Chapter 3 #2
‘Meowrse?’ I beamed at the cat, who was making biscuits on my thighs. ‘Well, I’m honoured to be amongst the chosen ones. It might be a pity party, but I’d accept a furred pity party any day.
For a second, he looked almost put out by the cat’s affection. Which secretly pleased me a little. Since my sacking, it had felt like the world was going out of its way to take a giant dump on me. But this one people-hating cat still thought I was okay.
The man stood, and I mourned the lack of his steady presence almost immediately.
‘I’m Owen Harris. This is one of the barrel stores for my distillery. It’s just empty barrels so your soggy self didn’t ruin anything. And you’re welcome to sit tight while I grab you something dry. Or you could come over to the house and warm up by the burner. If you’ve decided I’m safe.’
Safe.
As much as I didn’t know him, the feeling of safety rolled from him in waves.
‘Claire,’ I said, untangling my hand from the orange fur and stretching it out to shake his. ‘I’m Claire. Sorry for trespassing. And breaking down like some washed-up maniac.’
‘Don’t be daft.’ He took my hand and pulled me up to my feet before glancing down at the foot-shaped pools I left on his floor. ‘Do you need me to carry you to the house?’
Heat filled my cheeks at the thought. As much as I wanted to scream yes, I shook my head and bent to zip up my soaked case.
Inspector Meowrse meowed loudly and padded off among the barrels. Owen offered me an arm, and I took it because pride is for people who hadn’t already made a royal tit of themselves. Owen picked up my case as if it weighed nothing, despite its water-logged weight.
‘I don’t know who trained you,’ I said, before my brain could stop my mouth. ‘But she deserves a medal.’
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Small, lopsided and dangerously delicious. ‘You’ll have to thank my mother, I guess.’
We didn’t talk as we made our way through the wind and rain to his house. It would have been pointless trying to shout over the storm. Was the squirming in my stomach from nerves or the intuition that told women not to go with strange men?
In London, I wouldn’t have dared. I wouldn’t have dared had I arrived in my usual organised fashion, but the world had handed my backside to me and I had very little fucks left to give.
The house was ancient, sturdy, and warm.
Toe-curlingly warm.
Owen deposited me in a sitting room, with sofas and armchairs that looked like they’d seated thousands of backsides over the years. The brown leather had faded to near white in the centre of the seats, armrests similarly patina-laden.
Only the ticking of the clock and the soft hiss of the wood burner were audible as he abandoned me there. I didn’t sit in case I left a wet butt print.
‘The towels are a bit tragic, I’m afraid,’ Owen said, coming back into the room and handing me a faded brown towel. It had garish yellow flowers printed across the fabric.
‘I’m sure it’ll dry the same,’ I said, grabbing the towel and burying my face in it anyway. ‘Fashion is cyclical and all that.’
‘Strip off and I’ll get your clothes washed.
’ Owen said, as if we were discussing a regular human activity and not the public airing of my rear end.
He dumped a handful of woolly items on one of the chairs without a word of discussion.
‘I’ll stick the kettle on. And then we can ring round and figure out where you’re meant to be. ’
‘You don’t have to wash my clothes…’
Owen took a long look at my socks and trousers, which were now coated thickly with mud. Oh shit. I glanced at the floor behind me and saw my trail of muddy destruction.
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Gosh, you must have a very lucky girlfriend,’ I said, gripping the towel tight.
‘Mmm.’
Well, that was non-committal. I waited until he left the room before I let my shoulders droop. It’s not like I was naming our babies or anything. I peeled off my muddy, wet clothing, wrestling with the trousers while praying he wouldn’t walk in and get an eyeful of my bare backside.
Meowrse appeared, somewhat damper than before and sat on the rug in front of the wood burner, eyeing my fight with my trousers with interest.
‘Don’t suppose you know if he’s taken?’ I asked my new feline friend. ‘Not that I’m here for that sort of thing. Rebound is always a bad look.’
The trousers came off and slapped against the floor, sending another skittering of mud.
‘You okay?’ Came the rugged voice from somewhere in the house.
