Page 24 of Scotch & Dreams

“Aye, the arse deserved it, and it felt so freeing to let it fly.”

Violet snickered, a smile curving her lips.

Lachlan ran a hand through his hair. “The truth is, I love that mon so much, and I’m pissed off that he doesnae get that.”

“Maybe he does, deep down. Anger can blind people.”

“Aye, it’s true.” Lachlan considered it, and then his attention was drawn to where Violet had scooched closer to him. He caught her gaze, the soft lighting of the room glowing warmly on her face, drawing him in like a moth to a flame.

“Thank you for talking to me.” Her fingers slid into the open cup of his hand, and he looked at it, almost afraid to look into her beautiful eyes. He let his thumb lightly stroke over her fingers, feeling like he was toying with danger. Violet seemed blissfully unaware of the feeling warring inside of him.

“I can understand not wanting to talk about your family troubles, but I’m glad you told me. ”

"I dinnae ken why, but I'm glad I told ye too," he said, not looking up, knowing that if he did, he'd regret what was bound to happen next.

Chapter 15

Not a Date, Date

Thiswastheabsolutefarthest thing from her mind when she envisioned following her dreams in Scotland, but she was certainly enjoying the turn of events. This was, hands down, the best non-date, date, she'd ever had. She wondered when was the last time she'd had such deep and meaningful conversation with anyone. She and Sierra were best friends and always could be real, but she'd only just met Lachlan. And yet, he was so open with her.

There was something about him that made her feel so at ease. He possessed a calmness and strength. He was a good guy.Even if he did punch his brother, she thought sardonically. In truth, she found it kind of romantic, like he was defending her honour. She'd known from the moment his eyes held hers when she'd felt so utterly lost that there was a connection, but as the hours of the evening slipped away like minutes, she knew that her being here with him was more than just a kind man doing her a favour.

Violet became aware of Lachlan's gaze on her. He studied her as if he were trying to solve a puzzle.

“What?” she asked speculatively under his sudden scrutiny.

“I ken ye said ye were a fashion stylist, but I wondered if ye were also some kind of therapist.” He raised a questioning brow.

“Like a massage therapist?” she quipped back.

“Och, are ye?” he asked, beginning to rub his neck as if it were tight, and he hoped she might help him out.

She chuckled.“Nope, sorry to disappoint you. I'm not a massage therapist.” Although she wouldn't mind giving it a go.

“Too bad.” He flashed her his crooked grin, and Violet felt heat tingle at the juncture between her legs. Wholly affected by that grin of his, she pondered how a lopsided smirk could make him look as if he was the gatekeeper of some kind of sexy secret.

“I dinnae recall the last time I was able to speak so freely, lass. I feel like you could be a psychologist or counsellor. You’re verra easy to talk to.”

She eyed him with a gentle smile tugging her lips as she felt her cheeks flush under his praise. “Maybe you just needed to talk.” She shrugged.

“I suspect ye hear yer fair share of stories styling people. Like a bartender, ye could be a shrink.”

She laughed at the truth of it. The few clients she’d had definitely seemed to take their time together as an opportunity to unload all kinds of things. “I have heard a few tales.”

“I huv no doubt.” Lachlan leaned forward, picked up the decanter, and poured another round in each of their glasses. Sitting back again, he ran a hand down the front of his white dress shirt as if to smooth it, then he gave her a sly sideways glance.

“What is yer expert opinion? How am I doing? Do ye think I could use a style makeover?” He held his chin up in profile as if allowing her to assess him.

Violet smiled. “I don’t think you’re doing too badly, Mr. GQ.”

“Och, lassie, the flattery is going to make my head big.” His blue eyes twinkled with mischief.

“It’s true. You are very stylish,” she said matter-of-factly.

“I might have a wee shopping problem.” He bit his lip.

Violet grinned. “Me too. I’m surprised, though. Not to stereotype, but most men hate shopping.” From what she’d seen of him, the man was a very snappy dresser. From his rolled-sleeved dress shirt and his Patek Philippe watch she’d spied, down to his perfectly tailored trousers and argyle socks, the man was impeccably dressed.

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