Chapter 2
TWO
IN STATURE AND IN FIRST IMPRESSIONS
Mathilda
My mortifying blackout lifted as my forehead tapped my knee. If it wasn’t for the warm hand on my shoulder, I would have toppled from my seat.
“Hey! Whoa, I’ve got ye. Keep your head down, lass. Like that. Lean on me.”
I kept my eyes closed for a glorious second, letting the stranger support me. Then I cleared my throat and sat up, forcing a smile, though blood trickled out of the wound on my leg. I needed to get back to my hotel.
If only the room would stay still.
“It’s just…it’s a tiny cut. It’s nothing. I’m just a little dizzy.”
“Nothing? You’re bleeding, and it scared you. That must hurt,” the man decided as he knelt at my feet, ignoring the glass under the knees of his jeans. His accent was Scottish. A Highlander. “Christ, there’s a wee piece of glass stuck in there. Will you let me take a look?”
Sarah, the floor manager Dad often employed for such events, emerged from behind the tall man, a brush tucked discreetly at her side.
She gasped, taking me in. “Mathilda! Oh, blood!”
The big man huffed. “Aye. She’s cut. Will ye fetch a first-aid kit?”
Sarah eyed me again then darted off, barking into her headset. The man indicated his blond head to my ankle, seeking permission to touch me. This time I nodded, relaxing a degree while he applied pressure to the cut, his thumb and fingers closing on my skin. I barely felt him whip the glass out.
“Done.” He continued his ministrations, checking my skin. “Mathilda, then? I’m Callum McRae. Pleased to meet you.”
“Likewise,” I managed. “Thank you. I’m not afraid of blood. I didn’t eat much today, that’s all.” I hadn’t taken a bite at lunch with my parents. Not that either of them noticed. And this evening, since Dominic’s bombshell, I’d been in a state.
The man made a noise of disapproval and, not wanting to look at the cut in case my brain flipped again, I watched him.
His hair was pale blond, curled into small whorls on top like he’d run his fingers through it over and over. It appeared rough-textured, as befitted the mountain man my imagination had made him into. The squareness of his jaw could be used as a model for angled tools.
Was he pretty? No. But the utter manly ruggedness of him was deeply attractive, and his kindness was soothing in the way of an old friend.
A thought entered my mind that I really should enjoy this if I could.
Maybe try to smell his aftershave. Notice more than the bare rudiments of his features.
But inwardly I’d flushed cold, picturing Sarah scandalising the staff with my mini accident.
The boss’s precious daughter being hurt on their watch. The drama.
I was one phone call away from Dad showing up.
The last thing I needed was to stay in my family’s house overnight, which he would insist on if he knew I was still in the capital.
Tomorrow, I’d journey the hundred and twenty miles back to Bristol, to my home, and if I could get away without seeing either of my parents again for a month or two, my stress levels would thank me.
Taking a deep breath, I pulled myself together. Time to go.
“Mr McRae. Could you help me up?” I extracted a pack of tissues from my bag to mop up the blood. “I’ve ordered an Uber. It’ll be outside soon.”
“It’s Callum. And your cab will wait and so will you. We’ll stop the bleeding first. Patch you up. Keep to your seat until you’re steady again.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but the stranger gave me a stern look and, sheesh, it stirred something deep in some recess of my brain.
A sensation that took away the insult of being ordered around, and instead spoke of protection and care.
Of doing what he said because he had my best interests at heart.
My blood on his hands and him not caring because he only wanted to fix me.
It made me want to bat my damn eyelashes.
As if he could read my mind, a small smile pulled at Callum’s lips, and he tutted and shook his head.
Then he took my packet of tissues and began carefully cleaning my injury.
I sighed, my skin tingling everywhere he touched.
A knight in shining armour. Where was he when I was free and single?
Well, I still was. I hadn’t officially accepted, but what choice did I have? At least Dominic hadn’t reappeared.
The Highlander’s touch was gentle.
Warm. He was very warm.
“Here!” Sarah returned with a white box, a red cross emblazoned on it. With one hand, my hero took it—as, somehow, he’d gained complete control—and in a minute had me cleaned and bandaged up. I rotated my freshly wrapped ankle on his instruction.
Callum worked his jaw as he regarded his efforts. “I dinna think it needs to be stitched, but you should get it checked all the same. Glass can stay in the skin. I’ll take you on to a hospital, if you care to go.”
“I…no. Thank you,” was all I could say, my mouth too stupid to produce better words.
Sarah had finished sweeping up the glass, and she turned back to me with wide eyes. A spark of panic lit her eyes. “Hospital? I really think I should call your—”
“No!” My brain reengaged, and I cut her off.
