Chapter 3
She smelled like she looked.
Expensive.
Sexy.
I shifted in my seat, focusing on the phone in her manicured hand and frowned at her perfect nails that matched the color of her silly wee SUV.
Nails that would no doubt feel fucking amazing raking down my back.
I threw out the image and opined gruffly, “If you’re going to get your hands dirty, you should clip those off. ”
Tierney Silver glanced up from the device in her hand, her hazel eyes wide. “What?”
“Your nails.”
“Cut my nails?” she asked, as if I’d suggested she shave her head. “No way. I can help without cutting my nails.” Her frown was disapproving as she turned back to her phone, muttering under her breath about yetis or some such nonsense.
I studied her profile as she swiped on her screen looking, I supposed, for the mood board she and Cammie had come up with.
The photos online of Tierney didn’t do her justice.
She photographed as a pretty, well-turned-out young woman but nothing extraordinary.
Not some raging beauty. But if anything my world travels had taught me was that beauty was subjective.
Some people just had a magnetism in real life that didn’t come through in a photograph.
Something untenable and indescribable that made you unable to look away.
That made them the most gorgeous person you’d ever met in your damn life.
Tierney Silver was that. And I hadn’t expected it from the spoiled heiress. Even in jeans, a Henley, hiking boots, with her blond hair tied back in a ponytail, she was stunning. One of those women who would look good in a black plastic rubbish bag.
Up close I could see a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. There was a larger freckle right on the corner of her lush top lip. I stared at it as she muttered to herself about the mood board.
What the fuck was happening here?
I wrenched my gaze away, annoyed at myself for acting as doe-eyed as the young lads on the island. They were all twittering like fools over the American hotel heiress.
Even if I didn’t have a rule against sleeping with women from the island, I wouldn’t touch Tierney Silver. Spoiled, rich, pampered twenty-seven-year-olds didn’t really do it for me. At least not usually.
Though it was clear she was something more. My previous career had taught me to see beyond what people presented to the world.
There was a dark grief in Tierney’s hazel eyes.
And secrets.
I was a bloodhound when it came to secrets. Could smell them from miles away. Once it had been my business to ferret out secrets. But this … her …
Not my business, I reminded myself.
“Aha!” Tierney held the phone up to my face.
“This is what we’re thinking for the dining room.
” She scrolled through the mood board. I was pleasantly surprised to see a contemporary twist on traditional Victorian coastal design.
I’d half expected her to turn the B and B into a too cold, too modern guesthouse along the lines of some of the hotels in the empire she’d given up.
And who gives up their rights to a multibillion-dollar hotel chain?
I tried to focus on the B and B since it was where I would be working for at least the next six months. “That looks out of place.” I tapped on the image of the antique Welsh dresser.
“Right.” She looked up at me and gave me a smile. Her smile was too sweet. I felt it in places I really shouldn’t.
Okay, aye, this was a problem.
“I included it because my grandmother had one like it and I’d love to incorporate the idea into the dining room but with a modern twist. So far, I’m having no such luck finding a piece of furniture that will work with the design.
” She shrugged. “I’ll keep looking.” Turning back to her phone, she tapped the screen a few times.
“Now this is one of the bunk-bed rooms, and I saw this design where they custom built three bunk beds, two beneath and then one on top going the opposite way, like this. Do you think you could build something like that? It would be a great way to increase capacity in what is a smaller room.”
I studied the photo she showed me, moving in closer to her. It was a clever design. “Aye, I can do that.”
She turned to stare up at me, her eyes widening ever so slightly upon realizing how close we were. A little splash of red on her cheeks and an almost imperceptible intake of breath told me she was affected by my nearness. Her pupils dilated.
So the pampered princess was attracted to me too.
Aye, this was a problem.
Too young. Too sweet. Too much my client.
Deciding the best path forward was to ignore the unspoken awareness of each other, I asked more gruffly than I intended, “What?”
Tierney swallowed and looked away. “Uh, can I see your workshop?”
“Want to know if I’m any good?” Now, why did that sound dirtier than intended?
“Something like that.”
A minute later we were walking across the clearing to my barn.
“Do you have solar panels somewhere?” my companion asked.
“Aye. Beyond the trees where they get constant light.”
“Do you have plumbing?”
Her curiosity was endearing and also annoying because I wondered what else she’d become curious about. “Aye. It was a bitch to put in and more expense than any normal person would spend to connect to Glenvulin’s sewage line.”
