Against her rules, p.2
Against Her Rules, page 2
Shutting off the engine, he stepped out and took a deep breath. The wet, cool air filled his lungs. He smiled. This might be a good project after all.
Cam slung his laptop bag over his shoulder and headed for the door. It opened before he put his hand to the knob and he was greeted by a short, white haired woman who looked to be nothing but tanned, wrinkled skin and bones.
“Scotsman?” she asked, a smile of pure joy on her face. She wasn’t a crone at all. More like a lovable grandmother.
“Ah, you’re my saviour then,” he said. “Thank you for the directions.” He bowed.
“Now, you’re a fine-looking young man. Are ye married?”
“Excuse me?” He chuckled.
“Big, tall, handsome feller like yourself. You must have a wife.”
Was this methuselan woman hitting on him?
“Aunt Ida,” a chiding voice called. “If you’re going to work here you need to remember the first rule: no grilling the guests.”
A small, well-manicured hand pulled the door wider, revealing an elegant arm, attached to the most beautiful creature Cam had ever seen—and he’d seen plenty of delicious women in his day.
Long, wavy brown hair created a mahogany frame for deep green eyes and plump, tempting red lips. She was almost as short as the old woman, with curves in all the right places. Those curves were carefully covered in a tight ivory wool sweater and jeans. The only hint of imperfection was a small streak of dirt down one full, lush breast. It looked like potting soil, and he was tempted to brush it away, if for no other reason than to say he’d had the chance to touch such perfection.
“Good afternoon,” she said, extending her hand. It disappeared in his. Never before had he noticed how massive and inelegant his own hands were. “I’m Elsie Walsh. Please forgive my Aunt’s rudeness. She’s in training.” She shot a glare at the older woman. “Auntie, can you make sure there’s fresh coffee brewed. One sugar, and a drop of Laphroaig.”
How did she know that was how he liked his coffee? As if reading his mind, she gave a playful smile that sent bolts of lightning down his spine. And elsewhere.
“It’s my job to ensure you feel at home here. You’d be surprised what I’ve learned about you in preparation for your arrival. Whoever booked your stay knows a fair bit about you.”
“My sister,” he said quickly. It seemed important that she know that no random woman knew his special preferences. The ones outside the bedroom, at least.
She simply smiled. A marvelous, beautiful, sensuous smile. “Welcome to Heart’s Ease Inn, Mr. Scott.” And she laughed. “I’m sorry. It just hit me. You’re Scottish.”
What was it about these people and his nationality? “Yes, I see the humour,” he said, not getting the joke at all.
She laughed harder. “You’re Scottish and your last name is Scott.”
The woman was beautiful. And a little deranged. Just how he liked them.
What am I doing?! Elsie thought, clasping a hand over her mouth. Shut up now and stop acting like such a moron. This was the first time since she’d been in university that she wished the floor would open up and swallow her whole. That time she had been a complete idiot in front of her Irish history prof. He was so cute that she just couldn’t speak right. Then she’d been nineteen. There was an excuse. There was no excuse for a thirty-one-year-old woman. Even if she was staring at the hottest piece of man she’d ever seen in her life. And that was saying something, given her guest log.
“I’m sorry,” she said, trying to pull herself together. Please stop looking at me! He was staring at her like she was a foreign species, trying to figure out if she was plain crazy or dangerously insane. “That’s not funny at all. I must be going loopy in the fog.”
“No, that’s fine. It’s not the first time I’ve heard that,” he said, his thick Scottish burr rich and deep.
The hairs on her arms rose in response.
“Let me show you to your room.” Elsie turned away so that she wouldn’t have to keep seeing the incredulous look on his face. Clearly he thought she was a nitwit.
As she led him up the stairs and down the wide hallway, she felt herself grow warm at the thought of him walking behind her. Was he thinking she was a loon, or was he enjoying the view? She was confident enough to know she had a decent bod; still, she imagined for someone like him, only a tall, lanky blonde could turn his head. He had to be at least six feet tall, with coal black hair that was just the right length. Not cut close but not sloppy either. If someone took a dash of Gerard Butler, added in a sprinkle of Daniel Craig, and then spiced it up with a little bit of Colin Farrell, then she figured this would be the end result.
She had no idea what colour his eyes were but they were dark, like pools of ink. He had just a slight bit of stubble on his face, enough to make him appear a little wild, and a strong face that clearly had seen a fair bit of sun. Add all that to a body that just oozed strength, and you had the total package. An honest-to-God, perfect specimen of masculinity.
This was not good. Not good at all. Lusting after a guest was a definite no-no. And she was seriously lusting after this man. She had to keep far, far away from him. In a split second she decided that there was no way he was staying in this wing of the house. It was too close to her own suite of rooms. In fact, he couldn’t stay in the house at all.
She turned suddenly. “Mr. Scott, you’re an artist, are you not?”
“I am, yes.”
Oh God. Don’t smile at me like that. Stop it. Stop smiling now!
“And you’re going to be studying our sea birds?”
“Aye. For a book I’m working on.”
