling with his movements.
He pulled out a pair of briefs and glanced over his shoulder at her, one dark eyebrow cocked as his hand came to the edge of the towel knotted at his waist. “You gonna keep watching me?”
She gasped. “You’re getting dressed right here?”
His blue eyes glittered, clearly still annoyed with her. “This is my house. My space you’ve invaded. So. Yeah. I’m going to do what I normally do.”
Proving that point, he undid the towel. She dropped her face into the couch cushion as the towel dropped. She only caught a flash of skin. No clear visual of his body. For the first time she felt gratitude and regret simultaneously.
His chuckle fell warm and deep, like his voice, and sent goose bumps along her skin.
After a moment, she heard him moving around in the kitchen. A glass clinked and she lifted her head, making certain there wasn’t a naked man behind her.
He was wearing boxer briefs. The fabric hugged his ass. An ass that looked like it could bounce quarters.
“Did you enjoy my stew?” He didn’t turn around as he asked the question.
“Y-yes. It was delicious. Thank you.”
He ladled himself a bowl. “Is it a habit of yers? Breaking into houses and helping yourself to clothes and food and whatever else strikes your whim?”
She bristled. “I told you. I was stranded and freezing. And I’ll pay you for any—”
He held up a hand, cutting her off as he sank into his chair at the table. “You’ve said as much. The point is … it’s no’ right. You never should have been on my land.”
To that, she could only claim ignorance, but she knew he didn’t see that as a valid argument so she held silent.
He was arrogant and rude and … why the hell couldn’t she stop staring at him? Even as he sat there, bare-chested at the table, feeding himself, he looked like someone who could be on TV. He was that beautiful.