“Oh, I’d spend it in a heartbeat.” She gave me a smile filled with camaraderie.
It really was the sweetest smile I’d ever seen.
“I once stayed with some friends on an island in the Philippines. Beautiful. Stunning. But no plumbing. The owners of the rental were using composting toilets. Sounds fine, right? It’s not fine.
They weren’t maintained properly and three of us got food poisoning.
The smelly kind. These composting toilets were not equipped to deal with that shit. Literally.”
I grunted with amusement as I let her into my workshop. The earthy aroma of wood hit my nostrils in a comforting, familiar way as we entered.
“And I’m talking to you about fecal matter,” she murmured, her cheeks flushing ever so slightly. “I’m doing great. Got stuck on your island. Inconveniencing you. And now I’m talking about disgusting bodily functions.”
“Everyone shits.” I shrugged, brushing past her to switch on the lights. “Even the king.”
Tierney laughed, and the sound, for some reason, made me think of these wee silver bells my mum used to hang from an arched doorway that divided the living room from the entrance.
She hung them there every Christmas. The sound of her laughter was fitting, considering Tierney’s surname. “I think that’s blasphemy.”
“Only if he heard me.” I turned to watch the bulbs taking a second to warm up and illuminate the space.
“Maybe he did. He is the king.” Her gaze darted around the workshop and landed on my current piece. A client on the Isle of Skye had commissioned me to make a rocking chair based on a photo of her grandmother’s old chair.
“This is gorgeous.” Tierney strode over to it, her hand hovering above the carvings along the side panels. “You’re not merely a carpenter. You’re an artist.”
Uncomfortable with her effusive compliment, I stared down at the chair I’d spent the past few weeks working on between other projects. “I’m just copying the photo my client gave me.”
“Well, it’s amazing. Also this place smells amazing.”
It did. At least it did to me. I worked with a lot of hardwoods, which had a smoky scent. There was something calming about it. I always felt myself unwind while I crafted items out of wood.
The large barn might have been filled with half-finished work—a dining table Erin Mull from the island had commissioned; bookshelves that would slot perfectly into place in a home on Skye; a live-edge wood coffee table for Cammie’s client on the mainland.
But my tools were meticulously organized—squares, table saw, saws, chisels, fastening tools, clamps, sanders, brushes.
Other than Akiva, this workshop was my baby.
“What got you into carpentry?”
Living on a very small island had prepared me for people’s natural curiosity about their neighbors.
Once the questions had made me uncomfortable, like I’d squeezed on too small boots.
Now, I skirted the details of my history with ease.
“Military put me through my engineering and construction degrees. Picked up some skills along the way. Woodwork became a bit of a hobby.”
“A hobby.” She strolled casually around my space, eyeing my equipment and the pieces of furniture lying around in different levels of repair and finish.
She stopped at the coffee table with its live edge and tentatively ran her hands along it.
“Beautiful. Pretty awesome hobby. I can barely put together something from Ikea.” Her tone went beyond self-deprecating to disparaging.
She flicked me a look. “But I can shoot a target from two hundred yards. Maybe I should have gone into the military. Did something useful.”
Not many people surprised me. But this did. “How did you learn to shoot?”
“My dad.” Tierney turned, crossing her arms over her chest in a move I knew she didn’t realize was protective, defensive. “He used to take me to the outdoor rifle range at his club every second Saturday.”
“Do you like guns, then?”
“Nope. But I liked spending time with my dad. And I happened to be good at it. Do you like guns?”
I tried not to smile at the attitude in her question, like my enquiry had been judgmental. It was not. “They have their uses.”
Our eyes held for a second too long, that awareness raking over my skin. Her arms dropped from her chest as her attention dropped to my mouth. I wasn’t sure she even realized how much she gave away.
Damn it.
“How long were you in the military? Which division? Navy, army?”
“Royal Marines.” Subject change. “I actually really need to finish up some work. Are you all right to head back to the house? Keep yourself occupied for a bit?” It was rude, but I needed some space from the blond and her many questions.
Embarrassment tinged her cheeks and she nodded rapidly. “Of course.”
“I’ll be over in a wee while,” I said, trying to ignore the prickle of guilt.
“Take your time.” She waved those manicure-tipped fingers at me without looking back and disappeared out the barn door.
A few seconds later, I heard the front door of my home shut and Akiva give a welcoming bark inside. My dog, who barely liked anyone but me, liked Tierney Silver, of all people.
I blew out a breath, running a hand through a beard I kept meaning to cut. “Well … fuck.”