The man was a grinning idiot. A beautiful, temperature rising, heart palpitating idiot.
“Well, I had an idea just now, and it might be of interest to you.” She opened the door to the nearest room and walked to the large window.
“Do you see that little blue cottage over there? I sometimes rent it out to writers and other people who come here to do some quiet work. It has a fantastic view of the cliffs where the birds nest. Might you be interested in staying there?” Oh no. What if he thinks he’s not welcome here! “I mean, it’s just an idea. I can show you your room here and you can decide, if you like. I was just thinking...”
“That’s a wonderful idea,” he said. “If it’s no trouble. I’m sure the view is spectacular, since the one from here is pretty magnificent itself.” It was then that she noticed he was staring at her, and not out the window.
“Oh, it’s no trouble at all.” She hoped. In fact, she had no idea how much trouble it would be. The last time the cottage had been used was three years ago. Her brother, Will, had stayed there when he was working on a novel he never finished. In fact, the cottage was his. She’d never rented it out. But there was one thing she knew for certain and that was that it was dangerous to spend too much time around Campbell Scott.
“How about you stay here tonight and I’ll get it all freshened up for you and you should be good to switch tomorrow.”
Elsie had to get out of the room. There was something about the way he was looking at her that made her doubt her initial thoughts that he considered her an idiot. Truth be told, he was looking at her in a way that made her feel rather warm in all the right places. She left him standing in the room with a promise to get him straightened away and hurried down the stairs. What did it matter if she’d left him in the wrong room? She’d just switch it over in the book downstairs. And then she’d go get that cottage aired out.
There were instincts that a woman knew to trust, and this one told her that it was for her own mental well-being that she get him installed in that cottage without delay.
Cam found it rather entertaining watching the parade of people marching back and forth from the cottage where he was to spend the next few weeks. He had no real idea why the beautiful Ms. Walsh had decided she wanted to expel him from the inn, but he did take some measure of delight in thinking that perhaps she was as attracted to him as he was to her. And perhaps a secluded cottage might be more appropriate for any intimate meetings. Because he’d decided there was more on the agenda for this trip than just sketching some kittiwakes and turrs.
There weren’t many women that he’d wanted to seduce from the moment he’d met them. None of them stirred in him the thoughts the petite Ms. Walsh did. She was small and delicate, and he imagined that a night with her would be an exercise in gentleness. His last couple of partners—he hated the word girlfriend for a man his age, although he supposed to really consider a woman a girlfriend one would need to spend more than a night or two with her—were tall, strong, Amazonian types that matched him move for move. And while that was enjoyable, it was a long time since he’d been with a woman who made him feel like the dominant partner in the bedroom. Given their sheer difference in size, he couldn’t imagine anything but him being in control with her.
As he spent the afternoon playing out fantasy after fantasy in his mind, he also paid attention to the way she directed the men lugging furniture out of the cottage and hefting new pieces in. He watched a floral patterned single mattress that looked as if it had been repeatedly squat by a seven hundred pound sumo wrestler get moved into a shed and a large pillow-topped mattress get squeezed through the door as its replacement.
Out came a ratty sofa.
In went a leather recliner.
Other ratty pieces were removed, only to be replaced by more elegant and masculine items. She must have been gutting a room somewhere in the house to have such things readily at hand.
Had he been another man, perhaps he would have felt a little bit of guilt at the amount of work she was going through in order to get the cottage ready for him. But since she was the one to suggest moving him to what she had to have known was a work-in-progress, he was content to watch the lengths she was willing to go to in order to make him comfortable. And no small part of him thought of perhaps other ways she’d be willing to go out of her way in order to satisfy him. Yes. Coming here was just what he needed.
When he’d accepted the commission to work on this bird project it was because his sister had asked him to do it as a personal favour to help her impress her boss at the publishing house she worked for. It turned out the man was batty for birds, and if Daphne could pull off this project, complete with the hard-to-hire Campbell Scott onboard, then a nice promotion was in her future. He hadn’t worked on a collection of animal pieces in several years. These days he was more likely to be working on vanity portraits of England’s elite than on wildlife. But he couldn’t say no to his little sister. Never could. Now he had even more reason to be thankful to her.
He watched until it became too dark to see anymore. He knew she was in there, because every now and again he saw her shadow move behind the curtains, an ethereal creature that exuded grace. When he went down to dinner—or supper, as the ever-chattering Ida informed him—he hoped to see her greet her guests. But there was no sign of her. He was invited to sit with a lovely couple from America, and they regaled him with stories of their adventures on the island of Newfoundland. By the time he’d had dessert and coffee they’d written a list of places he just had to see while he was there. They headed off to their room, leaving Campbell wondering how to spend the rest of his evening.
He puttered around the library, impressed with the vast collection of books, movies and music. From there he found his way into a ballroom, of all things, still decorated for what must have been a Halloween masquerade. Finally, he discovered a games room, with everything from card tables and billiards to an extensive selection of board games. There was nothing tacky about this residence. He’d stayed in many bed and breakfasts, some that were clearly lived in by the owners, and others that seemed as if you were staying in a museum. This place was a blend of elegance and comfort. Two words that came to mind when he thought of its owner. It was time he sought her out.