‘Yes. All good. Don’t come in!’ I squeaked back, towel drying my thighs at warp speed.
Standing in a hot stranger’s house in my damp underpants and bra wasn’t on my daily checklist. I rifled through the massive clothes he’d left for me, pulling on a thick knitted jumper that swamped me.
Good lord, he really was a tank of a man.
I could have cried as his large, cosy socks engulfed my feet. The grey jogging pants he’d left out were leagues too long, so I folded them up until I looked like I was wearing grey doughnuts around my ankles.
The moment I sat on one of the armchairs by the burner, Meowrse took up residence in my lap. His purring against my thighs was like a soothing device. It brought my pulse down several stops, and I relaxed back into possibly the comfiest chair in the world.
‘Traitor,’ Owen told the cat, fondly as he came in and scooped up my muddy clothes before coming back with a mop and clearing up the trail I’d left. He looked up at me with his dark hair tumbling into his eyes.
After cleaning up, Owen returned with a tray laden with tea, coffee and a plate teeming with biscuits. I helped myself to a steaming mug of coffee and nearly cried again as I wrapped my fingers around the hot ceramic.
‘So, do you want to tell me how you ended up crying in my barn?’
I had already bawled at him, stolen his towel and fallen in lust with his hands. I might as well fill him in. Especially seeing as he had chocolate hobnobs.
‘My friend Mads said I needed a reset,’ I said, trying to pull myself back to my London-level of composure, rather than the gremlin I’d morphed into.
‘Her uncle has a little cottage by the sea that needs a bit of work, and I needed an…escape. I thought maybe if I could be somewhere quiet, I could put myself back together again. I’m not normally like this.
’ I swept a hand over myself to indicate the disaster.
Owen sat across from me, listening intently, but making little effort to join in. So I kept going.
‘My job blew up, and my ex turned out to be an absolute tool, and my roommate was banging her boyfriend all over my rug. And so I ended up here. I didn’t account for Scotland welcoming me with a tornado-level shower and a taxi driver who’s afraid of puddles.
I’m normally very organised. Timetables, maps, and freshly pressed clothes. I don’t do…anything crazy like this.’
‘Maybe you do now,’ he said.
Meowrse snored a tiny cat snore in my lap while the storm battered the windows. And for a moment, it felt like I had found a little pocket of calm among the chaos.
‘I guarantee I’ll be back to my usual self tomorrow.’ I looked at Owen over the rim of the mug, and fought the urge to dunk a biscuit. Ladies don’t dunk. ‘Thank you. For rescuing me.’
‘Any time,’ he said. His eyes were the colour of the sea, well, on a much sunnier day. ‘We’ll get you sorted, Claire.’
Good lord. The way he rolled the R in my name was positively pornographic.
Meowrse opened one eye and chirruped at me. I scratched between his ears and was rewarded by a smug rumble. Owen watched the cat, then me, then the cat again, as if I’d bewitched it.
‘He really… likes you,’ he said. ‘He never—’
‘It’s probably pity purring,’ I laughed.
Owen stared until it felt like he peeled me open.
Like he probed beneath my skin with nothing but a look.
It was…uncomfortable. Left me feeling like I’d made myself too vulnerable while he was shuttered.
The conversation lulled, and for a second, we were just two people burrowed in warmth while the sky threw a tantrum outside.
‘Right,’ he said at last, setting his shoulders as he put his mug down. ‘Let’s find this cottage of yours and I’ll drive you home.’
‘What about my clothes?’
‘I’ll drop them round in the morning. Freshly laundered.’ There was no arguing with his tone. I half expected a bunch of children to barge down the stairs, because he sounded like he was used to taking on the daddy role.
A fresh wave of heat filled my cheeks.
‘So where are you supposed to be?’ he asked.
‘Rose Cottage.’ Meowrse dug his nails into the fabric of the grey sweatpants, as though he resisted my impending departure. He wasn’t the only one. The thought of going back out into the storm after finally getting warm made me want to weep.
But I couldn’t exactly beg for Owen to put me up.
Could I?
No.
Lusting over a man was the last thing I needed.