Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 99960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 333(@300wpm)
Home.
I dragged a shaking hand through my hair, trying to quiet the rising panic. Sucking in a gulp of air, I began to pace along the grassy roadside. Think, think. So Immigration told me this was my last visit to Scotland for a while. I was not getting in if I returned in another six months because they’d assume I was trying to live here without a visa. I could fix this. Aria would help me fix this. I’d already been looking into business expansion visas, so maybe I just needed to move my ass on that.
A car horn startled me, and I glanced away from the water to see an old Range Rover Defender pulling up behind the taxi. My first thought was that the cabbie’s friend had arrived, but then I caught sight of the face behind the wheel.
I stumbled to a stop, my heartbeat skipping so it felt like a throb in my throat.
As soon as the road was clear, Jared McCulloch jumped out of the Defender. At the same time, my cab driver got out to see why.
“We’re all right, mate,” the cabbie called. “Got a tow coming.”
Jared lifted his chin but gestured to me. “I know her.”
“Ah, good stuff.” The driver grinned at me. “He can give you a lift, then.”
Butterflies erupted in my belly at the thought. But Jared, expressionless, just nodded. “Of course. You got luggage?”
In answer, the driver opened the trunk and pulled out my carry-on. Jared took it. “Thanks, mate.” Then he looked at me and jerked his head toward the passenger side. “Get in.”
I bristled a little at the order. And the handling of the situation by these two men. No one asked me if I wanted Jared McCulloch to give me a ride home!
Facial muscles straining against a frown, I gave the driver a tight-lipped smile before I grabbed my other bag out of the back seat. With a muttered thanks, I traipsed over to the Defender and reluctantly hauled myself up into it.
My skin prickled with awareness as Jared got in. The Defender smelled of his cologne. He was a farmer. Wasn’t he supposed to smell like a farm? It was so unfair. I felt all of thirteen again, on my first date with Colton Gold. We went to the movies and I barely breathed the entire time in case he thought I breathed too loudly. Every single tiny movement he made I was aware of, and I still, to this day, cannot remember what movie we saw.
That’s how it was with Jared.
How it always was and had been for the last five years.
It was worse being stuck in a car with him.
He didn’t say anything until he’d pulled the vehicle back onto the road. “You all right?” he asked for some reason.
“Fine. You?” He stared straight ahead, and I studied him as I tried to ignore the flutter of attraction I felt simply looking at him.
Usually, there was some warmth to Jared, even if he’d never flirted with me again once he discovered who I was. I wasn’t sure if that was because his cousin Sarah was married to Theo Cavendish who was best friends with North, my sister’s husband, or if it was because I was Wesley and Chiara Howard’s daughter.
Anyway, there had been zero acknowledgment of the heady attraction between us that first meeting, and ever since, Jared had acted like I was a sexless relative. We’d been forced into socializing over the years because of the familial connection. Last year, we’d even shared Christmas dinner.
But he at least treated me with a distant friendliness. And he was warm and funny in a gruff sort of way with everyone else around him.
Today, there was a brittle aloofness in his manner. “Fine.”
“Are you sure?” He didn’t seem fine. “I’m sorry if I’m putting you out.”
“You’re not putting me out,” he replied tonelessly. “I was on my way back from Inverness, anyway.”
My gaze flickered to his hand resting on the curve of the drive stick. He had strong hands, long-fingered but big-knuckled. The nails were blunt and surprisingly clean. The flash of an image, those knuckles caressing my bare stomach, heated my cheeks and I blinked the thought away.
The truth was that I was used to sexual attention. Since I was fourteen years old, I’d been chased by people, young and old. Sexualized before I was ready for it. I could blame genetics for that. Mamma made her money from being beautiful, and everyone said I looked a lot like her. I grew up in a world obsessed with that kind of beauty, around people’s selfish desire to have it for themselves. So I’d always sought out sexual partners who saw beauty in things that other people didn’t. Guys who didn’t make me feel like they just wanted to fuck me for bragging rights.