Chapter Three
Elsie was exhausted. It had taken most of the day, but the cottage was ready. Now that it was finished, she wondered why she hadn’t thought of renovating Will’s place much sooner. Her brother was in the Navy and was rarely home. He’d never miss it.
She’d worked to create what she’d promised Mr. Hunky Scott: an artist’s retreat. When she’d figured out the decor for the inn, she envisioned an esthetic similar to what the house would have offered in the late 1800s, together with a modern, inviting atmosphere. With this place, however, her creativity could take over.
She pilfered pieces from around the house, including her own rooms. She’d even taken the recliner she’d given her Dad on Father’s Day, with a promise to order him a new one right away. It was placed so that you could sit there and watch the fire crackle in the fireplace, or gaze out the window over the water. There had been no time to paint the walls. Instead she’d insulated them with some quilt batting and covered them with several bolts of grey flannel and trim. It made the room cozy and relaxing. A king-sized bed in the corner dominated the room. She could have gone with a queen, but she couldn’t imagine a man of Mr. Delicious Scott’s size comfortable in anything smaller. A table, a couple of chairs, coffee maker and kettle on the small kitchen counter, some artwork on the walls, a bookcase stocked with books and games, and a desk and chair made the room complete. The only thing it was missing was a working phone line, so until she could get that set up he’d have to come up to the house to eat instead of calling for service. All in all, not bad for a day’s work.
Decorating was one of her favourite parts of getting the inn ready for business. Every year she found herself changing the rooms slightly, depending on her mood. Now she envisioned building several more cottages, each one taking on a different persona. This one was definitely sensuous masculinity.
It was difficult preparing the cottage without picturing how Mr. Steamy Scott would look amid her work. While transforming Will’s shabby bathroom into something befitting a five-star establishment, she had to concentrate particularly hard not to picture the Scot naked in the shower. She chose the sandalwood scented toiletries because she imagined that scent would just add to his allure. Which, she scolded herself, she should not be working to achieve. If anything, she should be trying to make him smell less attractive. But a girl had to have her moments of zen, and picturing that goliath of a man clad in nothing but a thick, rich sandalwood scented lather was just too good a vision to let pass.
Snap out of it! she commanded herself. Sinking on to the plush bed, she wondered what had gotten into her. It hadn’t been that long since she’d been with a man, had it? “He who shall not be named” had been over for a short vacation only five months ago. In that instant she realized that for the past three years she’d had sex basically two or three times a year—albeit, rather marathon sessions. She’d given up trying to figure out the nature of her relationship with that man. The first time she’d seen him in the tabloids canoodling with the latest up-and-coming young pop star, she’d felt dirty and enraged. That first year she’d thought they had some sort of romantic relationship. She was the secret love he sang about, tucked away in a remote corner of the world. But she could only pretend for so long.
By the second year she knew the relationship was purely of a sexual nature for him. She and her inn were a retreat from his reality. By now she could predict when she’d get a call that he was on his way. Bad review of his latest album? Presto. He’d be on the next plane out of Heathrow. Or L.A. Too much press about his partying? There he’d be. His last visit came on the heels of being asked to rejoin his old boy-band for a comeback tour. He didn’t need a comeback, he whined the entire time he was there. He was Somebody.
To be honest, she didn’t even really care if he came back anymore. She wanted more than a weekend here and there, keeping it secret from everyone. Even the sex wasn’t as hot as it once was. That had to be why she was reacting so strongly to this stranger. She’d spent all of five minutes in his company and yet had obsessed about him all day. She was a professional and fantasizing about her guests was as far as it could go. Elsie shuddered to think what it would do to her reputation if people thought she was sleeping with the men who stayed there. No sir. She ran a high-class heritage bed and breakfast, not a high-class whore house.
With new resolve, she grabbed her coat, turned off the light, and pulled open the door. Then she yelped in pain as a pressing weight squat her foot into the ground.
“Oh my God, are you alright?”
She blinked her stinging eyes to keep tears from forming.
“I’m fine,” she lied. Her foot was throbbing.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t expect you to be coming out.”
“Well, I didn’t expect you to be lurking in the doorway,” she snapped. Why was she snapping at him? She never lost her patience.
“Lurking? I was out for a walk and decided to visit the cottage you said was available, yet spent the entire day renovating.”
“It’s been a while since I rented it. There was some water damage from the last couple of storms. I didn’t notice until today.”
Was he laughing at her? Did he not believe her? Did he truly think...Oh no! He knows I did this to get him out of the house. He knows I don’t want him as a guest.
“Look, Mr. Scott. I think you might have misunderstood my intentions. You are more than welcome to stay at the inn. You don’t have to feel obligated to stay in the cottage. It really is a little musty. It takes a real beating in the wind and rain, and you might not find it very comfortable.”
Was that a smirk she spotted on his perfectly kissable mouth? He was definitely laughing at her.
