The Making of a Highlander (Midnight in Scotland #1) - Elisa Braden Page 0,29

past few weeks of throwing hammers and lifting logs and heaving thirty-pound stones, one thing had become clear: Without help, he would lose MacPherson’s wager. Badly.

The cost of Annie’s help would be high. Could he spend hours every day for months alone with her? Yes. Could he do so without giving in to his bizarre, Annie-fueled lust? Less certain.

She moved closer, gazing up at him with eyes the color of cornflowers. Then, she swallowed hard. A tiny, vulnerable crinkle appeared between her brows. “Will ye help me, English?”

His decision clicked into place against his will. “Very well, Miss Tulloch.” Damn, he was going to regret this. He knew it, sensed it, like a storm rolling toward his ship. “When should we begin?”

Chapter Six

TlU

“What a wee caber ye have there, English. I ken ye’re a dainty sort, but surely ye can do better.”

John gritted his teeth and let the one-hundred-fifty-pound log he was holding topple into the grass. It landed with a resounding thud. “How big would you like it, Miss Tulloch?”

“Och, the bigger the better. A man isnae a Highlander until he kens how to handle sizable wood.”

He chanced a glance behind him at the mouthy woman who thought she was terribly amusing. She wore her usual garb, her usual smirk. And she was staring at his backside.

“Are you here to train me or hurl insults?” He raised his voice to be heard over the waterfall.

Sparkling blue eyes shifted up to his face. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. “A bit of both, I suppose.” Grinning, she sauntered deeper into the clearing where he’d been practicing his tossing. Her boots rustled amidst frozen grass. Her breath plumed white amidst the frigid air. Her hair was copper fire amidst a background of dark pines, crystalline river, gray rock, and white cascade. “This is a grand spot, English.” She sighed and spun in a circle. “I’ve only ever been here in summer.”

The waterfall tumbled off a heavily wooded slope, landing in a deep, rocky pool after a twenty-foot drop. The small brook snaked through his land, tumbling down the valley until it branched into the river that fed the loch.

“So peaceful in winter. Just wind and water. ’Tis magical,” Annie murmured, turning to face him. Her eyes were intensely blue and bright this morning. Her cheeks were pink, as was the tip of her nose.

John had been working for an hour already. Even without his coat, the chill didn’t bother him. But she was much smaller and wearing only a plaid for warmth. Striding to where he’d laid his coat on a large boulder, he offered it to her.

Red brows arched in surprise. “If ye want that cleaned, hire a maid.”

Hissing an exasperated breath, he draped it around her shoulders. “You should have a cloak. A plaid is insufficient in this weather.”

Oddly, she didn’t reply, but her breathing quickened with little white puffs.

As he adjusted his coat’s buttons, he wondered what smelled so good. He’d noticed it before when she was near. Had she been cooking something before she came? She smelled … sweet. Clean. He frowned. Was it apples? Honey? He leaned closer, breathing deep. Sugar? No, richer than sugar. More floral and golden. Caramel, perhaps?

Whatever it was, it made him hungry. Ravenous, even. His hands tightened on the wool until they formed fists. He swallowed then saw she was staring at his mouth.

Immediately, he released her and stepped back. Turning before she noticed how her scent affected his body, he lifted the caber and propped it against his shoulder. “Come show me the proper way to toss this thing, Miss Tulloch.”

For the following hour, she instructed him with methodical patience and seriousness.

If only his mind were so disciplined.

“Lace yer fingers, English. That’s it. Sliiide them down to the base. Now, when ye’re ready, use yer thighs the way I told ye. ’Tis more a lift than a lunge. Ye dinnae want to lose control of yer caber, or this will be over before it starts. Good. Steady. Steeeaaady. Aye, ye have it. Deep breath, English. Deeeep.”

“God Almighty,” he muttered, wondering why everything she said had erotic overtones once it entered his ears. Perhaps he was deranged. Frustrated, certainly, but he’d never had this particular problem before.

“Focus, now,” she advised, positioning herself ten feet to his right and pointing toward the west end of