Against Her Rules (3 page)

  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.

  E
lsie
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.

  “Why
are you laughing?” She realized too late she’d assumed what her brother called
her battle stance. Legs firmly rooted, and fists planted on her hips.

  “I’m
Scottish. We laugh at inappropriate times.”

  “There
is absolutely nothing inappropriate happening here,” she said, thankful for the
darkness that was hiding the redness she felt spreading over her face.

  “That’s
a shame, isn’t it?”

  Was
he standing closer to her now than he was before? He had to be. She couldn’t
quite breathe. He was taking up her air.

  “You’re
welcome to stay here, or at the house, whichever you choose. Now you must excuse
me, because I have to go.”

  She
moved to the left of him. He stood in front of her. Was he seriously blocking
her way?

  “Why
won’t you show me the cottage? I think it would look much better with you in
it.”

  There
was no way in a hundred hells that she was going into that cottage with him
right now. The man must have had too much to drink with supper because there
was a certain seductive swagger about everything he was saying and doing.

  “It’s
very small. You can see it for yourself.”

  Stop
sounding so bloody defensive!

  “But isn’t it your job as my
hostess to show me to my lodgings?”

  “Mr.—Scott.”

  Did
I really almost call him Hot Scott?

  “Your
lodgings tonight is up that hill,” she pointed, “in that house, in the room
which I showed you to earlier today. Tomorrow this can be your lodgings, and
tomorrow I will show them to you, if you need me to. But right now my foot is
aching, I’m hungry, and I’m clearly cranky. And I’m never cranky. So this is
not the best time for me to be showing you anything.”

  She
clapped her hand over her mouth.

  “You
see! I’m being rude to you. I’m very sorry. I’m never rude to guests. My
apologies.”

  He
stepped back from her, his entire demeanour changing before her eyes. “You’re
right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have teased you when I’ve just stamped your wee
foot into this hard ground.”

  Now
he was making her feel even worse. “It’s okay. Truly. It’s just a little achy.
It’ll be fine after a hot bath.”

  “Then
let me help you back up the hill. Maybe I can even help you draw that bath.”

  He’s
hitting on me! Breathe. Relax. Shut him down.

  She laughed. “I’ve been drawing
my own baths for many years. I don’t need any assistance. But thank you for the
offer.” Elsie stepped away, and felt her foot tremble in protest. “I will,
however, accept your offer of help up the hill.”

  He
was silent for a moment. Then, “I’ll help you on one condition.”

  In
a flash an infinite amount of scenarios rushed through her mind, each one a
little kinkier than the first.

  “I’m
not sure I want to know what that condition might be,” she said, beginning to
hobble away before she succumbed to any suggestion he might make.

  He
took her arm as he walked in step beside her. “I’m sorry if my teasing has made
you uncomfortable. Call it poor instincts.”

  She
almost believed he meant it.

  “My
only condition was that you call me Cam. Please. Every time you call me Mr.
Scott I have visions of Captain Kirk run through my head. And I think we can
both agree that you are certainly no William Shatner.”

––––––––

  E
ven
her laugh was sensual, and by now he was beginning to understand that this
creature wasn’t aware of the smoldering sensuality that followed her every word
and action. He hadn’t even come on strong and the poor woman was ready to run
from him in terror. It just made her all the more alluring.

  His
libido was getting in the way of manners. And his imagination had clearly
gotten the best of him. Here he was thinking she was busy creating some kind of
love nest for them, and yet she maintained she’d been doing repairs. It was
possible. More than possible, given the dampness in the air just from the fog
and wind. Water damage was likely more common in a tiny wooden shack perched on
a cliff overlooking the North Atlantic Ocean than he realized.

  He
also had to admit that knowing she wasn’t planning on seducing him was what
made her even more alluring. He’d become used to women ready to go along with
his sexual demands. In fact, he’d clearly grown used to taking it for granted
that his teasing would be eagerly accepted. His sister had warned him of being
too sure of himself. How he hated that she was right.

  “I
think...I can...do that,” Elsie said, in the worst Captain Kirk impression he’d
ever heard in his life. And then she laughed again. “That was terrible, wasn’t
it?”

  “Well,
that depends.”

  “On
what, exactly?”

  “On
if you’re the kind of woman who appreciates the truth no matter what, or if you
prefer little white lies to spare your feelings.”

  “Absolute
truth,” she said. “Without a doubt. I’ve always preferred a straight shooter.”

  “Then
yes, that was truly terrible.”

  She
smiled. He wanted to make her smile more.

  “Thanks
for agreeing with me,” she said, and laughed again as she opened the door to
the inn. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go eat and relax. If you have
any requests through the night, just dial zero. Tom is our night guy and he'll
take care of you. He’s always complaining about how little there is for him to
do, so don’t worry about bothering him.”

  It
was on the tip of his tongue to tell her that the only thing he’d need during
the night couldn’t be provided by Tom, but then his inner-cautionary voice
warned him to just shut up.

  “Enjoy
your night, Cam,” she said, before ducking into a door clearly marked Staff
Only.

––––––––

  F
ive
hours later, Cam was most definitely not enjoying his night. The bed was
comfortable, the complimentary decanter of whisky in the room was delicious,
and much to his amusement, a cat had found its way into his room and was now
curled up next to him. Despite all the comfort, he couldn’t sleep.

  Obsession
was the word that sprang to mind. And it worried him. He hadn’t had a sleepless
night over a woman since his only serious relationship had ended more than ten
years ago. And those sleepless nights were spent wondering where she was and
who she was with. Now here he was tossing and turning over a woman he’d spent
only minutes with. And she clearly had no interest in him. He had two weeks
booked to get these drawings done, and he couldn’t let this impractical
obsession get in the way of his mission.