“It’s not necessary. My ride’s here.” I waved my phone in a desperate attempt to convince her not to contact my dad.
As if to prove how taken care of I was, I placed my hand on the big guy’s arm and turned my attention to him.
“Mr McRae? I’d really appreciate your assistance a moment longer. ”
Two strong hands landed on me as I wobbled to my feet, my sandal now acting as a slip-on, though I hadn’t yet forgiven it for causing the debacle.
Of all the footwear I could have worn, the elegant and slender-heeled sky-scraper beauties I coveted, bought, but hardly ever wore, an almost flat pair were the ones to fail me.
The man took my elbow and laid his other hand on my hip, while my forehead landed on a solid shoulder. I righted myself, my cheeks burning.
Well, damn.
“Come on, woman,” he murmured and then led me away.
In the weirdest twist of my fun-filled evening, I, self-contained and independent Mathilda, would have followed him anywhere.
Outside, the damp and chilly February night licked my shins. With Callum’s assistance, I made my way over the road to where my Uber idled. No pain affected my ankle, but I liked his help and wanted to cling on to it for a few moments more.
Men like him didn’t come around very often, and I’d never see him again.
“Thank you,” I said as he leaned in to open the door for me. “This was a strange evening, but you made it better.”
Under the bright city streetlights, Callum’s eyes shone blue. Pale, like his hair, and like his Celtic skin tone, but there was nothing weak in their intensity. He didn’t speak.
“Do you often save damsels in distress?” I was flirting. Why was I flirting?
“If only I had the time. I made an exception for your grave injury,” his low tones teased back, and I liked it. A lot. “Mathilda what?” he asked after a beat.
Ah, my surname. I had a standard response I gave to strangers—my mother’s maiden name. My actual name, Dad’s name, was too recognisable. Instinctively, I replied, “Mathilda Jones.”
My mouth felt full of cotton wool, like the version of me I presented in order to protect myself had turned into an untruth. I didn’t want to lie to this man.
“Bonnie name.” His lips quirked in a half-smile.
We stood together. His broad body blocked the cold wind. The sheer warmth coming off him, rolling waves of heat, wrapped around my skin as he inched forward. For some reason I couldn’t drag my gaze from his lips.
The idea of a one-night stand crossed my mind again. No, I wasn’t that bold.
Then Callum’s brow creased. “If I was staying longer in England, I’d ask for your number, Mathilda Jones.”
I clutched my arms against my silky jacket. “If I was available, I’d give it.”
Understanding settled between us, a cooling that had nothing to do with the weather.
He inclined his head to the venue’s entrance.
“The man you were with—I saw someone walk away from you when I came in. It’s none of my business, but what kind of man leaves his woman to go home alone? Does he even know you were hurt?”
His almost prim tone had me chuckling. “So you weren’t just passing by when I cut myself?”
Callum huffed. “Are you asking if I worried when I saw you being abandoned? Aye. You went to sit down alone and you rubbed your head. You looked vulnerable, and that was all wrong. Did I also plan on talking to you because you’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen? True. I did.”
Mmph. Sold, ladies.
I had a real problem with the whole hero complex, and of being the heroine wanting to be saved.
So much so I needed to stamp it down and contain it as a fantasy.
Ever since I was a girl, I’d dreamt of a man sweeping me off my feet and stealing me away to his stronghold.
Protecting me from my father and taking my new baby sister with us.
It was so anti-feminist, so backward in every way, I needed to make my life move forward.
And yet here, standing in front of me, was the kind of guy who fit that image to a T, and I’d never been more interested.
Callum blew out a cloud of frosted breath. “Sorry for the flattery when you dinna need it. I dislike false pretences and can be overly honest. Sometimes brutal.”
“I like brutal honesty.” This stranger had my senses piqued, and now I wanted to stall.
To talk more. “The guy… My life is complicated in a number of ways.” I stopped myself, because I was in danger of spilling the whole story and I’d barely got my head around the offer.
I was desperate to share it with someone.
But Beth would rightfully lock horns with me, and my dad would blow his top.
No one else knew me well enough to help.
“Complicated,” he repeated. “Aye, I know that feeling well. I’ve enough to manage until I’m a hundred.”
“Yet you helped me.”
“How could I not?”
Easily, for most people. But not this man. I wondered… No, I had no right to wonder a solitary thing. Wondering only led to finding answers, and I needed ignorance.
Walk away, Mathilda. This hero isn’t for you.
“Goodnight, Callum McRae. It was a pleasure meeting you.”
He watched me for a long second, the look on his face one I couldn’t read. Then he handed me into the car, and my driver sped us away into the winter’s night. Out of the rear window, I watched the biggest man I’d ever met—both in stature and in first impressions—disappear.