Not perfect, mind you. That would be boring. He had the kind of face you could stare at for hours. Artists would want to paint it. She did, and she was just an art teacher. She hadn’t sat in front of a canvas in years. Once upon a time she’d wanted to paint, but Grams and Eric and Charlie had convinced her it wasn’t practical. No one made a living painting.
His mouth was fascinating. Her stomach flipped as she gazed at it. Full and broad. The top lip dipped sharply at the center. She wanted to trace the shape. Recreate it with a brushstroke. His nose was slightly crooked at the center. Likely broken at some point. Had he been in a fight? Or was it the result of a farmyard accident? A sheep gone rogue? She giggled at the thought, imagining a sheep kicking him square in his too pretty face.
He glanced up at her, pausing with the spoon near his mouth. “You’re a strange bird.”
“Me?” She pressed a hand to her chest. “You’re the one acting like Shrek because I invaded your precious space.”
“Shrek?” He blinked those brilliant blue eyes at her.
“Yeah. The movie.”
He stared blankly.
“Wow. You really should get out more.” She glanced around again. As already noted, there was no TV. She spotted a bookcase full of books. That must bet he extent of his entertainment. “Shrek is this hermit ogre who lives in a remote swamp. Kinda like you.”
He shook his head. “You’re a nutter.”
She could only infer that to be an insult. Her indignation burned hot again. “And you’re rude.” She’d never met a more unpleasant man in all her life. Sure. She had basically compared him to an ogre, but he was acting like one.
He scraped his spoon against the inside of his bowl, not even looking at her. “You think it such a good idea to insult your host?”
“You’ve insulted me. Repeatedly.”
“And you’ve invaded my home.” He shrugged one well-formed shoulder and continued to eat. “How is it you came to be here alone? Did you wander off from your family and friends?”
“I’m traveling alone.”
He raised his eyes to her, looking at her for the first time in several minutes. Even across the distance the blue of his eyes was vivid and intense and made her feel shivery inside. “You came to Scotland all by yourself?”
“This is the twenty-first century. Women can travel alone. We even get to vote and drive cars too.”
He grumbled something under his breath that sounded close to smart-ass. “Maybe if you brought someone along with you on this trip, you wouldn’t have wandered off and gotten lost.”
Why did the question feel like a dig to her intelligence? “I didn’t get lost. The bus left me.”
“If you had been traveling with someone else, that wouldn’t have happened.”
The words reminded her how alone she was in this world, and she resented the hell out of him for the reminder. Grams lived in a retirement community for active seniors. There was Gina, but she had a boyfriend who was on the verge of proposing. Soon Thea would be living alone.
“I don’t need a babysitter. I’m an independent woman. I can take care of myself.”
He gave her a pointed look, his gaze skimming her in his too big shirt. “Right.”
She glared at him as he finished eating. Really, there was nothing else to look at. Nothing nearly so pretty at least. Too bad he didn’t have a personality to match his looks.
Sighing, she stood and fetched her phone from her backpack. Might as well check. Still no signal.
“That won’t work out here,” he answered. “No’ in this storm. Even in good weather it’s spotty.”
“What kind of place can’t get service?” she asked testily.
“The kind of place nature intended. Without unnecessary technology or annoying people checking their Instagram every five seconds or taking selfies.”
“Oh, you’ve heard of Instagram?” She arched an eyebrow. “I figured you’ve been living out here in the sticks forever, Shrek.”
He scowled and got up, bowl in hand as he moved to the sink. “I know things.”
Her gaze crawled over that body. She couldn’t help it.
She was twenty-five years old and had precisely two failed relationships where the sex had been less than stellar, no matter how much she had tried to make it good. She’d tried to satisfy her partners. She’d tried to satisfy herself. It didn’t matter. As much as she pretended—and even lied—sex for her had always been … unsatisfying.
After her broken engagement, she figured that was her lot. Eric and Charlie didn’t fit. She guessed no man ever would.
I know things.
His words echoed through her and took on an entirely different meaning. She flushed hot. She knew he didn’t intend for her to interpret his words in a sexual way, but that was what her overactive imagination and overwrought senses heard.
She had no doubt he knew a few things, all right.
Get your head out of the gutter, Thea.
This guy was out of her league. She never would have even attempted to talk to someone who looked like him back home. Not that she came into contact with men like him working at a middle school. She’d met Charlie in college at a park when her dog peed on his leg. Not the most auspicious start to a relationship, she knew. Somehow they ended up on a date after that.
He washed his bowl in the sink and then moved to the fireplace. He added a few logs and stirred the fire. She watched his back, mesmerized at the play of muscles underneath his smooth skin.
Standing, his gaze came to rest on her. “If the road is clear, I’ll take you to the village in the morning.”
The morning. Why did that seem so far away?
She nodded jerkily. “Thank you.”
He moved about the house, turning off all the lights. The house was saved from complete darkness due to the fire. It cast a deep veil of gold-red over the interior of the house.
“Can I get you another blanket?” he asked gruffly, gesturing to the blanket she’d already covered herself with.
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
He stepped up to his bed and removed a pillow from it. Turning, he advanced on her couch. She grimaced inside. Either he was offering the pillow to her or planning to smother her with it. Either way, she preferred he kept his distance.
She shook her head and squeezed the couch pillow tucked beneath her cheek tighter. Still, he kept on coming.
His frowned, extending the pillow. “Take it,” he said.
God. He was so close she could smell him. He smelled like the soap she had used. And something else. Something inherently male and primal that made her stomach muscles quiver.
She snatched the pillow from him, wanting him to go away. Desperate for him to go to his own bed and leave her alone, to take himself as far as possible from her inside this house.
She shoved the pillow under her head and watched his easy gait as he walked to his bed and climbed in. The firelight did amazing things to his skin and body. The palms of her hands tingled with the hungry need to touch. To stroke and feel him for herself.